#cs heartbreakers au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kingkaisen · 2 years ago

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FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

♡ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi, & reiner x celebrity!reader

♡ — 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Both love and imprisonment can drive people crazy, and sometimes, things can even get deadly. your old lovers are becoming more and more desperate as they attempt to free you from Connie, the owner of CS Records. For better or for worse, a certain band of people want you, known as: the group.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI || DARK CONTENT — fem!reader, modern au, angst, heartbreak, divorce, marriage, cheating, violence & blood/bruises mention, gun mention, false imprisonment, stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, manipulation, stalking, murder talk (Some warnings here also apply to the series as a whole/other parts as well.)

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 13k

♡ — 𝐀/𝐍: Hi folks! I had to add on another part to the series, so there will now be 8 parts total!

— A FEW YEARS EARLIER —

“Eren?”

The brown-haired man turned around with a smile — he always grinned whenever you called his name so sweetly.

“Hm?” He shoved his phone into his pocket. “What is it, baby? You okay?”

“I’ve just been thinking about . . . us,” your eyes darted down to the freshly mopped floor — polished and shiny thanks to Eren’s maid. Your voice echoed in his spacious modern kitchen, but that wasn’t the reason why you decided to whisper.

You were simply nervous.

“What about us?” Eren frowned a bit, his heart beginning to pound wildly as his mind started to spin.

He assumed the worst.

“Well,” you paused. “I think it’s time that I told you how much I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever really said it, but it’s true. We haven’t been together long, but . . . you’re someone I’d want to start a family with and grow old with, ya know? I hope the thought of that doesn’t scare you away.”

Eren was silent for a moment.

This time, it was your turn to assume the worst.

Suddenly, Eren wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. Tears started to brim in the reddening waterlines of his emerald eyes.

“I love you too,” he smiled as he held you. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. You’re mine, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” you hugged him back. “I’m yours.”

When Eren ended the sweet hug, it was only so he could press his lips against yours, kissing you softly, yet passionately.

He pulled away and quickly reconnected your lips once again. He couldn’t get enough of you. He would kiss you forever if he could, and truthfully, he planned to, no matter what.

—

Three miserable weeks had flown by since a certain little meeting had taken place in the tiny living room of Armin Arlert’s apartment.

Every single day — every hour, minute, and second — was spent waiting.

Waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Waiting for any of the gods above to offer just a little bit of luck.

A little bit of hope.

Erwin Smith needed as much luck as he could get. From the very second Levi Ackerman called him with the details of an utterly ridiculous situation, to now, when he was getting ready to walk into CS Records, dressed up as one of Connie Springer’s Silent Men, he had hoped for a little bit of luck.

It was rather odd.

The blonde-haired, military-driven man truly didn’t believe in searching for four-leaf clovers or tossing pennies into wishing wells, as he never liked to leave things to chance.

But, just this once, he would gamble and hope to get lucky.

As he patiently stalked the outside of your home from a safe distance, he gambled on the fact that Connie would be stupid enough to bring you out in public once again.

And Erwin was correct.

He had watched and waited, waited and watched. Waiting for the day in which the rich man would let you out of your bedroom, and bring you to CS Records with him.

After all, it was bound to happen, as you were Connie’s little money-maker, and if you had suddenly disappeared from the spotlight at the peak of your fast-paced career, people would start to ask questions. Become suspicious. And Connie didn’t want that.

Erwin followed the vehicle transporting you, Connie, and a few Silent Men to CS Records. And, there you were, being escorted through the private back entrance of the building with Connie and his bodyguards by your side.

But it didn’t matter.

Erwin was simply happy to see that you were okay — physically, at least.

As he watched you carefully enter the building from where he was parked in the private parking deck — Eren’s employee ID had worked wonders — he sighed with relief that, at long last, he could finally free you.

You might have been a perfect stranger to him, a random celebrity with a chaotic life — in which, before all of this, he had paid no mind to — but Levi Ackerman cared about you enough to call him for help.

And he could hear the slight panic in the other man’s voice.

If Levi Ackerman cared about you, then that was enough to make Erwin care about you as well.

And he’d get you away from that terrifying man no matter what.

As Erwin stepped out of his car, slamming the driver’s door shut, he had almost forgotten that Eren Yeager was with him.

No one would question the singer being escorted around by someone who appeared to be one of Connie’s underlings. Not to mention, the rockstar’s ID badge was important throughout this entire operation.

Erwin had been secretly calling it a rescue mission in his head.

Eren had preferred to call it: the day in which he’d get his fucking ex-wife back.

“You ready?” Eren called out to the taller, buff man, looking up at him through his sunglasses as he shut the car door.

It was a sunny day in Los Angeles, almost as if nature itself was rooting for their success.

“I am. Lead the way,” Erwin gave a nod.

Eren started walking as Erwin followed him.

During the time it took for them to walk from the parking deck to the official back entrance of the building, Erwin couldn’t help but think about how different Eren Yeager seemed in real life compared to how the media portrayed him.

He wasn’t used to being around celebrities — that was Levi’s thing. Erwin didn’t even live in Los Angeles; he lived in Arizona, in a town that was about an hour away from Hange’s.

In the media, Eren was made out to be a rebellious rockstar who lived the perfect life of a music-making troublemaker.

Rich.

Talented.

Surrounded by women.

Always in trouble.

But, in person, he was just an ordinary guy. One who cared about his ex-wife and made sure his hamburgers had extra pickles.

In a way, he was quite sweet. Erwin noticed that little fact when the younger man carefully got inside his car, trying his hardest not to ruin anything, even though his car wasn’t nearly as nice as the ones in Eren’s ten-car garage — or was it twenty? Erwin couldn’t remember.

But, perhaps, the media’s portrayal of Eren was accurate once upon a time, possibly before he had fallen in love with you.

Erwin couldn’t say.

Once the two men approached the glass entry doors, Eren scanned his ID — twice, as he was rather impatient — before the security system dinged pleasantly, and the doors clicked twice as they were automatically unlocked.

Stepping inside CS Records was like stepping inside of an incredibly nice mall. However, instead of stores, there were offices, recording studios, and rehearsal rooms.

“I’m headed to the studio,” Eren said, turning around to face Erwin. “You should probably head towards the main conference room.”

Erwin nodded. Pretending to be one of the Silent Men — or Connie’s pack of rats, as Eren had called them — meant that he had to do one thing: be silent, of course.

And while Eren’s words seemed to not have any true meaning aside from letting his escort know his whereabouts, every syllable he had uttered was rather valuable information.

The fact that he was heading to the studio meant that it was time for them to separate, as Eren wasn’t allowed to come anywhere near you, and his presence could hinder the success of the mission. His advice for Erwin to head towards Connie’s conference room meant that it was more than likely your location. Connie was always in there or in his office. And you would be with Connie.

With one final nod, the two men went their separate ways.

Finding the conference room was easier than expected.

Eren had reassured Erwin that he wouldn’t need any ID beyond getting through the entrance, and as it turns out, he was right.

Perhaps, it was because no one had ever bothered to question the presence of one of Connie’s men, and thanks to Erwin’s solid black outfit — he was both plainly and sharply dressed at the same time — along with his solid, tall, and muscular build, he looked exactly like one of them.

Aside from people scurrying out of his way as he walked, mumbling little apologies under their breaths, no one paid him any mind.

The conference room had glass walls that allowed anyone in the building to see what was going on inside as they walked by.

While Connie could have chosen one of the more private rooms to host his meeting, he didn’t, simply because he wanted everyone within CS Records to see you.

To see that he had nothing — or rather, no one, to hide.

And it was perfect.

Erwin was able to successfully confirm your whereabouts, but, just like Eren, you seemed drastically different in real life compared to the media’s portrayal of you.

Although he only spotted you from several feet away and hadn't even mumbled a single word to you, it was quite obvious based on the gloomy expression on your face that you weren’t nearly as happy as you pretended to be during interviews and local concerts.

But, soon, you would be. Erwin was determined to make that happen.

Stopping in the cafeteria, Erwin prepared a couple of glasses of water. It was meant to serve as an excuse for his tardiness.

The man balanced a tray of water in one hand, pushing the glass door open with the other, and for a moment, Connie briefly paused in the middle of his conversation to see who had entered the conference room, but upon seeing that it was one of his men, he continued to speak.

Everyone was correct.

Springer truly didn’t pay any attention to his men. It didn’t help that he always switched them out.

To him, they were all the same. Just plain old puppets.

That was why he barely ever looked at them. That was why he never bothered to learn their names.

And, that was why Erwin was able to infiltrate them so easily.

He sat the water down in the center of the conference table, and stood beside three other Silent Men lined up against the wall, copying their statue-like pose.

And he simply listened. Waited for the perfect opportunity. Kept his eyes on you.

“I don’t care how much money an international tour would bring in,” Connie said, tapping his pen against the enormous conference table as he sat in his big office chair, darting his eyes between every single one of your eleven team members; the people responsible for keeping you in the spotlight. Keeping the company wealthy.

“This isn’t the right time to have one because Y/N still needs more fucking media training. We’re sticking with a national tour for now, and a short one at that.”

“Alright, I’ll get the word out,” your red-haired publicist nodded in agreement. “The first official tour for the Heartbreaker album . . . what should the tour be called?”

“We can worry about that later,” a random tan man spoke up, staring at your publicist before glancing around at the other team members. “When is this tour happening? Next year?”

“We can’t do it next year because Y/N has been cast for another film. You’re her new manager, Oruo, so you should know that.” Your publicist rolled her eyes.

“We’re going to wait two years, Petra? Her album will be irrelevant and old by then–”

“Then she’ll sing songs off of another album that will be released before then,” your publicist interrupted. “She should have more songs that she can sing anyways-”

“When is she going to record this album? While she’s on set, filming?” Glaring at your publicist, your new manager folded his arms across his chest.

“She managed to put out both an album and a film fairly recently,” Petra said in a softer tone than before. “She can do it again.”

A beat of silence passed in which your manager and publicist simply stared at each other. Your manager, who broke the intense, unofficial staring contest first, looked at Connie as he spoke once again.

“All of this is taking way too long. We’re about to start selling Halloween costumes modeled after her, and we should have an interesting announcement to go with it. You think her fans will be happy to know that they won’t even get a chance to see her sing her new album live for another two years?”

“It can’t be helped! God, you’re such an idiot.” The red-haired woman lowered her head in defeat, but when she raised it again, it was to also face Connie. “Mr. Springer, you have to find Levi Ackerman and rehire him, because this guy is-”

“Both of you can shut up,” Connie suddenly interrupted, continuing to fidget with his pen. He looked at Petra, giving her a cold stare, one that indicated that she was on thin ice.

“Especially you. I’m not rehiring anybody. Say something like that to me again and you’ll be begging for me to rehire you as well.” Connie paused. “What we need is for her to keep doing interviews and publicity stunts while she’s working on all of her projects. Squeeze in small work that shouldn’t take more than a week to complete.”

No one dared to disagree with Connie’s idea. What he said was final. Those were the unwritten rules.

As your entire team nodded in agreement — despite whether or not they truly thought it was the best course of action — some of them jotted down his plan in their notebooks or typed it in on their laptops.

However, you didn’t nod in agreement.

Instead, your voice — which held a bit of a nervous quiver — interrupted the uneasy silence.

“Publicity stunts?” You looked between your publicist, manager, and the person holding you hostage. “What kind of publicity stunts?”

“Probably something involving Eren and Jean,” Oruo said before giving his attention to Connie. “More people stream her music whenever something goes on between the three of them. More talk show hosts ask to interview her as well.”

Instantly, the harsh memory of the aftermath regarding the last publicity stunt reappeared in your mind.

Being outdoors surrounded by Connie’s goons after appearing on The Nights With Flint Show; witnessing the psychological torture that Connie put your ex-husband through simply by threatening to hurt his mother was a torturous flashback that you couldn’t seem to snap out of.

Even as you thought about the way Eren cried while being forced to his knees, begging his old best friend to not hurt the lady who once welcomed you into her home with open arms and tasty stew; a small, twisted part of you had wished that you didn’t say a word that day.

Attempting to be some sort of hero had only resulted in your misery.

You had the Vitamin D supplements — which you needed from lack of sunlight — in your purse to prove it; to prove that publicity stunts never went well.

“No.” You said sternly, stern enough for the silent nodders sitting at the table to look up at you.

Truth be told, it was the first time you had dared to speak so boldly in a long time. “I don’t want to do that, please. There has to be something else-”

“Alright, I’m finishing this meeting without you. You’re starting to get on my nerves.” Connie turned around in his chair, facing the Silent Men standing along the wall, pointing to one with brown hair and the body of a gym-obsessed man.

He stood right next to Erwin.

“You,” Connie said. “Take her back home.”

“But I just got here,” you thought, not daring to say it aloud, but you didn’t need to.

Connie could see the sadness in your eyes as if your pupils had a big red sign in them that said “I’M SAD.”

The chair squeaked a bit as you got up from it, heading out of the conference room with the man who would become your driver.

No one paid any mind to the other blonde-haired Silent Man who left the room thirty seconds later, following you both.

Erwin had to walk quickly — he couldn’t run, as that would draw unnecessary attention — to catch up to you and your driver, but thanks to his tall frame, he didn’t have to take very many strides.

He grabbed the shoulder of the brown-haired man.

When the driver turned around, Erwin could understand why Connie never bothered to pay any attention to his goons. The man had a very stereotypical face, plain and simple, and hidden underneath a pair of black sunglasses. Erwin wouldn’t have remembered the name of someone so ordinary either if he was in Connie’s shoes.

“What?” The man said with a gruff tone. He sounded like he had just woken up, and still had his morning voice despite the late afternoon hour.

But that’s what happens when you’re rarely allowed to speak.

“Springer changed his mind,” Erwin lied confidently, yet casually. “He needs you to head to the venue and help them out over there. He wants me to take her home instead.”

Much to Erwin’s luck, the man didn’t ask any further questions.

Something was always going on at the venue owned by CS Records.

He didn’t even appear to be confused by the new orders, as it was common for Connie to make last-minute changes such as this.

He walked off without another word.

Erwin wasted no time. The taller man started to escort you towards the exit.

Towards freedom.

It was rather risky to speak to you now, but as Erwin could see the white ID scanner in front of the exit doors a short distance away, he knew that you would expect him to scan his employee ID along with yours. He couldn’t slip on by with you as easily as he slipped in with Eren.

After all, you had no idea who he was. What he was really doing.

“Are you alright?” Erwin questioned quietly, looking straight forward as he spoke, doing all he could to seem unsuspicious.

“Huh?” You glanced up at him.

“No one has harmed you, have they? Do you need to see a doctor for any reason?”

“Why are you asking me that?” You asked. “You’re not supposed to speak this much. You’ll get us in trouble.”

“Don’t worry. My name is Erwin Smith. Levi asked me to give you a hand. I’ll be taking you somewhere safe.”

No.

No way.

It must have been a trap. A trick. A way for Connie to test your loyalty, to find out if you were broken enough to never try to leave again. Perhaps, he wanted to see if you were stupid enough to warrant a repeat of the same old punishment. He’d lock you right back up, hold you hostage in your own beautiful bedroom just as he did when you tried to escape with Reiner.

No.

No way.

One of Connie’s men would be waiting right in the private parking deck, ready to toss you back into the most miserable place you had ever been in.

A place where you were alone.

Always thinking.

Always waiting.

Always miserable.

“You’re lying.” You stammered out, darting your eyes around for Connie, or for anyone who would be watching you like a hawk. “This is some sort of trick, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“But . . .” Your footsteps halted, just as you were approaching the exit. Erwin turned to face you, looking down at you with an intense amount of urgency that he couldn’t vocalize.

This had to be a cruel test, that was one theory, as freedom was too good to be true.

Or, maybe he was simply a crazy fan. That was another theory.

However, out of all of those theories, there was one little thing that was true; that was real. And it was that he seemed familiar.

“I actually think I recognize you,” you said, scanning over that facial structure of his, along with his blonde hair, attempting to put him in the proper place among your memories. “You . . . oh, that’s right. I’ve seen you in a photo or something at Levi’s house. You’re one of his friends.”

“That’s right,” Erwin nodded.

You nodded as well.

Maybe, just maybe . . .

“Keep your voice down,” Erwin said. “You need to scan your ID for us to leave. Just act natural. Everything will be alright.”

If you could manage to imagine that Erwin was simply some sort of bodyguard escorting you out of a building after a show or a meet and greet, nothing more, then maybe, just maybe, you could calm down enough to not draw any attention to yourself.

Call Erwin cocky. He wouldn’t blame you. But he was feeling rather confident now. He was right here with you, and he didn’t plan on leaving your side until he delivered you safely into Levi’s arms.

Or Eren’s.

Or Reiner’s.

Or Armin’s.

Or Jean’s.

Call Erwin forgetful. He wouldn’t blame you. But he had a bit of trouble keeping up with the romantic aspect of our life, and while a small part of him wanted to ask who exactly your heart truly belonged to without the interference of Connie or modern media influencing your decisions, it was none of his business.

Even so, as he glanced down at you as you both walked at a steady pace toward the exit, he couldn’t help but wonder what was so captivating about you — what could possibly drive Levi Ackerman to care about one of the most famous heartbreakers in Hollywood?

His questions would have to wait.

As you approached the security system demanding identification before leaving the private area of CS Records, you pulled out your ID. Erwin caught a glimpse of your photo. Your smile was rather beautiful. Bright. You must have been happy back then. Maybe, if he freed you, he could see that smile return someday.

You scanned your badge. The security system dinged. You both casually walked through the glass doors and into the private parking deck.

“Was the hard part over?” That was the question you asked with only a simple look into Erwin’s eyes, and with a nod, he wordlessly answered, “yes, the hard part is over.”

A smile appeared across your face. It was a contagious upturn of the cheeks, and Erwin wanted to smile too. He gave you a soft grin as he escorted you to his car.

Eren promised that he would find his own way home, and quickly, as he didn’t want to be anywhere near CS Records whenever Connie would realize that you had gotten away.

In a way, freedom for you was freedom for all of them.

Seeing Erwin’s car — or, rather, the vehicle you assumed to be Erwin’s car — several feet in front of you suddenly created a wave of nausea that washed over you.

Erwin had placed a comforting hand on your back, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow and a worried frown.

You placed your hand on your stomach. Breathing in and out slowly did little to help.

If only the overwhelming sense of nausea was caused by nervousness over the fact that soon, you would be free.

If only that was all it was.

But it was something else entirely.

It was a particular bad memory that had reappeared in your mind like deja vu. Seeing Erwin’s car . . . being so close to freedom that you would allow yourself to once again have little hopes and dreams . . . it all reminded you of Reiner leading you to an exit the night of your album release party.

It was that bad feeling. The fear of allowing yourself to be hopeful.

Even as you made it to Erwin’s car, as he helped you into the passenger seat like a true gentleman, you couldn’t shake it.

That bad feeling.

You sat there with your door shut, seatbelt buckled, listening to the footsteps of Erwin walking from the passenger side to the driver’s side.

But he didn’t open the door. Without straining to look up through the driver’s side window, you knew why.

It was that bad feeling.

You could hear other voices in the parking lot, and while you wished the voices simply belonged to other easygoing CS Records employees minding their own business as they headed into or out of the building, you knew better.

The private parking lot was empty of anyone else.

Those black outfits belonging to Connie and the Silent Men were rather easy to spot out of the corner of your eyes.

You couldn’t help but close your eyes in defeat, and when you did, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

The voices grew louder. Not loud enough to draw any unwanted attention, Connie was smarter than that, but it was bothersome enough to make you consider unbuckling your seatbelt, opening your door, getting out of the car, and peacefully walking back into the building.

And, perhaps, prepare to spend all of eternity locked inside of your own bedroom as well.

But Erwin wasn’t ready to give up so easily.

“How did you know?” Erwin asked Connie, glaring at the rich man who had two Silent Men on each side of him.

“This guy right here wanted to know what I needed him to do at the venue. Wasn’t that hard to put two-and-two together.”

“Damn it,” Erwin thought. He was foolish to think that the goon would just take his word and leave. Any smart person would verify with Connie in terms of instructions, as no one wanted to risk pissing him off due to miscommunication.

Erwin knew it was risky. All of it was.

“Connie, you seem like a decent man. You allow artists to show their work to the world. You keep money in their pockets. Keep people employed so they can feed their families and have a roof over their heads. Even the janitors here are paid enough to live comfortably. You don’t have-”

“Oh my god, shut the hell up, man.” Connie sighed, shifting his feet impatiently.

“How about we work something out?” Erwin raised his hand as he spoke. “She’ll continue working for you — making music, performing — whatever. But she gets to have some freedom as well, just like Eren and Jean have been able to lately.”

“She does have freedom,” Connie frowned. “I brought her here, didn’t I?”

“That’s not freedom. She can’t go anywhere without you, or do anything without you. You won’t let her leave her own home, or see her loved ones.”

“Loved ones?” A chuckle fell from Connie’s lips, and he momentarily looked down at his feet, then back up at Erwin, his hands in his pockets as if he were having a conversation with an old pal. “She doesn’t have any loved ones, just a bunch of stupid guys hoping to crawl into bed with her. That’s all she’s good for. That’s what I’ve heard, at least.”

“That’s not true. She’s a very-”

“Listen, listen,” Connie interrupted the blonde man once more. “I don’t care what you gotta say. Just let her out of the car, alright?”

Erwin simply stood there like a statue, holding onto his car keys. His thumb didn’t touch that “unlock” button.

“Let her out,” Connie repeated, his words followed by a yawn. “Last chance.”

“No.” Erwin reached back behind him and wrapped his fingers around the pistol tucked into the holster around his waist. “I’m giving you one last chance.”

Connie studied the serious, unwavering expression on Erwin’s face. His eyes flickered between it, and his holster.

What a dangerous man.

What a serious man.

No wonder that little group of idiotic men sent him to retrieve you. Connie was rather impressed, as not many people were bold enough to threaten to shoot him. Truth be told, he wished this guy really was one of his Silent Men.

But, Connie truly couldn’t waste any more time with this situation. He had other meetings to attend, and he was hungry as well.

Suddenly, Connie grabbed his own hidden gun. And, unlike Erwin, he didn’t hesitate.

He pulled out his weapon, pulled the trigger, and sent a bullet flying into Erwin Smith.

Erwin’s blood splattered against the car as he fell against it. Your screams were loud enough for Connie to hear, and rather annoying as well.

It didn’t take long for employees to make their way to the parking lot, each of them straining their necks to look around the parked cars and see what exactly happened before the Silent Men ushered them away.

Connie would simply make up a story, perhaps claiming that you were being kidnapped.

Connie handed his hot gun to one of his men. He stepped over Erwin’s body, grabbing the car keys out of his bloodied hand before he unlocked the doors.

The car beeps made your screams suddenly stop. But nothing — absolutely nothing — could make your body stop trembling, or make the tears forming from utter horror stop falling down your cheeks.

When Connie opened the passenger door, you held your breath and he bent down. His face was expressionless as if he didn’t just shoot a man. You couldn’t stand the sight of him, looking at the car floor through your blurred vision instead.

“Get out of the car,” he said calmly. “It’s alright. I’m not mad. Just get out of the car.”

You tried to say, “no.” But, no words would come out. Your sobs were just too great. They created a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow down.

“Y/N,” Connie called out again. This time, his hand gripped your chin, and he forced you to look at him. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s go. Get out of the car.”

With slow-moving, trembling hands, you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“There you go,” he smiled a bit, releasing your chin as he dropped Erwin’s car keys on the ground. “Come on. It’s okay.”

He helped you out of the passenger seat. Caught you when you nearly fell over from your wobbly knees, his arms wrapped around you as if he was a caring person. How silly.

“You know what?” Connie said, looking up at his men. “Find my assistant and tell her to cancel my meetings for today. I’m taking her back to my place. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Connie guided you to his car, and as he did so, he continued to say, “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

—

When Levi Ackerman received a phone call from Eren, he was hoping the man would tell him that everything went smoothly. That Erwin was on the road, driving you to safety.

Instead, Eren told him that Erwin had been shot by Connie. That everyone — all of the employees — believed that it was self-defense.

That was the story they were told before they were sent back to work and told to not contact the police. That Connie would handle it.

Eren had to sneak into the private parking lot before the Silent Men would show up once again, pull the muscular man into the back of his own blood-splattered car, and drive him to the hospital.

But Erwin was alive. He needed surgery, but he was alive.

And Levi truly wasn’t surprised either. A tough bastard like Erwin Smith would survive an abdominal gunshot wound.

Even so, once Levi arrived at the hospital, he had to do the one thing he despised Connie Springer for doing.

Using his influence to break the law.

While his best friend was in surgery, Levi spent the night walking the white ominous halls of the hospital after finding a nice, quiet waiting room to put Eren in and telling him not to leave.

He spoke with several members of hospital staff and police officers, as the doctors and nurses were required to report a gunshot wound.

Being a former manager meant that he was an excellent conman as well, and he managed to convince them that Erwin wasn’t a threat. To let him heal. To leave him be.

And it worked.

Having enough money to drop in their laps to keep them quiet certainly helped as well, because even though he lost his job as one of Hollywood’s richest entertainment managers, he still had more money than God.

He could only hope Connie wouldn’t press to have Erwin sent to prison on a pile of lies or send someone back to the hospital to finish the job.

He would have to worry about that later, though.

That next afternoon, Erwin was wide awake, and Levi slowly stepped into his plain hospital room.

“I’m sorry,” Erwin said weakly, unable to look Levi in the eye as he watched the man walk through the door. “I failed.”

The several different beeps belonging to the machines scattered around the room filled the silence that unwillingly existed between the two men.

Levi simply didn’t know what to say.

Blame it on the lump of guilt forming in his throat that grew thicker as his eyes scanned over Erwin’s I.V., but Erwin’s face looked even worse.

It was free of any injuries or scarring, but the deep frown of self-disappointment was a depressing sight; Levi couldn’t look at him.

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself, Erwin. It’s fine.” Levi managed to say, although any comforting words would have been pointless. Erwin never digested failure.

When Erwin finally looked up at Levi — god, he could have been Armin’s father with the sad shine his sharp blue eyes held — Levi looked away.

His hands were in the pocket of his pants. He looked out the door and watched a nurse and receptionist chat at the front desk. He needed something to look at that wasn’t Erwin’s face of failure.

“At the end of the day . . .” Levi spoke again, as he noticed that Erwin never responded to his last statement. His machine did, though. Every beep was a way of saying: “He’s alive. He survived. He lived.”

“At the end of the day, I needed your help because I couldn’t do shit on my own, Erwin. If anyone is pathetic in this situation, it’s me. I dragged you out of your life to come help me out with my own mess when that’s not your job. And now you’re injured. I’m sorry.”

Once again, Erwin failed to respond. But the beeping machine did.

“He’s alive. He survived. He lived.”

“Is Eren alright?” Erwin finally spoke. “They didn’t know that he was caught up in any of this, did they?”

“Eren’s fine. Covered in blood, exhausted, and pissed off, but he’s fine. You should worry about yourself.” Levi's eyes darted away from the nurse refilling her cup of coffee in the distance, and he managed to build up the courage to look at his old friend. “Thanks to me, you have a target on your back now. You have to go somewhere safe.”

“You want me to go where Hange is, I take it?” Erwin smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Only despair was reflected within his orbs. Nothing else. “You want me to go to Maine? Just like that?”

“Just for a little while. Connie has no reason to go searching around in that state for anyone. That’s why I sent Hange there as soon as I could.”

“I see,” Erwin said.

That unwilling silence returned once again, but only for a brief moment.

“And take Mikasa with you,” Levi looked down at his shoes. This time, he was the one who looked so utterly disappointed.

He couldn’t protect anyone.

“Of course.”

“She doesn’t like the idea of leaving L.A. with everything Y/N is going through, but I’ll just have to make her. It isn’t safe here.”

“And what about you, Levi?” Erwin started to ask a question he already knew the answer to. “You should leave too. All of you should.”

“Without her?” Levi frowned deeply, and although he spoke in a whispered tone, his words were laced with anger. “Are you crazy or what?”

In that moment, when the one person Erwin could always count on to keep a level head glared at him with daggers in his eyes, Erwin realized just how much Levi had changed.

His hair was a bit longer. Messier, but not too messy. Dark circles had formed below his eyes from lack of sleep. He dressed in the blackest clothes he had owned, nothing professional like he used to wear, but it was obvious that he was dressing to blend in with the rest of society. To walk the streets of L.A. not as a hotshot entertainment manager, but as a lovesick nobody.

Lovesick.

That was it.

That was the word Erwin was looking for.

“Just what have you gotten yourself into, Levi? You would fall in love with someone who would cause you the most trouble,” Erwin thought.

“I’m not saying that you should leave her behind, but maybe you could get to a safe place and reach out for help — proper, legal help-”

“You know that won’t work.” Levi’s frown deepened. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest something like that.”

“He’s just a businessman, Levi. I’m sure if you found legal help outside of Los Angeles, then he wouldn’t be able to do anything,” Erwin winced as he spoke. He was starting to get worked up. “I know you love her, but-”

“What do you think will happen once Springer drops a fuck-ton of money into the laps of those greedy bastards? Or when he gets his shitty friends in the government to influence the rest of the government? And maybe not everyone will fall for his shit, maybe not everyone in the justice system is corrupt, but I’m not taking that chance.”

Erwin nodded along to Levi’s words.

“And I don’t love her. I just hate Connie,” Levi suddenly said, “I gotta go. I’ll check in on you later.”

Erwin told his old friend goodbye, watching as he left the hospital hopelessly.

—

The car ride with Connie was silent.

Only the gentle hum of his vehicle driving down the L.A. streets could be heard. Then, an occasional clicking noise from him activating his turn signal.

You could hear him breathing softly as well, and you tried to listen to his rhythmic breaths, as it could have served as a hint towards his mood — whether or not he was angry or truly as calm as he seemed — and his breathing pattern was ordinary. Normal.

You darted your eyes over in his direction when he shifted slightly in the driver’s seat. One hand gripped the top of his steering wheel.

It occurred to you that it was quite rare for Connie to drive. Perhaps, too many of his minions were busy cleaning up after him — literally and figuratively — to also act as his driver today. They were undoubtedly taking advantage of the broken justice system to push it in Connie’s favor, as well as forcing the janitors to clean up all of the blood.

Or, maybe, he was driving himself because had a punishment in mind for you that would be entirely too cruel for even the Silent Men to witness.

No.

You couldn’t think that way.

But, at the same time, if you didn’t think about your own well-being, then your mind drifted back to that man getting shot.

What if you were next?

—

When you arrived at Connie’s house and he parked his car inside of his massive garage, you didn’t move an inch.

“Come on, it’s okay,” he said calmly.

Getting out of the driver’s seat, he waited patiently for you to follow.

And you did.

It was better than the alternative that you had imagined, which was him pulling you out forcefully.

He led you from the garage — which looked more like an indoor car dealership — and into an elevator just past an enormous rec room.

You caught a glimpse of the neon blinking lights that belonged to several different arcade games as you walked by, as the door was wide open due to one of his maids wiping off a pinball machine.

“I can get you a house with an elevator if you want,” he said casually, stepping into the elevator as he turned around, and pressed the button for the second floor. “Not a big deal.”

You didn’t respond, and he didn’t pressure you to.

It was odd. His kindness. It almost made you miss his attitude; his dangerous aura.

At least that was familiar.

He stepped out of the elevator first and started walking. Like a lost puppy, you followed him.

Connie’s living room was heavily influenced by New Money culture. Everything was white, black, gold, or red, and incredibly modernized.

As he collapsed on the couch, a man rushed over to hand him a glass of iced lemonade with a slice of lemon garnishing the top.

“Welcome home, sir,” he greeted.

Surprisingly, he handed you a glass of lemonade as well, as he always prepared extra just in case his boss brought a guest over.

You didn’t dare take a sip.

Instead, you simply stood there, holding the glass as you watched Connie relax on the couch.

“You can do whatever you want, I don’t care.” Connie took a sip of his drink. “Oh, shit. You’re probably hungry. Are you hungry?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, and you hated the way it made you feel — like a pet or a child.

“Hey,” Connie snapped his finger twice, and the butler — or maid, assistant, or chef, you couldn’t tell — rushed over. “Tell the chef to make her a pizza.”

“Of course, sir.”

The man scampered off, and then Connie looked at you.

“You like pizza? Everyone likes pizza.”

Once again, you nodded.

“Okay, well,” Connie darted his eyes away from you awkwardly. “Go do whatever you want. It’ll be ready soon.”

Then, Connie turned on his television.

You didn’t want to aggravate him by standing there, so you walked away.

His home was bigger than Eren’s and infinitely bigger than yours. Even as you wandered the marvelous halls of his home, revisited the recreational rooms that you saw while walking into his home — indoor pool, arcade room, and so on — you couldn’t simply do whatever you wanted, despite Connie’s orders.

Because that would mean leaving, and you knew better.

—

You didn’t see Connie again until the pizza was ready. You were both seated at his dining table, two personal pizzas placed in front of you, and Connie dived in as if you were simply an ordinary guest.

But you decided to eat as well, slowly and cautiously, of course.

As you and Connie ate lunch in silence, you couldn’t help but notice that he wouldn’t stop shaking his leg.

And, after lunch, he told you once again to do whatever you wanted.

—

Five days had passed, and nothing had changed.

You weren’t trapped in one room, nor mistreated. You slept in the guest room with the door open and unlocked. You would tell his chef all of the meals you wanted throughout the day, walk around Connie’s home until you built up the courage to touch his belongings — although playing air hockey by yourself was a bit of a bummer — and Connie didn’t bother you.

It was kind of nice.

Even so, you and Connie didn’t speak to each other.

It only made your curiosity grow.

What exactly was he up to?

With all the time you had to look around, you noticed that several framed photographs throughout Connie’s home were pictures of him, Eren, and Jean throughout the years. Some pictures were older than others, and in those particular framed photos, a freckled boy was with them. In fact, he was in all of the photos from Connie’s childhood.

After spending some time in the indoor pool, and having a hot shower afterward, you walked down the hallway and started to approach Connie’s home office.

There, sitting at his desk, you spotted Connie.

For a while, he didn’t see you, and you simply watched him. He was typing away at his computer, shaking his leg as he sat in his black office chair.

Then, his eyes suddenly darted in your direction.

“Come here,” he said. You hesitantly stepped into his office. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he sighed.

“I just . . . wanted to see what you were doing.”

“Just ask me next time. Don’t act like a damn stalker.”

“Guess you’d know a thing or two about stalkers,” you thought.

After all, you concluded that he was the person who was behind every instance of stalking that you had been through lately, from phone calls to the break-in.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “Can I ask you a question?”

Connie simply looked at you.

“I’ve had some time to look around, and you have pictures from when you, Eren, and Jean were kids. You all looked so young and happy.” You paused. “Who’s the guy with the freckles?”

Connie’s facial expression changed. It was a look in between sadness and anger. He knew exactly what you wanted to know.

You wanted to know if there was some sort of connection between his current personality and the guy who suddenly vanished from the pictures. You were a smart woman, one who noticed that once he disappeared, so did the happy, goofy smiles.

“Marco.”

“Marco . . . oh.” You looked down at your feet. That name was uncomfortably familiar.

“Eren told you about him?” Connie asked.

“Mhm. He told me that you, him, and Jean had a friend who passed away. Didn’t really say anything else about it.”

“Passed away, huh?” Connie laughed sadly. “Like it was something that happened naturally?”

“What do you mean?” You looked back up at him, frowning in confusion.

“I killed him.”

Your eyes widened, and Connie casually rolled his eyes.

“Calm down, it wasn’t like that. It was an accident.”

“Sure,” you mumbled sarcastically. He did shoot a man recently, after all.

“It was.” Connie scratched his face. “Still went to jail. though. They sent me to an adult prison for four years.”

“When you were just a kid?”

Connie looked away from you as you spoke. It was difficult to make eye contact with you right now when the traumatic memories were pouring in, and he couldn’t stop it. It bothered him significantly more than he would let on.

“The shitty officers didn’t bother to keep me separated from them, either,” he muttered, and you could barely hear it. “It was fucking horrible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Connie looked back at you.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be.” His face was expressionless. “Not everyone behind bars is a goddamn monster. I met some people who taught me everything I needed to know about this shitty city. They’re the reason I am who I am. My money, my company, my power . . . owe it all to them.”

“Did they teach you how to be a horrible human being as well?”

As soon as those words left your mouth, and fell from between your lips regrettably, you tried to stammer out an apology.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Are you trying to piss me off again? Want a repeat of what happened last time?”

“No. I’m sorry. I speak before thinking sometimes and I . . . I didn’t mean it like that-”

“How the fuck else could you mean it?” Connie pushed himself away from his desk, but he didn’t get up from his chair. Not yet, at least.

Even as he raised his voice, that familiar face of anger never appeared.

And, because of that, you continued to risk speaking. You wanted to push him on purpose, attempt to figure out what was the purpose behind his odd acts of limited kindness.

“Those people taught you how to take advantage of the system that treated you like crap, I get it, but to turn your back on the people who have been there for you doesn’t make sense. Who taught you that treating your friends like shit was okay? Was it them as well?”

“I don’t treat them like shit. They’re richer than other artists who are all signed to fucked up record labels. The only time I have to treat them like shit is when they deserve it. When they act like fools as if they’re not representing me.”

“You honestly believe that you’re doing the right thing?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Really? You’re working on your eighty-seventh marriage and you wanna lecture me about being a good person? You cheat and get remarried every season, so shut the hell up.”

“Cheating isn’t good, I know that, but it’s not nearly as bad as the shit that you do.”

“See what happens when I let you have too much fucking freedom? You start to run your mouth like you forgot who you’re talking to.”

You frowned, but even so, you still proceeded to speak your mind. After all, he locked you away in your bedroom for speaking to him in a tone similar to how you spoke now, but at this moment, he still didn’t seem angry.

Truly angry.

“You can say whatever you want, but I can tell you’re not really angry with me. You would have tossed me back in a room if you were.” Despite your brave words, your hands were trembling as you tried to hide them behind your back. But Connie still didn’t move, and your curiosity only grew. “Why haven’t you?”

Connie’s eyes flickered away for just a moment, but not out of shyness or shame. It was because he was thinking.

“You’re right. I’m not really pissed with you. I also don’t understand you either.” Connie paused. “I wanna ask you something.”

“Okay . . .”

“You jump from guy to guy, I get that, it’s nothing new around here, but who the hell do you actually wanna be with?”

“Why do you care?”

It was obvious he was dodging your accusation about him not being angry with you, but you didn’t push any further.

“Because those dumbasses care about you enough to send someone to come get you away from me, and you’re a fucking cheater. And two of the men you messed around with I consider to be my best friends, despite everything,” Connie said.

“I think you’re just being nosey,” you teased with a humorous tone — one that he did not appreciate. “Fine. If you must know, it’s not as simple as loving one person. Everyone that I’ve been with has been wonderful and awful in their own way . . . or their presence has just been convenient to me at the time, I guess.”

“And yet, Reiner and Eren think I’m the asshole for making those divorces happen. I’m doing them a favor,” Connie smirked.

“Why do you care?” You asked once again. Now, you were the one who started to feel angry. “And don’t give me that same excuse from earlier. If you cared about Eren or Jean at all, you wouldn’t treat them like shit. You should know that at this point, they don’t give a damn about money anymore. They just wanna get away from you.”

“You talk too much.”

“Well, after you shot that man, I realized something.” You sat down in one of the chairs in front of Connie’s desk and looked into his eyes. “I realized that you wouldn’t hurt me like that. Ever. All because you need me more than I need you. That’s why you haven’t done a damn thing to me except keep me locked away and try to control me. How much longer do you think that’ll work, by the way? How much longer until fans start noticing that something’s wrong, or one of your friends decide to risk it all and speak out against you?”

Certainly, this would anger him. But it didn’t. Instead, Connie laughed once again. He could easily see why someone like you possessed the ability to have any man you wanted.

“You’re right. I won’t hurt you. Can’t keep you under my control much longer, either.” He glared at you as he spoke. “But I’m the only person you have in your life that isn’t after some sort of shitty ass romance. I’m the only person who cares about your career. You could easily have a home just as nice as mine. Everything I’m doing . . . all of my punishments . . . is to teach you the skills you need to turn your fifteen minutes of fame into a lifelong career in Hollywood. We’ll see who really has your back when you tell your lovers that the only person you really love is yourself. That they were all only convenient to you.”

You didn’t say another word.

Suddenly, Connie started to get out of his chair, and walk out of his office.

You reached out, grabbing his arm. It was as if loneliness had possessed you.

“Wait, Connie,” you said pathetically. “Don’t leave yet.”

Connie smirked and turned back around.

That was when you realized why he wasn’t angry with you — why he didn’t lock you away.

He was lonely too.

—

When Mikasa first received the desperate phone call from Reiner, she was at the gym.

The dark-haired woman slammed her gloved fists into a punching bag as if it were her biggest enemy. Sweat soaked her black sports bra. Her black headphones weren’t blaring her typical favorite songs in her ears, but instead, intense heavy metal and rock songs that weren’t exactly her cup of tea — until now. She was pissed off, and she needed to listen to singers scream out their lungs in ways that she couldn’t.

The next song that suddenly played proved that she should have followed Annie’s advice when the woman told her to organize her songs into separate playlists, as the new song wasn’t loud and angry. Instead, a beautiful voice came through. It was a song that Mikasa had heard everywhere.

In grocery stores.

In restaurants.

Even the gym had played it a couple of times.

It was one of your songs.

She saved all of your music, but even so, hearing your voice caught her off guard. She instantly dropped her fists, attempting to catch her breath.

Mikasa pulled her phone out of her black shorts, hovering her finger over the skip button — knowing that she was listening to music you were being forced to record was too painful — but then, she decided to open her Spotify and queue up a few more of your songs instead.

It was the only opportunity she had to hear your voice.

With an angry frown, she slammed her fists into her punching bag with double the amount of strength as before.

Connie’s face appeared in her scattered mind. For a moment, she pretended that she was striking him, her blows connecting with his jaw instead of the bag.

Then, she thought about everything and everyone. She was pissed off because she didn’t know how to help you.

She was pissed off because she was the one who led you down the path of fame in the first place.

She was pissed off with Eren and Levi for both being lucky enough to have you in some sort of way, which was all she wanted.

And she was pissed off about that too — falling for a heartbreaker.

Suddenly, her phone started to ring.

When she stopped punching the heavy bag and grabbed it, glancing down at the caller ID, her heart fluttered when Reiner’s name appeared across her screen.

“Maybe he’s calling to deliver good news,” she thought.

After all, she had heard that Levi was attempting to free you from CS Records.

“Hello?” She mumbled anxiously.

“Hey, Mikasa. Are you busy?” Reiner said through the phone.

“Not really,” she eyed her gloved fists, “I’m just at the gym. What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping we could talk. Can we meet somewhere in about, uh . . . fifteen minutes?”

“Sure,” Mikasa said. “Just text me where.”

“Okay, see you soon. Bye.”

After hanging up, Mikasa started to gather her belongings when her phone dinged from an incoming text message. Reiner had sent her the directions to a local cafe.

Slowly, she started to head towards the women’s locker room to get cleaned up. And, with every step she took, she fought to hold back tears.

If Reiner had good news to deliver, he would have done so over the phone. And she could hear the utter defeat in his voice.

Whatever he had to say was certainly not good news.

—

A little bell above the entrance of a little cafe — appropriately named Hut’s Heavenly Cafe & Coffee Shop — dinged gently when Mikasa stepped through the door.

She mumbled a quick greeting to the owner before locating Reiner sitting across the little restaurant.

It was a rather expensive shop, and because of that, other celebrities and millionaires frequently visited whenever they wanted to meet with someone or grew sick of having coffee in the comfort of their enormous mansions.

Either way, it wasn’t uncommon to find a famous actor like Reiner here, and he could enjoy himself without having to worry about being mobbed by fans.

Hurriedly, Mikasa made her way over to his table and sat down, her eyes wide as she eagerly waited for him to speak.

Glancing down, she saw that he had already ordered her a piping hot mug of black coffee.

“Levi’s plan fell through,” Reiner mumbled defeatedly, taking a sip of his cappuccino. “Connie shot the man who was supposed to get Y/N. He’s still alive, but . . . I don’t know where to go from here. I didn’t trust that group entirely to begin with, and now, they’ve just made things worse. I need your help.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Mikasa stared down at her warm drink.

“Please, Mikasa,” Reiner said with an unusually gruff voice, his words coated with exhaustion and desperation. “You gotta help me. We can’t give up that easily.”

“I’ve tried to help, Reiner. Do you think I’m relaxing at home, not doing anything at all?” Mikasa raised her head. “At the end of the day, if we aren’t careful, we could end up like Erwin, or worse.”

Reiner was startled; only just a bit. He couldn’t recall if he had ever seen Mikasa get so emotional before, but he cleared his throat, trying his hardest to keep his composure.

“I don’t care about my own life — just hers,” he said.

“That’s admirable, but if you die trying to free her, then what’s the point?”

“I hear you,” Reiner sighed. “He’ll just get her back, and it will have all been for nothing.”

Soft chatter from the few other customers in the shop — along with the gentle beeps from industrial coffee makers behind the front counter — filled the silence until Mikasa spoke up again.

“Do you forgive her for cheating on you? Genuinely?” Mikasa took a sip of her black coffee.

She had known Reiner long before you stepped into the picture; had asked him similar questions before regarding his last two relationships long ago.

“Yeah, I do. Call me a fool if you want, but I know who I married,” Reiner said confidently, which was something he didn’t do long ago.

“I see.” Mikasa was silent once again, but suddenly, she spoke up, another question popping up in her mind. “Reiner?”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you ask me to help you?”

“You’re the only person I know who cares about her and also hasn’t screwed her over in one way or another.” Reiner darted his eyes down to his spoon, picking it up as he stirred around his cappuccino. “Plus, you love her too, don’t you?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened.

“Wh-what? I . . .”

“It’s okay,” Reiner smiled softly. “You don’t have to deny it. Nothing to be embarrassed about, either. There’s just something about her that makes it easy for people to fall in love. I don’t get it.”

It was weird. How okay he was when it came to Mikasa being in love with his ex-wife.

It made Mikasa frown, as she knew that he was only this accepting of her feelings because he figured that she didn’t stand a chance.

That she wasn’t a threat.

He knew well that you didn’t want her.

Mikasa swallowed down the lump of sadness that started to form in her throat, and she said, “She was different before Hollywood ruined her completely. She wasn’t a mindless, soulless machine belonging to the entertainment industry at first. Having someone like her around in this town was like a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, well I-”

Suddenly, Reiner’s phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket. When he glanced down at the caller ID, his eyes widened for a second, but he put on his best Actor Face, hiding his emotions as he casually said, “Excuse me, I gotta take this,” before getting up from his seat and rushing outside.

—

“Hello?” Reiner said into the phone.

“Hi, Reiner.” Your sweet-sounding voice came through — it was as if an angel from heaven was speaking to him directly. The sound of your voice snapped his heart into pieces, but he couldn’t break down like he wanted to. He needed to figure out what was going on.

“Y/N? Are you alright? What’s going on?” He rushed out, frowning as he felt his heart pound rapidly against his chest.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

Releasing a shaky breath, Reiner sighed with relief.

“It’s good to hear your voice. I’ve missed you.” Reiner didn’t know for certain, but he felt as if he was pressed for time. While he wanted to tell you just how much he loved you, he needed to get some answers first. His head started to spin from utter confusion.

“Are you safe? No one’s hurt you, have they? Where’s Connie?”

“Reiner,” you said softly. “Can you meet me outside of CS Records tonight around ten?”

“Sure, I-”

“Okay, great. See you soon.”

His phone beeped three times as the call suddenly ended.

For a second, he stood there in shock.

It was you. It was really you.

But you didn’t sound . . .

You didn’t seem . . .

Reiner snapped himself out of his consuming thoughts and headed back inside the cafe.

Struggling to contain his emotions, Reiner’s heart was pounding wildly as he rushed out to Mikasa, “It was her. It was Y/N.”

“What?” The dark-haired woman said, louder than she should have, perhaps, as a few customers started to glare.

“She asked me to meet her at CS Records tonight. She sounded . . . I don’t know. It was weird.”

“I’m coming too.”

“Levi wouldn’t like that. I have a bad feeling-”

“You can’t stop me.” Mikasa stared into Reiner’s eyes as he sat down in his seat. “Are you going to tell everyone else?”

“Should I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t trust any of them except for Levi. I think it’s safer for me to keep quiet about this.”

“Why do you trust Levi? I don’t understand. He slept with your wife.” Mikasa frowned a bit.

“He also owned up to it and didn’t try to make any excuses. And everyone else seems like they’re only helping because they hope they can get another chance with her. He’s the only person who’s trying to free her because it’s the right thing to do.” Reiner’s eyes darted down to his cooled mug of cappuccino. “I can’t even sit here and act like I’m any better. I will always prioritize her safety over our relationship, but if she doesn’t want to be with me, I don’t know what I’ll do. I want her badly enough to overlook the cheating; isn’t that crazy?”

“Just be honest with yourself.” Mikasa blinked. “You don’t want to tell the others because you don’t want them to interfere. It’s not because you don’t trust them. It’s because you want her to yourself, and you’ll play dirty to accomplish that.”

“Well, let me ask you this, Mikasa,” Reiner started to frown. “Why won’t you fight for her? I mean, what’s holding you back from trying to earn her affection?”

“I’m not an idiot like the rest of you. I’m not going to chase someone who will just break my heart whenever someone new comes along. Not to mention she doesn’t feel the same way about me. I’m not joining in on that idiotic competition.”

“What if she did want you? What if there was the slightest chance that she could be yours? Would you join the . . . idiotic competition then?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s a heartbreaker.”

“True,” Reiner smiled sadly. “We’re all stupid for falling for her.”

“But no one is willing to move on,” Mikasa said. “Just . . . How far are you willing to go for her? And I don’t mean being brave enough to risk pissing off Connie, but what about the other guys?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

Mikasa sighed before speaking again.

“If it came down to it, would you sabotage Eren or Armin or any of them to better your chances of being the person she picks? Or would you respect her decision?”

“There won’t be any need to do any of that.” Once again, Reiner spoke confidently. “Our relationship was perfect at first, and it’ll be perfect again. I’m the one she’ll end up with. I know it.”

Mikasa didn’t say another word.

And, together, the two of them waited for ten o’clock to roll around.

—

Reiner and Mikasa arrived at one of the front public entrances of CS Records at 9:45 P.M., their entire car ride filled with silence as they were both too anxious to speak.

They didn’t know where to go exactly, seeing as CS Records had many entrances and they weren’t familiar with the building, but once they saw several figures standing outside of one of the many front doors, they figured that they were in the right place.

Reiner parked his car — horrifically, but he was impatient and filled with panic — and he and Mikasa quickly jumped out of the vehicle.

As they got closer, it became obnoxiously obvious who the shadowy figures belonged to.

“Did you tell them?” Reiner whispered to Mikasa.

“No,” She said.

Reiner and Mikasa walked up the stairs.

“You guys received a phone call too?” Armin questioned, his big blue eyes darting between Reiner and Mikasa.

“Yeah,” Reiner responded dryly.

“Good to see all of you.” As he lied, he looked at everyone who stood there, waiting for you.

Armin, Eren, Jean, and Levi.

“You weren’t stupid enough to show up without a gun, were you?” Eren asked.

“I have one,” Mikasa suddenly answered for Reiner, as she knew the big softie didn’t have any sort of weapon.

That’s when it hit him that this could very well be some sort of setup.

“Why are you here, Mikasa? It isn’t safe and this doesn’t concern you.” Levi stepped forward, glaring at his cousin, then at Reiner. He was already furious that he couldn’t drag her out of L.A. with Erwin. “Why’d you bring her?”

“She insisted,” Reiner said.

“I’m not a child, Levi. I can take care of myself. I didn’t receive a phone call, but Y/N’s my . . . my friend. So I’m staying here.”

Just as Mikasa finished speaking, a black vehicle arrived, one that was speeding down the sweet L.A. roads much too quickly.

It was Connie.

He got out of the car, but that usual death glare wasn’t present on his face. Then, he went to the passenger side and opened your door as if he was some sort of gentleman.

When you stepped out of the car, the group who stood there, waiting for you, all held their breaths.

God, they missed you.

You started to approach them, but Connie didn’t. Instead, he closed the passenger door, and got back in the car, but didn’t drive off.

No one said anything as you approached them.

They didn’t know what to say.

What exactly was going on?

Each of them scanned your figure. You looked fine. Healthy. You had a soft smile, one that silently said “I’m happy to see you all,” but your eyes were blank.

Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around Armin, hugging him tightly.

Even he was shocked. He hesitated before he hugged you back.

It was a tight hug, a comforting one; and he didn’t understand it. You hugged him as if you cared about him.

Did you?

When you released him, you looked deeply into the eyes of your childhood friend, and you touched his blonde hair, then stroked his soft cheek, smiling wholeheartedly as you did so.

He couldn’t speak, even if he knew what to say.

But you moved on to Eren — who stood beside him with a confused frown — all too soon.

Once you wrapped your arms around Eren’s neck, he instantly softened.

Unlike Armin, he didn’t waste a second before hugging you back as tightly as he could. He wanted to memorize everything about you. Your scent, the way your body felt against his — everything. And you tried to memorize everything about him as well.

Then, you hugged Reiner. He rubbed your back gently as you did so. He was confident that, unlike Armin and Eren, he would be able to speak, but once you touched him, his throat dried to a crisp.

You ran your hand across his muscular arm once you released him, and turned your attention to Levi. When you hugged Levi, he hesitated as well, only because he was trying to figure out what it meant. But, he held you gently, and as he did so, he could tell that you were trying to cherish this hug — trying to cherish him.

Truthfully, Jean was pleasantly surprised when you hugged him as well. He thought that, perhaps, it was simply out of kindness, that you didn’t want to leave him out, but when you suddenly squeezed him just a bit more tightly right before letting go, he knew that you truly wanted to hold him.

Mikasa received a hug that was just as loving, and she wanted to cry when she felt your kind touch. And she certainly never wanted to let go. You even touched her black hair softly as you pulled away.

Slowly, you walked back towards the middle.

“It’s nice to see all of you,” you said softly. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“What’s going on? What is this about?” Armin bravely asked the questions that the entire group was thinking.

“Well,” you looked down at your shoes. “I just wanted to tell all of you to leave me alone.”

“What?” Eren shouted.

“What are you talking about?” Levi added on.

“Just listen,” with a sigh, you looked back up at them, and spoke as if you weren’t shattering their hearts and flipping their minds. “I don’t need saving. I don’t need rescuing. Thank you for trying to help, but I’m fine. I’m staying with Connie voluntarily now-”

“You can trust us, we won’t let him hurt you,” Reiner spoke softly as if he was trying to gain the trust of a wounded animal.

“I’m being honest, Reiner. Connie would never hurt me.” You turned around, pointing at the car. “See how Connie’s the one driving? It’s just me and him. No Silent Men. He’s giving me a choice right now, and I can easily leave with one of you and not get back into that car. But I’m choosing Connie.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Eren shouted once again.

“Y/N — what the hell are you thinking? Why would you pick Connie?” Mikasa stepped forward, frowning as she did so.

“Because Connie cares about me and my career. He doesn’t just want me around for love.” Your smile faded. “I’m staying with him because he cares about something other than romance. I don’t expect any of you to understand.”

“You’re gonna stay with him?” Jean asked angrily, yet softly. “The guy who kept you locked away? Him?”

“That’s the way it is.” You looked at them — no, through them — as you spoke. “So, please, leave me alone now, and move on from me.”

You turned around, and you started to walk away.

Most of the group was too puzzled to shout out or grab ahold of you.

The other half was hoping that this was some sort of prank.

But you never turned back around. Instead, you got in the car, and you and Connie drove away.

They lost you. Again.

—

Several minutes passed before anyone found the desire to speak.

“She made her choice,” Armin said, breaking the silence. “She picked . . . Connie.”

“There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.” Eren slowly started to walk back and forth. “Why are we just standing here? Why are we letting her walk away and go back to that piece of shit? We should get in our cars and follow them.”

“She’s not endangered anymore. If she picked him, we have to respect her decision-”

“Fuck that,” Jean interrupted Armin, putting his hands in his pockets as he frowned. “Did you really fall for that shit? Connie must’ve made her do this. Don’t tell me any of you would put it past him.”

“You guys don’t know her like I do. I really think she meant it. I think we should just . . . go home. It’s over.” Armin said sadly.

“And how exactly do you know that?” Levi asked, equally as pissed off as everyone else.

“She had that look in her eyes. It was the same look she gave me when she told me she was leaving me. That look means she’s serious.” Armin paused. “She could be suffering from Stockholm-”

“I don’t care if she wants to be with Connie or not. I’m not giving up,” Reiner interrupted.

“You’re not going to respect her decision? Assuming it is hers?” Mikasa looked up at Reiner. Her question was not truly about whether or not you wanted to be with Connie, but if Reiner would have intervened if you picked someone else from the group.

“No. For me, it didn’t matter who she picked. I didn’t plan on backing down, and I won’t. If the rest of you are so eager to give up already, then you don’t deserve her in the first place.”

A moment of silence passed. Just like that, Mikasa had an answer to the question she asked him at the cafe — a real answer.

“What the hell happened to you, Reiner?” Levi spoke up, his back facing the man he was talking to. “You’re letting your true colors show now, aren’t you? None of us should be worried about her relationship status right now. We should be worried about her going home with someone who held her hostage and shot a man.”

“Think she’s any safer with you?” Jean suddenly started to speak. “You beat the shit out of me for writing a song. You also break the law to get what you want whenever it suits you. You’re hardly any better.”

“Cut it out, Jean,” Mikasa said. She tried.

“As if you have room to talk,” Levi responded to Jean bitterly. “You can’t blame Connie for every shitty thing you did. Y/N wouldn’t wanna be with a piece of shit like you.” Suddenly, Levi started to raise his voice. He started to lose his composure — something that was scarcely possible. “Why the fuck are you even here? Do you really think you have a shot?”

“You only got your shot because she was drunk and emotional. She doesn’t even look your way when she’s thinking straight.”

Levi started to make his way towards Jean. Both Mikasa and Reiner held their arms out, holding back the angry man.

“Woah, hey, everyone calm down,” Reiner said.

“Listen, why don’t we all just go home-”

“If you wanna give up on her, Armin, that’s fine, but stop trying to convince the rest of us to do the same,” Eren said, but not as angrily as he would have if he was talking to someone who wasn’t Armin.

“I just want her to be happy,” Armin frowned.

“Dude, respectfully, shut up.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Eren glared at Jean.

“We shouldn’t argue with each other. Connie’s the problem, and we all know it. What are we gonna do about him?” Mikasa darted her eyes between everyone standing around, and no one spoke up for a moment until Eren interrupted the silence.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Eren, no-”

“Why not?” Eren said to Armin.

“Because you’ll go to prison. And murder is wrong.”

“If we don’t do something, none of us will be free from his torment,” Levi suddenly concluded.

“Levi, don’t tell me you agree with killing the man,” Mikasa looked at her cousin, who didn’t respond immediately. “Levi?”

“If you even hurt him, let alone kill him, Connie won’t need to use his influence to ruin your lives. You’ll do it yourselves,” Mikasa raised her voice.

Killing wasn’t the answer. It was insane.

“So we should just let him control and threaten us until we die or something?” Eren looked over at the woman. “He shot someone, he held people hostage, he gets people beaten up, he tried to hurt my goddamn mom. We can’t send him to jail, we all know that won’t fucking work, so what else should we do? I’d love to know.”

“Don’t you realize what’s happening?” Jean paused. “Y/N bringing all of us here to tell us to back off was our last warning. If we leave her alone, then maybe . . . maybe Connie will leave us alone.”

“What? You’re giving up now too?” Eren frowned at Jean, who was lost in thought for a moment.

“Did you all mean what you said in Armin’s apartment? That you’d fight for her even if it meant losing everything, or worse? Because this is our chance to save our careers and protect the people we care about . . . if we just let her go.”

“Okay,” Eren rolled his eyes once Jean concluded his speech. “Sounds like you’re giving up, so . . . bye.”

“Eren, don’t be stupid. She doesn’t want you, and now is your chance to go back to being an artist with millions of fans, a big ass mansion, and fucking any woman you want,” Jean retorted.

“I don’t want that anymore. How many times do I gotta say that?”

“Then what about your mom? I care about her too, you know. Think he won’t try to go after her again?” Jean took a few steps closer to Eren. “You should back out considering you’re the reason we’re in this mess. You won’t shut the fuck up and do what you’re told. Connie only got his hands on Y/N because she was being punished for trying to cover your ass.”

“So, you want me to bow down to a man who was only pissed at me in the first place because I beat your ass in public for sticking your filthy fucking hand down my wife’s pants?” Eren took a few steps closer to Jean. He reached into his hair, tightening his loose, low man bun. “Want me to do it again? Is that it?”

“I’m so tired of you acting like a bitch when things don’t go your way,” Jean clenched his fist.

“You have a lot of nerve calling me a bitch when you’re throwing a fit because I don’t enjoy having Connie’s dick in my mouth like you do-”

Suddenly, Jean’s fist connected with Eren’s cheek. The impact of his knuckles smashing into his bandmate’s face was strong enough to almost knock Eren off of his feet, and he stumbled back before finding his footing again.

“I’m sick of you, I’m so goddamn sick of you! You act like such a damn child when you don’t get your way. You’re fucking blessed with everything you could ever want except for one fucking girl, and it still isn’t enough-”

Jean was interrupted by Eren swinging at him with a punch of his own. By then, Reiner wrapped his arms around Eren’s — who tried to punch Jean once again — and he held him back, while Levi restrained Jean.

“That same girl could have been yours if you didn’t do everything Connie forced you to do, and now she hates you because you were too much of a pussy to say no to Connie. See how he couldn’t force me to make a song about her? That’s called having balls.”

“Eren, calm down,” Reiner gritted his teeth. He was a bigger man than Eren — both taller and buffer — but he had to use all his strength to hold the other man back.

“We’ll see if you’ll say the same thing when something bad happens to your mom because you keep messing with him,” Jean shouted, “because I remember you almost started kissing Connie’s boots when he was fed up with your ass and was about to head to your house.”

“Stop it,” Levi adjusted his grip around Jean. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Eren managed to pull himself away from Reiner. However, he didn’t launch at Jean as everyone expected. Instead, he pressed his thumb against his bleeding lip.

“Connie’s not gonna do a damn thing to my family, and he’s not gonna have Y/N either. She belongs to me-”

“Slow down,” Reiner frowned as Eren turned to face him. “She isn’t yours. What you had was just a result of manipulation and confusion. What she and I had was real.”

“Is that why she cheated on you too?” Eren glared at Reiner with eyes that were as dark as the night sky above them.

“She cheated on me because she was drunk and having a bad night. She cheated on you because you made her feel lonely and unwanted because of what Jean was doing.”

Levi wanted to interrupt. But, was Reiner right? Would the relationship between the two of you amount to nothing except drunk sex on his couch?

Armin simply stared at the ground. He felt silly for even hoping that he could win you back. But you hugged him first, and longer than you hugged anyone else. Why? What for?

Did you miss him? Any of them? Or were you truly falling for Connie Springer?

Suddenly, Mikasa started to walk away.

“Woah, where the hell are you going?” Jean called.

“At this hour, I’m assuming Connie only has about two of his Silent Men at his house, if any. If things get ugly, well, I have a gun too-”

“Wait,” Levi reached out, grabbing Mikasa’s arm before she could descend the steps. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to his house. I’m going to see if she really wants to stay with Connie, or if she needs help. I’m tired of this. I don’t care who she wants to date, I only care about her safety, and I’m not convinced that any of you idiots can say that. Any of you.”

“I’m coming with you,” Levi said. “You know I care about her safety too, and yours. This could get ugly. Connie shot Erwin. He won’t hesitate to shoot me or you.”

“I’m coming too,” Eren approached Mikasa and Levi.

“We should all go,” Folding his arms across his chest, Reiner looked at Jean and Armin. “Are you two in? If we all go, especially if most of us have guns, Connie won’t be able to stop us. We were idiots for letting her walk away in the first place, but we’ll get her back.”

Jean and Armin nodded in agreement.

As the group headed for their cars, each of them couldn’t help but wonder if they would truly get you back, and which one of them you truly loved.

As they headed towards Connie’s home in their individual cars, the group also wondered if anyone would lose their life tonight.

But, as Levi eyed the glove compartment where he kept his gun, he only thought about one thing: the words you discreetly whispered in his ear when you hugged him . . .

“I’m pregnant.”

— ♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

— 🎟: @consuming-karma @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @nanamochii @bunny2612 @cupids-soul @crazychaoticizzy @ramonathinks @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @lovelyless-fiction @svftackerman @musegonemad @moonmalice @inciteterr0r @honeybleed @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan @beaniebanby @anonymousme23 @theitchbbbb @skit-brentfaiyaz @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @magictrump @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches @sasha-glass @getwaves @deluluvibes @p3nislawd @emery-333

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jrob64 · 1 year ago

Text

A Love/Hate Relationship - a CS modern AU one-shot

I wrote this story because I was in need of fluff, humor and hurt/comfort after the painful experience of losing two dogs in less than a year. Zeke, who was in my story Sowing Seeds of Trust, died of cancer last June. Two months later, we adopted Winston, who was the main character in Pet for Rent. Somehow, he swallowed part of a brush (while he wasn't at home) which perforated his intestines and caused internal bleeding. He died May 23. Writing my favorite trope for my favorite couple is therapeutic for me as I deal with my heartbreak.

Many thanks to @kmomof4 and @hookedmom.

Summary: Killian Jones' neighbor, Emma Swan, has hated him since the first day they met. When she finds out he came down with the flu and attempts to nurse him back to health, he's more than a little confused.

Rating: T

Words: 2582

Also posted to ffn and Ao3

Story is under the cut

*********

Killian Jones buried his face in a pillow and pulled it up over his head in an attempt to stop the incessant pounding. After several painful moments, he realized the noise wasn’t in his head, but was coming from the front door of his apartment.

Groaning, he tossed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting with his head in his hands for a short while. When he finally got to his feet, he swayed dizzily and stumbled into the door frame, leaning against it to try to regain his balance.

He eventually made his way across the living room, unlocked the deadbolt and threw the door open. “What?” he demanded loudly, regretting it immediately when a sharp pain shot behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut before even registering who was on the other side of the door.

“Jones, how many times do I have to tell you to…Wow! You look like hell.”

Killian cracked his eyes open enough to see his neighbor from across the hall, Emma Swan. Infuriating to the highest degree and just as beautiful, she was the last person he wanted to see while he was in his current state. The two of them had a love/hate relationship…minus the love.

They had gotten off on the wrong foot when he moved in a little over a year ago. Unaware that she was a police officer who worked the night shift, he woke her up shouting orders at the movers. Emma Swan was not a morning person, especially after working an eight hour shift on the streets of Boston, and she informed him of it in no uncertain terms.

After that day, every interaction between them was filled with tension and snarkiness. Killian wished they could go back to when they met and start over again, because he knew she was basing her hatred of him on that first impression. In all honesty, he was quite intrigued by the fierce blonde and would like to know if there was a sweet or funny side of her she kept hidden very deep inside. Very, very deep.

Now she was here, standing at his door, scrutinizing him like a bug squashed on the bottom of her shoe. “Hangover?” she smirked.

He sighed. “I have the flu, Swan. It’s been going around at the office and I wasn’t lucky enough to avoid it. Now, if you’re done yelling at me, is there something I can help you with? If not, I’d really like to go back to bed.”

She took a step forward and unexpectedly pressed her palm to his forehead, then both hands to his unshaven cheeks. “You’ve got a fever.”

“Usually accompanies the flu. Now if you’ll…”

“Do you have medicine?”

“No, I…”

“Have you eaten? Are you drinking plenty of fluids?”

“I haven’t…”

“How long have you had it? Have you seen a doctor?”

Killian rested his pounding head against the door. “Must you use your interrogation techniques on me? I haven’t committed a crime, you know.”

“I’m trying to help,” she said, clearly offended.

“I could use less help and more sleep,” he grumbled.

“Yes, good,” she said, pushing past him into his apartment. “Go back to bed and I’ll get you something to drink. Do you want water, juice or…”

“More questions, Swan? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“All you have to drink is water, Dr. Pepper Zero and beer?” she asked, peering into his refrigerator. Closing it, she straightened up and began opening cupboards. “Do you have tea bags? British people like to drink tea, don’t they?”

He knew it would hurt his head to roll his eyes, so he simply threw up his hands and trudged off to his bedroom. Behind him, he could hear Emma celebrating the fact that she’d located the tea bags.

He had just gotten back to sleep, when he was shaken awake. “What now?” he growled, flopping onto his back.

“I made some tea and found Advil in your medicine cabinet. You need to drink something and get these pills in you.”

He raised his head and blinked up at her blearily. “You went through my medicine cabinet?”

“Yeah. Did you know condoms have an expiration date? The ones you have in there expired almost two years ago. Better not use them, because they’re likely to break.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, letting his head drop back down on his pillow. “Please just let me die.”

“You aren’t gonna die from the flu, Jones.”

“I meant from embarrassment,” he muttered under his breath.

“Sit up,” she commanded, sliding her arm under his pillow and pushing until he did as he was told.

First, she handed him a bottle of water. After glaring at her for several seconds, he finally took it, then swiped the two pills she held in her other palm. He popped them into his mouth and downed them with the water.

“Happy now?” he asked.

“Deliriously,” she quipped. “Now drink your tea.”

He accepted the mug she offered him and held it to his lips. Cautiously taking a sip, he grimaced and spit it back into the cup. “Did you heat the water at all? It’s barely warm! And how bloody much sugar did you put in it?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to burn your mouth,” she explained haughtily. “And I put in the same amount of sugar as I put in my coffee. Four spoonfuls.”

“Four?” he questioned. “Are you trying to kill me, or just give me diabetes?”

“You’re not a very good patient, Jones. You could at least be grateful that I’m helping you.”

“If you recall, I didn’t ask for your help.”

She ignored him, fluffing his pillow and pushing at his chest to get him to lay back down. “I found a can of chicken noodle soup in your cupboard. I’m going to heat it up.”

“Don’t add any sugar to it,” he groused, as she walked out of the bedroom, taking the tepid cup of tea with her.

“I heard that,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Of course she heard that, but didn’t hear when I told her to leave me alone,” he mumbled into his pillow. He tossed and turned, knowing that if he went to sleep, the maddening woman would just wake him up again.

Sure enough, she was back at his bedside within ten minutes, carefully carrying a plate containing a steaming bowl of soup and a small stack of saltine crackers. He sat up before she could order him to, and took the plate from her.

“You didn’t add anything to this, did you?” he asked.

“Nope, I just heated it up,” she assured him.

He dipped the spoon into the soup, blew on it and put it in his mouth, then promptly choked and sputtered. “Bloody hell, Swan! Didn’t you add any water to this?”

“Why would I add water?” she asked, a confused frown forming on her face.

“Because Campbell’s soup is condensed. It’s too salty this way. Adding extra water dilutes it enough that it tastes like soup is supposed to taste, rather than tasting like…like the ocean. Haven’t you ever made soup from a can before?”

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest petulantly. “I make Progresso soup all the time, but I never add water to it.”

“Progresso soup isn’t condensed. This is.” He took the stack of crackers, then thrust the plate back towards her. “I’ll just eat these, thanks very much. Now that you’ve tended to me, you can leave me in peace.”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” she asked.

Was that concern he saw on her face? Surely not. Emma Swan would never be concerned about him. It would be more realistic if she were to try to poison him. Perhaps he should have been more careful eating and drinking what she gave him.

Shaking his head slightly to try to clear those thoughts, he said gruffly, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s not like you really helped anyway.”

This time, he thought he saw a flash of hurt cross her face, before she turned and left the room. Soon he heard the front door close.

He couldn’t have really seen Emma Swan look concerned and hurt, could he? Great. Now he was going to have to add hallucinations to his list of symptoms.

He ate the crackers, then lay down and turned onto his side, tugging the blanket up around his shoulders. He was achy and feverish, but it was the guilt over how he treated his apparently well-meaning neighbor that kept him from falling asleep.

*********

Three days later, after his fever had been broken for twenty-four hours, Killian went back to work. Upon returning home at the end of the day and getting his keys out to unlock his apartment, the door across the hall opened and Emma stepped out.

“Oh, hey Jones. Looks like you recovered, no thanks to me.”

Killian rubbed his finger behind his ear. “I owe you an apology, Swan. I was rude and should have never said what I did.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s no big deal. I guess I’ll never be a Florence Nightingale.” Turning on her heel, she muttered, “See ya around.”

“Swan…Emma, wait,” he called out, hurrying after her.

She turned around. “What?” she huffed.

“I, uh, I truly am sorry. It was very kind of you to try to help me, but…”

“But what?”

“But why did you do that? I mean, given the fact you hate me…”

“I don’t hate you,” she interrupted.

“Really? You could have fooled me.”

Emma stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and looked down at the floor for several long moments. When she finally looked up, he was shocked to see the vulnerability on her face.

“Look… I’m not good with…people,” she said softly. “And I’m also not good at admitting when I’m wrong.”

She paused and he waited patiently, wondering where she was going with this.

“None of the people I know would be concerned enough to check on me if I called in sick to work. You’ve lived here long enough for me to realize that…that you don’t seem to have anyone like that, either. I never see anyone coming or going on a regular basis - besides the pizza delivery guy, but I don’t think he counts.”

Killian chuckled dryly. “You’re very observant, Swan.” He paused for a moment, debating whether he should open up to her as she was to him. “And you’re also correct,” he added finally. “I moved here from England when I was transferred for my job, and I don’t have any close friends yet.”

She nodded. “I figured it was something like that. The day you moved in, I was…well, to put it bluntly, I was a bitch. And, as I said, I’m not good at apologizing, so I just let things go on being…uncomfortable. When I saw that you were sick the other day, I thought it was my chance to make things better between us, but I screwed that up, too. I just…I guess I wanted to let you know that you didn’t have to be alone while you were suffering - that there was someone who cared. I…I’m sorry I made things worse.”

“You didn’t make things worse,” he assured her. “I appreciate the effort. Actually, if you think about it, it was really quite comical.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And they do say laughter is the best medicine, so your failed attempts at helping are probably what cured me so quickly.”

Seeing the grin on his face, the corners of her own mouth turned up a bit. “You’re an idiot, Jones.”

He took a step closer. “How about if we start over, Emma? It would be nice to have a friend living across the hall.”

She eyed him, chewing her lip in contemplation. Then she held her hand out to him. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

He reached forward to give her hand a firm shake. “Killian Jones. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan.”

She smiled and he was amazed at how it transformed her already lovely face. They stood awkwardly for several moments, until Killian said, “Well, I should let you go. Were you on your way to work?”

“Oh, uh, no. I was just going to get something to eat.”

He rubbed his hand along his jaw, dropping his eyes as he asked, “Would you, um…would you like some company?” Looking back up, he saw her eyes widen and hurried to add, “Just as a friend. As you well know, I don’t have much to eat in my apartment.”

She snorted out a laugh. “You still have more than I do at my place.” Turning away from him once again, she said, “If you’re sure, you’re welcome to join me. I was just gonna go to the diner around the corner. Tonight’s special is grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“Ah, greasy diner food,” he said, beginning to follow her. “You do know if you keep eating that stuff, your arteries are going to be filled with sludge.”

She chose to ignore him as she started down the stairs. “They have the best hot chocolate, too.”

“How much sugar do you add to it?” he grinned.

She glared at him over her shoulder. “No sugar, just cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon in hot chocolate? Sounds…interesting.”

She stopped on the landing and turned to look at him. “If you’re gonna make fun of my preferences for food and drink, you’re uninvited.”

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he said, “I meant no offense, Swan. Perhaps I’ll even give your…unique concoction a try.”

That meal led to another, and many more. Soon they added regular coffee dates. Gradually, at Killian’s urging, Emma tried and eventually acquired a taste for black coffee, no sugar. Even more gradually, at Emma’s urging, Killian acquired a taste for greasy diner food.

Six weeks after Emma’s attempt to nurse Killian back to health, they went on their first official date. Killian was very happy to discover that Emma Swan did indeed have both a sweet and funny side. They realized they had many things in common, as they talked during their dinner at one of Boston’s most renowned restaurants, then walked along the waterfront.

At the conclusion of the date, they shared a kiss outside her apartment door, which opened both of their eyes to the fact that there was a significant spark of attraction between them. As they continued to date, the spark ignited into a blazing flame. (They made sure to replace the expired condoms in Killian’s medicine cabinet, once it was obvious they were going to put them to use.)

They became each other’s ‘person’ - someone to laugh with, cry with, share everything with, and nurse back to health when the need arose. By the following winter, when the flu made its way through Killian’s office once again, he had his own live-in nurse, whose skills were much improved from the previous year.

By that time, they still had a love/hate relationship…but now, it was minus the hate.

*********

A couple of fun notes:

-Colin was drinking a Dr. Pepper Zero during the Meet & Greet I went to at GalaxyCon in Columbus last year.

-At another con several years ago, Jen admitted she never drank black coffee until Colin got her hooked on it. (No pun intended!)

*********

Thank you for reading.

Tagging:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4 @hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda

@pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426

@julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones

@zaharadessert @lyssapup27 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines

@hollyethecurious @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @caught-in-the-filter @stahlop @veryverynotgoodwrites @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @whimsicallyenchantedrose @earanemith @superchocovian @idristardis @captainswan-kellie @beckettj

#a love/hate relationship #cs one shot #CS modern AU #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #hurt/comfort #enemies to lovers #neighbors to lovers #csff #captain swan fanfic

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thatbennybee · 9 months ago

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I'm not sure if anyone has mentioned this (probably), I have dookie memory, anyway, Sweet but Psycho by Ava Max, definitely reminds me of CS Poppy, I was just listening to it right now and couldn't help but think of an animatic for it

Do you think you would ever do an animatic for any of your AUs? If soo, I'd like to see you do Sweet but Psycho with CS Poppy :]

I think it suits her somewhat but I feel like it's a bit on the nose, plus I've heard that song played more than I heard my own name LMAO

I have thought about it though. Serial Heartbreaker (FLETCHER) or How to be a Heartbreaker (MARINA) might be a bit better

EDIT: YES I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT AMVS EEE I WANNA DO ONE SO BAD

#askbee #cs!asks

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teamhook · 3 months ago

Text

A Chapter a Day... Savage Heart CS AU

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the always amazing @ilovemesomekillianjones

Cover by the sweet @xhookswenchx

|A03| |FFN|

Chapter 2: The First Born Son and a Rebirth

~~~Flashback

Brennan Booth, a wealthy landowner that owns most of Misthaven sits in his favorite leather chair reviewing some estate documents that were left pending by the unexpected death of his steward. Suddenly there is an urgent knock on the door.

"Enter," he says, and his wife, Cora, promptly enters.

"You have a visitor," Cora says.

Brennan looks up to see his longtime friend, Archie.

"Brennan, John is dying and he is calling for you."

Brennan scoffs. "What would John need to speak to me about? We are far from friends."

Archie answers, "You have Madeline in common, or have you forgotten about her?"

Brennan looks up to his friend and gets up to respond. "Fine, let's go see what that lowlife wants to see me about."

They leave his house on foot and take to the street, walking at a fast pace, both lost in thought. Brennan remembers Madeline fondly. She was such a beautiful woman, possessed a smile that brightened the darkest days. He would never understand how Madeline Jones ended up married to a wretch like John Long.

"We are here," Archie suddenly says.

They stand in front of a shack that barely seems suitable for housing animals, much less a family. The thought of Madeline withering away in a place like this fills Brennan with guilt. He should have fought for their love, but in the end, they both settled for people who never truly loved them, he was nothing but a coward.

They knock on the door and slowly enter when no one answers.. There is a man lying on a cot, thin and brittle. If Brennan wasn't aware of where they are, he might not have recognized the man before him.

"You sent for me?" Brennan asks curtly. He turns around when the door to the home bursts open, and a boy barely older than his son August enters.

"Who are you?" the boy asks looking between the men.

John's eyes dart from the boy to Brennan. "Killian, get out! I have business with them."

The boy, Killian, walks to the door and before leaving the shack glances back at the men one last time.

John glares at Brennan and goes on. "Must I say the words?"

Brennan looks at him and shakes his head. "What are you talking about? You wanted to see me. Here I am."

"You must be blind if you do not see the resemblance. Killian is your son. The son you sired with my wife. Madeline tried to pass him as mine, but the older the boy got, the more I could see the man that had an affair with my wife. We both saw it, and where she loved Killian for being a part of you. I hate him for it," John says.

"Madeline would never have kept this from me! She would have found a way to let me know of his existence!" Brennan screams at the man.

John only laughs before replying, "What makes you think she didn't try? She hoped to her last breath that you would come to rescue her and that little bastard son of yours. The truth of the matter is, she was not good enough for you. Madeline went to see you and was welcomed to your home by your pregnant high-class wife, the one that was good enough for you to give your name. She was heartbroken once more by your actions and settled for me.

"I never confronted her, so she always wondered why I was so cruel to Killian when I loved Liam so wholeheartedly. When the heartbreak finally was too much to bear for her and she was too weak to care for the boys, we decided to send Liam away to be with my sister. She wanted to send Killian too, but I told her that my sister would not be able to handle both of them. Killian was three years old when Madeline passed. The truth is, Killian did not belong with my sister, or here for that matter. For years I have had to take care of him, and he's not even my blood!"

"He is truly my son?" Brennan asks to no one in particular, standing in disbelief in front of the man that destroyed his lost love. He has a son, another son to be exact. Killian, is his first-born.

A fit of coughs take over John, and the frail man looks to Brennan before taking his final breath, hoping that his last confession will be enough to redeem him.

"What are you going to do? Cora will not welcome Killian," Archie asks.

Brennan knows his friend is right. "I will tell her he is the son of the steward of my estate, who recently died. She doesn't bother getting to know anyone she considers below her class. I will say August is lonely and since she can no longer have any more children, he will be August's playmate."

After discussing what arrangements need to be made for the deceased man, Brennan and Archie head outside to collect Killian. They tell him that John has passed away and has asked for Brennan to take Killian in.

Killian is confused that his father has attempted to make any sort of arrangement because the man has never shown any form of love towards him, but he accepts the story since he has nowhere else to go.

As months pass by, Killian and August bond, they truly act like brothers. Brennan tells Cora he wishes to adopt Killian to give him a better chance, but Cora doesn't like the idea. She tells Brennan that he needs to send Killian away because he is a bad influence on August, but she is unable to deter him, and he adopts Killian.

Why would her husband want to give his last name to a nobody? Cora is not blind, she sees the way Brennan looks at the boy and decides to confront him. "Brennan tell me the truth! Who is Killian to you?" Cora yells.

He looks at her and finally answers. "Killian is my firstborn. He is a Booth, and I want him to be an equal to August in every way, that is why I gave him my last name." He picks up a folder from the desk and holds it up towards his wife. "All there is left for me to do is to update my will and then August and Killian will have equal rights to my fortune."

A sharp boom of thunder rumbles outside, coinciding with Cora as she snaps, livid with her husband's decision. "There is no way in hell that bastard will have the same rights as my son!"

Tucking away the documents in his breast pocket, Brennan ignores his wife and heads to the stables. He mounts his horse and urgently rides away. He pays no mind to the weather, or anything except that he needs to get these documents to his friend and lawyer Archie.

As he rides through the pouring rain, a flash of lightning catches his attention. By the time he glances back to the path in front of him it is too late, a fallen tree blocks his path. Brennan tries to get his horse to jump it, but instead the horse's front hooves catch on the felled trunk and both rider and horse are thrown precariously through the air.

Brennan is found lying unconscious by a good samaritan. Archie who had been on his way out to see the Booth family, curious as to how the adjustment was going with a new son living in the home came across his friend and the man trying to help. Once Archie and the good samaritan get Brennan back home a doctor is summoned, and the samaritan takes his leave. Cora sits by her still unconscious husband's side and discreetly searches for the papers that will secure her future fortune.

The doctor uses smelling salts to revive Brennan and he regains consciousness, but after a quick assessment of the bruising taking over the injured man's body, the doctor knows he will be unable to stop the internal bleeding in time."

"It'd be wise to get your affairs in order," the doctor says gravely.

Brennan frantically calls for August as he realizes this may be his only chance to pass on the truth that Killian is his true son.

Brennan is quickly deteriorating when August rushes to his bedside.

"What is it, Father," August asks, taking his father's hand in his own.

With his last breath, Brennan is able to say, "August, please take care of Killian." The lasts words Brennan Booth says to his youngest son are not the ones he had hoped to utter.

With Brennan Booth's sudden death, Cora, always a clever conniver formulates a quick plan.

"August, please send Mr. Hopper back in, I need to discuss a few things with him. Once you have done that please go to Killian and tell him what's happened."

August complies with his mother's wishes. As Cora sits staring at her husband's lifeless body she decides she must get rid of the only other person that knows of her late husband's illegitimate son.

Archie arrives at the door and knocks quietly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, this will be quick, no need to get comfortable. You are fired. You can go now." Cora states coldly.

Archie just stands there looking at her as she gets up from her chair and leaves him behind.

By day's end August is the sole heir to the Booth fortune, Killian has been sent away without August's or Archie's knowledge, and Cora is already contemplating her next move upon society.

~~~Rebirth

Time never stays still. Years pass by and Killian grows up out on the streets of the port-town, unloved, and in the company of sailors and pirates. He has so few happy memories. The only time he had felt like his luck had changed for at least a brief moment was during his time with the Booth's. That was the closest he had ever been to having a family after the passing of his mother.

His father had always treated him with hatred, but his father's final moments puzzled him. Why would he ask Mr. Booth to give him a home? He seemed like a different man at the time of his death, his final request did not seem like the man that had raised him without love and guidance, in poverty and neglect and never gave him his last name. Some questions would stay unanswered.

As a young man Killian became part of Edward Teach's crew, a known pirate. He moved up quickly in the ranks. He grew to enjoy drinking, women and especially the rush of being an outlaw. He won Teach's position as Captain of The Jolly Roger at a young age in a duel. The crew of the Jolly Roger rejoiced in the new life their young captain breathed upon them.

The lost boy and fatherless son of Madeline Jones thus became a ruthless, womanizing pirate. His dastardly reputation harbored him an unbound loyalty with his men. Killian renounced the last name Brennan Booth had given him before he too abandoned him. Killian embraced his mother's last name because in reality, she had been the only one that had truly loved him. He was simply Captain Killian Jones from that day on.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @courtorderedcake @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @nikkiemms @djlbg @jennjenn615 @officerrogers @scientificapricot

#Captain Swan #cs ff #CS Mafia #CS Crew #teamhook SavageHeart

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brucethegirl · 6 months ago

Text

I've been reading a lot of fics lately, I want to read more. But here's some of my favorites I've read recently:

Complete

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke

Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. AU Dark Hook in original curse

Make A Wish

Stuck in the Enchanted Forest after her wish was granted, Emma seeks out Killian. She doesn't expect what she finds. Canon divergence from 6x11 on

Christmas Wars: A New Hope

The last thing Emma Swan expects when she shows up for her sister's destination Christmas wedding is to find an irresistible groomsman with all the right looks and all the wrong opinions - about everything. But there's something beneath the bickering, something a lot softer than it seems on the surface, and Emma and Killian both find a new hope after heartbreak and loss. AU contemporary

No More Interruptions

She hadn't seen him in five years. Five years since her parents had interrupted them when they both had been on the cusp on moving beyond just being friends. Five years of wondering if he ever thought of her or even cared anymore. Now it was her birthday and he was back, making her question everything. (Captain Swan AU, Lieutenant Duckling verse. One-Shot)

Breathless

Emma and Killian share more than just a heart. Smut that turns really emotional and intense trauma discussion Canon divergent season 5.

The Legend of Captain Killian Jones

Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse. A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts. AU Contemporary and ghosts

A Case of You

A "Practical Magic" AU in which Killian is a twice-cursed witch who's home after a murder, Emma is a single mom and deputy that's new to town, and their paths cross in ways they never expected.

A Gentleman Never Tells

Right after saving Henry in Neverland, Pan puts Emma under a Sleeping Curse that only romantic love can break. Hook's kiss wakes her, but in the confusion of the moment, it appears to everyone else, including Emma, that it was Neal's kiss that woke her. As the group celebrates and Hook empties his flask alone, he can't help thinking it is better this way.

Incomplete

When I Saw Your Face

Emma escapes the castle at night to experience the kingdom she will one day, reluctantly, rule and meets a pirate captain who might be more than he seems. AU princess/pirate

like if cleopatra grew up in a small town

Henry needs a dad. That's fine. Emma can deal with that. The problem? Neal wants more. The second problem? Emma keeps running into Hook and, despite trying to keep it friendly between them, finds herself falling in love.

You, Me, and Who You Used to Be

After getting her parents back on track, Emma’s magic returns. But before she can conjure a portal home, Killian is abducted. Alone in a world she knows nothing about and with no idea how to find Killian, Emma enlists the only person—or rather, pirate—who would be as motivated to save Killian as she is. However… Killian’s past may just be what destroys the future. CS Movie Divergence

Darkness Will Be Rewritten

A delay of five minutes can alter someone's destiny entirely. Imagine what a delay of eighteen years might do. The first eighteen years of Emma's life is a black void. And after ten years of having no memories for those years, a boy shows up at her door, claiming he's her son. He takes her to Storybrooke and she finds herself staying, trying to deny the connection she feels not only to the boy, but also to the fisherman he hangs out with that smells like rum and has eyes that remind her of a home she can't even remember. (While this is complete, the sequel is not)

To Read

Uncharted Neverland

Princess Emma swan saviour to her people is trapped in a dangerous island with no escape, were she meets Captain Hook known pirate, his mission is to find a lost fortune on the uncharted island, this treasure may also hold the key to escaping Neverland. CS AU princess/pirate

#captain swan #my own rec list #fanfic

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chickenkurage · 8 months ago

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CHAPTER 4 OF ATG IS HERE AND OH MY GOSH.... WHAT- NO.... NO NO NO NO NO NONOONOOONOBOOBOBO OH MY GOSH DJ AND ALAN IN THIS.....

FIRST OF ALL DJ WAS ACTUALLY WILLING TO HELP ALAN WITH HIS WEAPON BY GETTING A LOT OF MISSING PIECES FOR IT, BUT ONE TIME ENDS UP GETTING SHOT BY SOMEONE IS SOMETHING I ACTUALLY NEVER EXPECTED THAT WOULD HAPPEN TO HIM- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOSH.... YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH VICTIM AND DARK BOUNDING!!! LOOK AT THEM GO!!! ALSO A STATUE OF A CURSOR THAT RESEMBLES NOOGAI IS HONESTLY REALLY INTERESTING TO KNOW ABOUT!!! ALSO DARK IS GETTING INTO THE NOOGAI SITUATION BY WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! I THINK THOUGH BUT I WONDER IF THEY BOTH WILL LOOK THROUGH SOME BOOKS AND FIND ANYTHING ABOUT NOOGAI!!! MY FRICKING HEART.... NO..... OH GOSH NO, EVEN IF ALAN HELPED DJ RECOVER FROM THAT SHOT, HE STILL HAS THE AUDACITY TO SAY "DJ... you're worthless".... THAT EXPLAINS THE TAG OF DJ HAVING SELF ESTEEM ISSUES OH GOSH- THOSE WORDS DEFINITELY HIT HIM WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY TOO MUCH, IT LOOKS LIKE HE'LL NEVER LET IT GO PROBABLY, EVEN IF HE TRIES TO HIDE IT IF HE WOULD, ALAN THAT'S YOUR GOSH DARN BEST FRIEND AND THE BEST BROTHER YOU'LL EVER HAVE, GOSH I'M GETTING A LOT OF EMOTIONS.... THE FLASHBACK OF THESE TWO TALKING TO EACH OTHER ABOUT GODS IRL WHILE THERE ISN'T ANY IN THE OUTERNET, BUT OH MY GOSH THEIR FRIENDSHIP IN THE PAST LIKE.... THEY LOOKED SO HAPPY OH MY GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT ALL WENT SO WRONG.... AND DJ PRAYING FOR HIS BEST FRIEND BACK, EVEN IF HIS HEART LUCKILY DIDN'T GET SHOT, IT FELT LIKE IT DID BY FEELING LIKE IT WAS SHATTERED BY THOSE WORDS.....

*INHALES* MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMGEY!!! YOU ARE DOING A LOT ON ME WITH THIS AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- DJ WHERE ARE YOU EVEN AT RNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN-

Chapter 4's new name "Doomed Friendship" DJ would always help Alan, and we know that, Alan is his best buddy, and he would definitely follow Alan even to the end of the world. And if making that weapon makes Alan "himself" again? DJ would do it a million times, just so Alan would have that spark back again :''), and the fact he did get shot trying to get the parts for the weapon just, makes it worst.

Victim and Dark bonding are really adorable, they really have that older brother and younger brother energy XDD. I mean, we can understand Dark. How uncanny and scary it is for a stick to "easily" use humans as his tools. How technically, Alan has so much power in his hands. He could start wars, imagine if he gets his hand on a world leader and start another world war. That's just terrifying honestly. That weapon they created, is a damn good one, Alan is basically a god at this point. And that thought just terrifies Dark.

Alan telling DJ was worthless.... that was painful, DJ wears his heart on his sleeve. And for someone he cares about, his best buddy, his brother, not by blood but he loves so much, tells him he is basically worthless...... That broke him.

And the religion and gods talk between the two of them when they were younger, and how DJ admits that he would believe in god, as long as "that" god gives him strength, and that god can be someone that he can ask help from when in need. And the fact Alan is the so called "god" in this, that's basically the opposite of what DJ wanted from a god. But the fact he would still search for his "god" even if that god doesn't want him...anymore.

And honestly, they were really happy, they USED to be happy :''). This may be really a doomed friendship from the start after all.

We all know, that's the day DJ heart broke. Heartbreak isn't real, but let's admit it. DJ would prefer getting shot in the heart than hear his "best friend" tell him he isn't no longer needed and useless.

DJ will appear more frequently.... since well...he's the real MC of this AU xPP hehe! Prepare for more angst to come, and DJ getting hurt. Maybe ATG DJ was actually the real counterpart of CS Alan after all ;) - S

#AskSpongey&JMLilac #ATGAlanBecker #ATGDJWelch

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lucky-clover-gazette · 1 year ago

Text

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 16

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The Vaskian women, whose allegiance was tentative, retreated with the carts—except two, who stayed to fight on the understanding that they would receive the horses of any men they killed.

HORSE GIRLS UNITED

‘The Regency,’ said Laurent, addressing the troop, ‘thought to take us outnumbered. It expected us to roll over without a fight.’ Damen said: ‘We will not let them cow us, subdue us or force us down. Ride hard. Don’t stop to fight the front line. We are going to smash them open. We are here to fight for our Prince!’

THEY’RE SPEECHING TOGETHER <3

He recognised, in himself, that he was angry, and that it had less to do with Aimeric’s betrayal than with the Regent, the malicious rumours that the Regent employed—warping the truth, warping men, while the Regent himself remained pristine and untouched as he set his men to fight against their own Prince.

big breakthrough with the nice vs. good theme!

‘It would not have been my strategy.’ ‘I know. You overcomplicate things.’

‘Then we’ll have a swift victory. I meant what I said. If we sleep tonight inside the walls of Ravenel, in the morning, I will take off the collar from around your neck. This is the battle you came here to fight.’

spoiler alert: not only will you be sleeping tonight inside the walls of ravenel, you will be sleeping together tonight inside the walls of ravenel

He felt Touars’s blade drive into the ground, slicing through the straps of his helm, and—where it should have hit his neck—scraping with a metallic sound down the side of his gold collar.

He turned, the truth on his face. Stripped bare, he could not hide himself in that moment. Laurent, he thought, and lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of the man who had witnessed the last words of Lord Touars. It wasn’t Laurent. It was Jord. He was staring at Damen in horror, his sword lax in his hand. ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘It’s not—’ The final moments of the battle faded around Damen, as he came to full comprehension of what Jord was seeing. Of what Jord, for the second time that day, was seeing. ‘Does he know?’ said Jord.

probably the worst possible person to hear this, ngl. since he’s nursing a betrayal and heartbreak.

okay so the first time i read this, i didn’t think laurent knew. so this was SO fucking stressful. like i felt so bad for laurent. and i still do, i feel bad for both of them! but there is a relief to knowing that laurent knows. but damen still has to deal with the anxiety of this between now and the reveal, which i think is important for his development. and laurent is still in denial, even if he knows who damen is. that’s how he allows himself to be vulnerable at all, which is ultimately what he needs.

Laurent reined in beside him, still astride the same horse, dried blood in a stripe along its shoulder. ‘Well, Captain,’ he said. ‘Now we merely have to take an impregnable fortress.’ His eyes were bright.

modern au gamer laurent…

All men would receive care.

laurent is trying to do war in the most honorable way possible

‘Are you here to kill me?’ said Jord. ‘No,’ said Damen. There was a silence. They stood two paces apart. Jord had a knife drawn, and held it low, a white-knuckled fist around the hilt.

jord’s definitely thinking about aimeric and orlant

‘You hated us so much, all this time? It wasn’t enough to invade, to take our land? You had to play this—sick game as well?’

jord i get where you’re coming from, and this was heart-wrenching on my first read, but i assure you that laurent’s game is sicker and he’s been playing it on purpose

‘Tell him?’ said Jord. ‘Tell him the man he trusts has lied, and lied again, has deceived him into the worst humiliation?’

babygirl you’re projecting a little bit

‘You killed his brother, then got him under you in bed.’ Put like that, it was monstrous. It’s not that way between us, he ought to have said, and didn’t, couldn’t. He felt hot, then cold. He thought of Laurent’s delicate, needling talk that froze into icy rebuff if Damen pushed at it, but if he didn’t—if he matched himself to its subtle pulses and undercurrents—continued, sweetly deepening, until he could only wonder if he knew, if they both knew, what they were doing.

craft note: this is just beautifully written. i love the way pacat describes their mutual attraction and the way they interact with each other

He’ll mourn your loss, and never know.

bet you wish you could have had that with aimeric, jord, instead of what you got

craft note: honestly, wow. this is a really clever way to keep the “does laurent know” mystery compelling. jord and aimeric as a parallel to laurent and damen distracts the reader from the idea of laurent knowing, and it misleads the reader into seeing the dynamics as parallel. like, jord, damen, and most likely the reader all think at this point that damen = aimeric in this situation; the traitor, who knows more than his partner. and it’s dramatic and emotional and limited to damen’s pov, so it’s easy for a first time reader to buy into it.

but in reality, the one with more knowledge here is laurent, who both knows who damen is and knows that damen doesn’t know that he knows who he is. the jord/aimeric thing and the upcoming nicaisening are both really smart things to insert at this point in the plot, so most first-time readers get to experience the shock of the reveal without being intentionally misdirected in a way that feels cheap.

it’s not satisfying to be outright told one thing is true (laurent doesn’t know) and then have a “twist” that it’s actually untrue. but because pacat takes the care to plant the suggestion of laurent’s ignorance through a parallel to another character, the reader is the one filling in the blanks. so then when the truth is plainly revealed, the reader gets to rethink everything, see what they missed, and not feel annoyed or misinformed.

‘You’re gone by the time the sun hits the middle of the sky, or I tell him,’ said Jord. ‘And what he did to you in the palace will seem like a lover’s kiss compared with what will happen to you then.’

jord you look so silly now that i know the twist. you underestimate laurent’s cognitive dissonance and the power of love that isn’t simply predicated on sex. maybe if you and aimeric had grown to respect each other as people first, like damen and laurent, things could have gone differently. just sayingggggg

‘You fill me with horror,’ said Jord. His hands were tight on his knife. Both his hands, now.

oh shut up. damen’s fine.

#in which i start getting very annoyed with jord #sam reads capri #captive prince #capri #prince's gambit #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #lamen

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childotkw · 2 years ago

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Omg the last week has sent me into a beautiful reminiscing about your blog over the years and how many AUs have spawned and how good your writing is that only a snippet can create such a hold on people!!

I about screamed when I saw an actual posted chapter of i don’t owe you my forgiveness! I remember the first few snippets and the heartbreak when reading Harry being rejected by Tom

And the most recent ask about carve my name into your arm had me feral 😂 and ready to blog dive

I was wondering if you remember the name of a particular AU from a few years ago…it was a cross over of your stories CS, ybtm, and a female Harry raised by Walburga…all three Harry’s were transported to canon (I think) and raise Harry? I don’t remember much but the vibes were hilarious and I’m in a nostalgic mood now

Thanks for all you do!

God, last week was wild 😂😂

i don't owe you my forgiveness has just been one of those AUs that hangs around in my brain tbh, ever since it first cropped up, so I was glad to at least get the first chapter up!

And I think that AU is Shadowed Smiles? It's largely a Hadrian and ybtm!Harry AU, but Harriet does get thrown into the mix eventually! Or there's Hadrian and Harriet's Parenting Adventure where, as the name suggests, Hadrian and Harriet get yeeted into canon, find Harry and go yoink.

And thank you for being so sweet and supportive! 🥰🥰🥰

#anonymous #HP #harry potter #Shadowed Smiles AU #Hadrian & Harriet's Parenting Adventure AU

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donteattheappleshook · 2 years ago

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She Came From the Water, His, Lover of the Light, and you can probably guess my last one- Of Cars and Bars, please ma’am!

Drop one of my fic titles in an Ask and I'll tell you 'the scene' for it!

She Came From the Water

This one's hard because it was a movie AU watched the movie a million times and kept picturing them as CS in every scene. But if I had to pick one that kept me going until I got throught the worst of it, it would have to be the "Don't I get seven years?" scene where Killian finds Emma after she ran away.

His

This one hasn't happened yet, but there's this scene in the kitchen.... 😏

Lover of the Light

This fic, man.... each part/chapter was supposed to be the last and/or only one and then someone would get an idea in my brain (wish baby) that would lead to another addition so really each part has it's own scene!

Part 1

Emma realizing she accidentally played sexy stranger with Wish!Killian. "I thought it was a game" is the line that wouldn't leave me alone and kept making me giggle to myself.

Part 2

This one was angstier but probably the scene where Killian talks down terrified Emma and she has a bit of a realization that he might really be the Killian she knows - and also her throwing David and Regina into a wall...

Part 3

Killian climbing a trellis when he's very aware that he's too old to be doing that kind of thing 💀

Part 4

This one was the scene in the galley where Emma kisses Killian the first time and then they argue about whether or not it could work. I just really liked the idea of their first kiss not being some big dramatic moment and that their whole story would be soft and sweet - and I also liked stupid stuborn Killian trying to convince Emma to leave him because he can't do it.

Of Cars and Bars

So like Lover of the Light this was supposed to be a stand alone 2 shot but SOMEONE ended up convincing me to turn it into the beast it became. So this fic gets more than one scene too!

So for the stand-alone two-shot:

100% Killian slapping his phone number against the window of a moving car and nearly making Liam crash. 😂

The scene that made me cave and continue the story:

Killian brining drunk Emma back to her room while struggling to dodge all of her hands ("How does she have so many hands??") and playing her "something heartbreaking". This one was built on the emotional climax/catharsis if that's not obvious 😅

Thank you @kmomof4 for the ask! 😘

#captain swan #ask game #cs fanfic

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mionedray · 7 months ago

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Ho ho ho! Secret Santa here again!

Thank you for such a vibrant and detailed response—I absolutely adore your enthusiasm (and don’t worry about the delays; life gets busy, and exams are no joke!).

Now, onto the fun stuff! I’ve come up with a few ideas that hopefully hit the vibes you love. Let me know what jumps out at you, or if you want me to expand on anything! 🎁

1. Killian’s Past Comes to Light After the CS movie, Emma and Killian return to Storybrooke, but someone from Killian’s past—maybe a vengeful ally or an old flame?—follows them through the portal. This person is determined to stir up trouble, revealing secrets even Emma doesn’t know and forcing Killian to confront old mistakes. Drama, redemption, and lots of Captain Swan teamwork to save the day!

2. A Christmas Fluff-a-palooza meet Hallmark Killian and Emma are co-workers at a quirky bookstore café. Both are recovering from heartbreak in different ways: Killian trying to rebuild after losing his hand in an accident, and Emma struggling with trust issues. Through small acts of kindness (he always saves her favorite pastries (bearclaw FTW!); she fixes his broken bookshelves), they build each other up, slowly realizing they’ve found something special.

3. Underworld Redux (But Better) Emma finds herself in a mystical underworld after an accident (maybe saving her family or realm?), and Killian is the rogue guide she must rely on to find her way back. His motives seem questionable at first—does he have his own agenda? Is he truly trying to help her? Along the way, they navigate magical traps, hostile spirits, and increasingly personal revelations.

4. Captain Duckling Origin Story Picture this: Killian is a fresh-faced lieutenant (or ambitious deckhand) tasked with escorting Princess Emma on a diplomatic mission. She’s fiery and independent; he’s sharp-witted and secretly infatuated. When pirates attack, they have to work together to survive, uncovering their mutual respect (and feelings) along the way. Swashbuckling action + tender moments = chef’s kiss.

5. Soulmates with a Twist What if Emma and Killian have been destined for each other all along but never knew it? They touch a magical artifact (or cross into another realm) and start seeing flashes of their past lives—pirate escapades, modern AUs, you name it—where they always find each other. The ultimate “we’re meant to be” love story, with snippets of angsty separations and heartwarming reunions through time.

Don’t worry, Neal and August are not invited to this party.

Also, we’re going for partnerships of equals here! None of that teacher/student or step-sibling storylines here!

And even if there’s a bit of angst, it’ll only make the happy ending sweeter! No tragedy here!

Would you like me to expand on any specific idea or detail? I’m happy to tailor things further—after all, Santa loves delivering joy! 🎅✨

Dear Santa,

I am heartbroken, you've given me such lovely options and you expect me to choose 😭. I literally kid you not I've changed my mind everyday. But how are you Santa...do you want a fanta- yeah no.

Ahem so....its between 2, 3 and 4 but 5 5 5?? for me but the underworld one just seems so mysterious. I think I'll go for 3. Istg you're so creative too! I apologize for taking so long exams and me being indecisive lol. Stay safe and hydrated Santa. If you ever wanna talk or simply ho ho ho do visit!

PS: I will love anything you make so don't worry just write what you feel like writing too :)) I can't wait to see what brilliance you come up with XD.

#csss2024

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kingkaisen · 2 years ago

Text

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

♡ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi, & reiner x celebrity!reader

♡ — 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: all actions have consequences, and after the latest life-ruining scandal, the owner of CS Records has the perfect punishment in mind for Eldian Devils, their manager, and you. With all the money and influential power in the world, there’s one person who will make everyone regret their decisions: the rich man.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI || DARK CONTENT — fem!reader, modern au, angst, heartbreak, divorce, marriage, cheating, violence & blood/bruises mention, gun mention, false imprisonment, stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, manipulation, stalking, drinking, smoking. (Some warnings here also apply to the series as a whole/other parts as well.)

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 13k

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

The smoldering cigarette that rested between Eren Yeager’s bruised lips glowed red when he inhaled it.

It was a disturbingly cold day in Los Angeles, cold enough to force the heat-adapted citizens of Southern California to dig into the back of their overpacked closets in hopes of finding a dusty, old, and unworn jacket.

The ashes that fell from Eren’s cigarette instantly blew away in the chilly wind, making the Handsome Man wish that his problems could disappear just as easily.

With one hand shoved into the pocket of his black hooded jacket, he stared out at the night sky, blowing sweet smoke into the cool air.

He waited impatiently for the apartment door behind him to open.

He wasn’t a fan of unexpected visitors himself, and he didn’t like having to pop up in the middle of the night without giving some sort of notice, but he had no other choice.

For a moment, he figured that no one would come to the door. He had been standing outside for a couple of minutes now.

Suddenly, he heard the locks start to come undone, but rather slowly.

Cautiously.

When the old wooden door creaked open, Eren turned around to face the door, taking another puff of his therapeutic cigarette.

The door didn’t open all the way — the chain lock was still hooked — but it was cracked open just enough for a pair of big blue eyes to peek out of the small gap and stare back at him.

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk,” Eren released a shaky breath. “Please.”

Armin simply blinked at him. A gentle click of the lids. Eren couldn’t tell what the blonde-haired man was thinking — what thoughts were shuttling through his overactive, wise mind — and he was prepared for the door to be slammed in his face soon enough. Should Armin choose to do that, slam the door hard enough to wake up his neighbors and make their alerted dogs bark, Eren couldn’t exactly blame him.

That was why when Armin did shut the door all of a sudden, Eren could only frown, and think about what a stupid idea it was to show up at his apartment like this in the first place.

Just as he stomped out his cigarette and was about to drag himself back to his car and begrudgingly head home, the gentle clinks of the chain lock being unhooked made him halt his footsteps.

Armin Arlert had fully opened the door this time, stepping to the side to let Eren in.

—

Eren’s curious, emerald-green eyes darted across the small, cramped space Armin was forced to call home. It was a cheaply made, poorly lit, brownish apartment that had not seen a spec of cosmetic work since it was built decades ago.

Eren’s closet was bigger than this place.

Even so, there was something quite cozy about it. It was clean, uncluttered, and decorated simply with old, thrifted furniture.

It had the touch of someone who was trying their best.

“Um,” Armin said nervously, shutting and locking the door after Eren stepped inside and entered the tiny living room. “You can have a seat, I guess.”

“Thanks.” As Eren sat down on the squeaky faded green couch, he noticed a yellow blanket draped messily along the cushions, along with an open copy of Stephen King’s Misery novel sitting right beside it.

Although Armin was wearing a white t-shirt and blue plaid-patterned pajama pants, undoubtedly dressed for bed, it was obvious that he was wide awake and halfway through the popular horror book. That particular bit of knowledge made Eren feel better about disturbing him so late at night.

“How did you get my address?” Armin questioned, lingering around near the front door, not daring to sit down next to Eren just yet, as he couldn’t determine whether or not he wanted to punch the brown-haired wife-snatcher in the face and worsen his injuries.

“Mikasa gave it to me,” Eren muttered. “I know it’s weird-”

“Yeah, it is.” Armin interrupted, scanning his eyes over Eren.

Despite their only source of light coming from the dim lamp next to the couch, Armin could make out the fresh, red cuts and bruises on his face quite clearly.

The colorful injury to the right side of his mouth was directly below the one underneath his bloodshot eye, and right across from the large bruise on his aching jaw.

But that wasn’t nearly as alarming as the absolute misery visible within his watery eyes.

Even so, as Armin slickly glanced down at Eren’s fists, noticing the black-and-blue marks across his knuckles and the dried blood coating the black ring on his right hand, it was obvious that he didn’t go down without a fight.

“You could have just asked Mikasa for my phone number if you wanted to talk,” Armin shifted his feet.

“No. This is something we need to talk about face-to-face.”

Armin walked across the squeaky wooden floor, and he sat down on the furthest end of the couch, as far away from Eren as he could get.

He placed a blue bookmark in between the pages of his novel before closing it and bringing his knees to his chest, pulling the yellow blanket across his shoulders.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

When those words fell from between Eren’s lips, Armin whipped his head in his direction, his ocean-blue eyes wide with shock.

“You’re . . . sorry?”

“Yeah,” Eren ran his hand over the lower part of his face, sighing heavily. “I can barely eat or sleep, Armin. All I can do is sit around, feeling like shit, thinking about how I stole your wife. I didn’t get why it was such a big deal until she cheated on me. I just . . . I really fell for her, you know?”

“It’s okay, Eren.” Looking away from the bruised man, Armin’s gaze dropped down to the raggedy floor. “You don’t have to lie to me to garner sympathy and earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” This time, Eren was the one to look over at Armin.

“Just be honest,” Armin paused. “You thought she was pretty, and you wanted her all to yourself. She was a prize. You don’t have to claim that you were in love with her to make me forgive you. I’m over it, I swear.”

“But it’s true. I was in love with her.”

“How? You barely knew her. I know relationships move fast in Hollywood, but . . .”

“I did know her,” Eren said. “She was a theater kid back in high school, and before all of this, she wanted to become a playwright. You both worked at that little bakery to get by in a rough New York neighborhood. She snores a little in her sleep if she’s been drinking. If she doesn’t set an alarm, she’ll wake up late, no matter what. She fucking sucks at driving and cooking, and she burned grilled cheese a couple of times. She tilts her head when she’s listening to people talk. She loves card games, even though she tries to make up her own rules. She loved playing outside as a kid — still has a little scar on her knee from it — and her mom always told her to come home before the streetlights came on, and dinner was always ready. Her favorite color is-”

“O-Okay, I get it. I was wrong.”

Aside from the gentle hum of the space heater sitting on the floor next to the couch, all noise ceased for a moment, until Eren spoke up.

“I wanna help you out, Armin.” Eren leaned back on the couch. “I have more than enough money to-”

“No.” Armin was quick to interrupt him. “Thank you, but I’m okay. Mikasa already offered. Several times, actually.”

“What about a better damn job, then?” Looking at the blonde once again, Eren’s eyes drifted down to Armin’s hands. “I could find you a nice job as an entertainment manager or agent. You helped Hollywood discover Y/N, and it could really be a nice career for you. There’s better insurance, a lotta other good benefits, and you can find a better place to live-”

“No. I’m not some poor pathetic person who needs saving, okay? I know it looks rough, but honestly, this is the most comfort I’ve ever had financially. I’m fine-”

Suddenly, Eren grabbed Armin’s hand. He ran his eyes across the scars and scratches that littered his skin from years upon years of hard work, along with his calloused fingertips.

“I never said you needed saving, did I? I just think that I owe you, and you owe it to yourself to live a life that isn’t so fucking shitty. Just look at your hands.”

Armin didn’t answer, but he didn’t snatch his hand away from Eren either.

“Just think about it, okay?” Eren dropped Armin’s scarred hand, and pushed himself off of the couch, wincing as he did so. As he headed towards Armin’s front door, mumbling a low “I’ll see you later,” his footsteps halted once Armin asked him a simple question.

“Who beat you up, Eren?”

“That’s none of your business,” Eren paused. “All you need to know is that soon, I’ll get them back for it. I’ll make their asses suffer.”

Eren placed his trembling, bruised hand on the doorknob.

“Was it Connie’s men? Did they beat you up because of her?”

Armin’s question startled him to his core.

Eren whipped his head around so fast, that his low man bun almost came undone. How exactly did Armin know about Connie and his group of bastards?

“How did you know?”

Armin smiled sadly. “Because they beat me up too.”

—

Between the nightly hours of four and nine o’clock every Friday, Jean Kirstein could be found working in the recording studio inside of CS Records, creating new songs for Eldian Devils — or, for himself, as of late.

Levi Ackerman was parked on the other side of the street across from the tall building at 8:50 P.M., sitting in his newest black car. One that the local paparazzi hadn’t been taught to recognize just yet.

Black hood. Black jeans. Sunglasses too, despite it being a dark, starless night.

And he waited.

He sat in the driver's seat, watching the entrance.

And he waited.

Seven minutes later, Jean strolled right out of the studio, pushing the glass door open with one hand, and holding a white styrofoam cup filled with soda with the other.

“I’ll see you later, have a good night,” he called out to the freckle-faced blonde receptionist behind the white-and-gold marbled front desk.

Jean exited CS Records, sipping on his drink as he turned left once he made his way out of the front doors, on the way to his car.

He hated parking in the parking garage.

It was a bit less safe than the public L.A. streets — bright lights from nearby buildings, ordinary citizens walking up and down the sidewalks, cars zooming by almost constantly.

Even so, Levi was rather wise.

And tonight, at least, Jean should have taken his chances with the parking garage.

There was a dark alley in between two buildings that Jean had strolled by rather often. It was the kind of spooky place that most people wouldn’t dare wander into, as the bright lights of the city didn’t reach into the shady, deserted passageway, home to rusted trash cans and leaky, wet pipes that smelt of sewage water.

While young, impressionable children might have walked across the street to avoid the silly monsters that they imagined would be lurking in the darkness of the alley, most adults just walked on by.

Nothing to see. Nothing worth a single glance.

And that’s what Jean did.

Maybe, if he did bother to turn his head to the left and look into the creepy alley for even just a split second, he would have noticed Levi standing there, blending in with the engulfing darkness.

When a hand reached out and grabbed Jean by the collar of his dark-red shirt, his drink fell to the ground with a gentle thud.

Even Jean himself truly could not say whether or not he had made some sort of noise as his manager casually dragged him back into the alley, as if he was nothing more than a bag of garbage.

However, once Levi tossed him on the cold, wet concrete, and landed a swift kick to his jaw with the heaviest pair of black combat boots he could find, Jean’s short yell would have surely grabbed the attention of anyone nearby.

If only the blaring radios, rumbling engines, and squeaky tires from the cars speeding down the road weren’t so deafening. If only the loud chatter from the local L.A. citizens wasn’t so noisy. If only someone bothered to look down the alley.

Levi kicked Jean in the chest this time. His hands were in his pockets as if he was simply kicking a rock down the street.

When his boot slammed into Jean’s stomach, and blood spewed out from his client’s mouth, that was when Levi removed his hands from the pockets of his jacket. He took off his sunglasses, tossing them in the little splatter of Jean’s blood.

Jean struggled to look up at the man looming over him. But, when his bloodshot eyes did finally manage to glance up into Levi’s dark ones, he was certain that he had never seen such an intense amount of deadly hatred in someone’s eyes before.

The simple fact that Jean had the nerve to look at him only pissed him off even more.

Levi kicked Jean right in the face again. Then, he pressed his bloodied face against that unforgiving, dirty concrete with the bottom of his boot.

“You have a very kickable face, Jean.” Levi’s haunting tone was just as scary as he was, as it was laced heavily with white-hot anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jean coughed out. Who knew it would be so incredibly difficult to speak when your face was pressed to the ground by another man’s foot? “Why are you-”

Levi leaned forward just a bit, applying more pressure, which, in turn, cut off Jean’s words.

“Did you enjoy your time in the studio today, Jean? Writing more songs about Y/N? I heard the last song you wrote was a real big hit.”

When that last word rolled off of Levi’s venom-laced tongue, he raised his foot off of Jean’s head, but only to kick him in the gut two more times.

“Wh-What?” Jean heaved in between his low shouts of utter anguish, his words coming out slowly and painfully. “Why do you care about . . . a stupid song? You have bigger shit . . . to worry about, d-don’t you?”

“Oh, right. I do.” Levi squatted down, staring into Jean’s eyes — which were glistening with anger and hatred. Grabbing Jean’s hair, he lowered his voice as he spoke to the injured man.

“You’re referring to those leaked photos, aren’t you? You think I give a shit about my reputation? I only care about that song you put out. You made her cry, you know that? Now, as your manager, I have a few questions.”

Levi rose to his feet once again.

He kicked Jean with a lot more force. A lot more blinding anger. A lot less care to which body parts his boots connected with.

“Did I tell you to release that goddamn song? Huh? Who the hell do you think you are, doing something like that without running it by me?”

Only when Levi stopped kicking him, did Jean realize that beyond his unyielding rage, he truly wanted an answer.

Jean spit out the blood that had filled his mouth into the small puddle of red liquid beside him, the pool that had formed from his other wounds.

Although his bones and organs ached as he did so, he sat up as best as he could and looked Levi Ackerman right in the eye.

Levi had gained a bit of respect for Jean, even if it was just a small bit. He clearly wasn’t a coward, as he didn’t try to run away, nor did he cry for help.

He only took it like a man, and while his bones might have been on the verge of breaking, his spirit wasn’t.

How admirable.

“I don’t have to run shit by you. You’re nothing more than my manager. You work for me-”

Jean cut himself off at the horrifying sight of Levi pulling his leg back, getting ready to kick him once more with that bloodied boot of his.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Jean sighed. “It was . . . Connie’s idea.”

“Connie?” Levi lowered his foot, a frown of confusion spreading across his face. “That doesn’t make any sense. He hates drama. Says it embarrasses his company. He wouldn’t make you do something like this.”

Jean winced in pain with every single breath he took. Even so, he fought through it as he spoke.

“He would do something like this if it embarrasses Eren even more. And it does.”

Connie risking the reputation of his company for the sake of embarrassing Eren was something Levi could have looked past without a care in the world, truth be told.

But the rumors of an affair that was spread throughout Jean’s song had also embarrassed you.

And he couldn’t let that slide.

“What’s going on between Connie and Eren?” Levi stepped closer towards Jean. “Tell me now.”

“Connie just thinks that Eren’s getting too disrespectful. He’s trying to teach him a lesson, alright? All I know is that Connie made Eren divorce Y/N, and he keeps forcing all of us to make more music.” Jean dropped his gaze to the ground below him.

“Connie really screwed the band over with those contracts. We can’t get out of it. He controls everything — what songs we play, our daily schedules, what we wear, who we can talk to . . . and if you don’t do it, you get beaten up, or worse. I didn’t wanna write that song. I don’t want Y/N to hate me, believe me, but that’s just how it is. Eren . . . Eren’s trying to fight back against all of it, and Connie doesn’t like it.” Suddenly, Jean looked up at the shadowy figure standing in front of him. “But you don’t give a damn, do you? You work for Connie. You’re our manager, so you must know about all that, and you don’t care. Am I wrong here?”

Aside from the noisy hustle and bustle of the sweet Los Angeles nightlife, it was silent for a moment.

“I didn’t know,” Levi said.

Jean raised his eyebrows, but then, after a handful of seconds, he frowned.

“I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Y/N’s the only client you give a damn about now. You don’t even give a damn about yourself. Your life is ruined, and yet, here you are, worrying about her.”

Those bold, brave comments would have earned the poor musician another kick or two, and he tensed his body in preparation once he saw Levi shift his stance a bit, but the kick never came. Instead, Levi spoke, and he did so rather calmly.

“Why is Connie putting the band through hell and no one else? All of his other artists get to live their lives and do whatever the hell they want.”

“It’s our punishment for embarrassing him with our behavior, I guess. For drawing all of this negative attention to his label all because of a girl. Connie doesn’t like drama unless he’s directly behind it. If I’m right, then that can only mean that he’ll punish Y/N soon enough for the new cheating scandal. And you.”

Was that truly it? Was Connie truly so power-hungry, he’d willingly control people, cause drama, and embarrass the artists of his company, because he was pissed off over them accidentally embarrassing him first?

Would he do anything to get the upper hand, even if it meant not allowing the very artists who made him wealthy to have any sort of freedom?

How deranged.

And, now, because Levi wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation, which ended up embarrassing Connie’s company, the two of you were next.

“That asshole doesn’t scare me,” Levi clenched his jaw. “I’ll be damned if I let that dumbass try to control me or her.”

“Really? You think he gives a shit about the law, Levi? Or being a good person with morals? Think he won’t shoot you in the face and force someone else to take the blame if you refuse to listen to him? He did warn you at that meeting a long time ago, remember?” Jean’s tone suddenly softened, his bloodied face becoming pale with worry. “And now, he’s so pissed off to hear about you and Y/N hooking up, and you leaking the photos, I’m sure he’s . . . already started.”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to leak photos of myself sleeping with a married client? What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Levi paused, “And what the hell do you mean? What has Connie started? Started punishing us?”

Jean’s expression changed into a look Levi couldn’t recognize.

“Levi, do you even know what Y/N has been doing lately?”

—

TWO DAYS LATER – LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

“Our next guest here on The Nights With Flint Show has stolen everyone’s heart with their touching rags-to-riches story. This baker-turned-singer-turned-actress has raised the standard when it comes to natural, raw talent, and the world of entertainment just can’t keep up! She has achieved three Billboard Hot 100 number-one singles, and her next album, Heartbreaker, is available for pre-order now. You know her, you love her — Please welcome, F/N L/N!”

As an artificial smile graced your burning, beautiful face — which was sore from hours upon hours of beaming in front of invasive cameras — the live audience consisting mainly of middle-aged men and women applauded when you walked out from backstage to join Flint Davidson, the infamous Las Vegas talk show host who once interviewed Eren Yeager himself, right in the same purple, velvety couch that you elegantly sat down in.

The bright studio lights shined upon his unnaturally tan skin and porcelain veneers as he welcomed you. The enthusiastic man seemed like a wax figure. A puppet. But even so, his unnerving smile wasn’t fake, unlike yours.

He was a product of fame and money, and those empty blue eyes of his reflected his vacant soul when he stared at you, his very special guest for tonight’s show.

Greetings were exchanged. Sugary, false manners with a touch of family-friendly humor were displayed perfectly, just as you had been taught to do.

Typically, it was muscle memory — how to be perfect. But, as you mindlessly chatted about how lovely it was to be in Las Vegas again, perfection wasn’t the driving force behind your admirable behavior this time.

It was fear.

“Well, Flint, the last time I was here in Las Vegas, I was watching your show from my hotel room. Now, I’m actually sitting here with you. It’s a dream come true. I must say, you’re even more handsome in person!”

“Oh, no need to butter me up, I’m gonna see your new movie, I promise! I’d be a fool to miss the sequel to A Game of Darkness. They actually gave my role to you because they said I couldn’t act — whatever that means — but don’t worry, I’ll still watch it, even if it hurts!”

The audience laughed lightly at his corny jokes, and you did as well. An entire week’s worth of media training was dedicated to mastering the Ideal Laugh.

Practicing in front of your instructor.

Practicing in front of the mirror.

Practicing until you could no longer recognize the difference between your real, wholehearted chortle, and your phony one.

“Your natural laugh is rather boisterous at times.” Your instructor once said, pursing her lips as she squinted her eyes. “We will work on changing that promptly.”

Now, your soft laugh was as pleasant as a flower dancing in a gentle breeze.

It was perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect-

“So, let’s talk about something a little more serious.” Flint Davidson looked at you — no, Flint Davidson looked through you — and his smile faded away.

He truly looked like a puppet now.

“The story goes that you were accused of having an affair with Jean Kirstein while you were married to his bandmate, Eren Yeager. And recently, you were caught cheating on your new husband, Reiner Braun, with your manager, Levi Ackerman. Now, I heard that Levi Ackerman allegedly released the photos of the affair himself. Is that true? And-And we aren’t here to judge you, I mean, you’re drop-dead gorgeous — isn’t she, folks? Who could stay away from her?”

Another round of applause erupted from the audience, but you couldn’t help but wonder how many attendees truly agreed with that statement, or were just mindlessly doing what the big, red, hidden APPLAUSE sign told them to do.

“I appreciate your kindness, and thank you for giving me an opportunity to just be honest and clear everything up,” you gave a small sigh, one filled with false regret. A damsel-in-distress kind of sigh.

Your next few statements weren’t truly your statements at all, but sweet lies drilled into your ventriloquist-dummy mind repeatedly over the last three days.

Who knew what would happen if you didn’t say what he wanted you to say.

You were just as much of a puppet as Flint Davidson.

And it had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“What Jean wrote in his song is regrettably true. I was having an affair with Eren’s bandmate, and Eren rightfully divorced me because of it. I’m just happy that Jean’s song was catchy, at least!” You laughed. The audience laughed with you. Flint Davidson laughed with you. It sounded like the theme song to the innermost circle of Hell — if it had one.

“When it comes to Levi Ackerman, I’m absolutely horrified that he would do something like this. You see, that night, I was drunk and upset. I had just heard about Jean’s song, and I was also the victim of a very serious break-in. Levi used my vulnerability to his advantage, and we made a huge mistake. And for him to leak the photos, well . . . I guess that was his way of trying to put himself in the spotlight. Working for famous people and not being that much of a famous person yourself must have made him jealous, and this was his only chance to truly get his name out there as a talentless individual.”

“I see.” Flint nodded along to your dishonest words. “And if I’m correct, you released a few record-breaking songs about your own experiences with Jean and Eren, am I right? How do you think they felt about that?”

“You’re absolutely correct, and I have no idea how they felt. I haven’t spoken to either one of them in a long time, which might be for the best.”

Flint Davidson smiled cruelly.

“Well, why don’t we bring them out and see how they feel, shall we?” “Everyone, please welcome the two members of Eldian Devils — Jean Kirstein and Eren Yeager!”

Even when your stiff body became heavy with dread, your face couldn’t reflect the absolute terror you felt. Instead, a soft gasp escaped from between your slightly parted lips. It was a pleasant, little gasp, as if to say “Oh, wow! Flint, you didn’t!”

As the audience erupted into yet another round of nauseating applause, the two puppets walked out from backstage, imaginary strings belonging to CS Records controlling them, just as they controlled you.

“Welcome, boys! Welcome!” Flint greeted them both with a handshake. “Have a seat! Y/N won’t bite!”

Jean sat down next to you on the couch, and Eren sat down beside him.

Their choice of seating was intentional.

Neither one of them would look you in the eye, nor did they greet you.

That was also intentional.

You could only hope that the camera wouldn’t pick up on the gentle, yet staggering breaths blowing out from between your slightly quivering lips, as you tried to calm yourself down. If anyone noticed the way your hands were desperately trying to tremble, it could have been disastrous for you.

For all of you.

But the shaky breaths and jittery hands weren’t a result of nervousness. By now, far too many cameras, blinding lights, and gazing eyes have shined upon you for anything to make you nervous.

What was rushing through your veins right now was utter anger.

Only a devil like Connie Springer would put the three of you on stage like this, watching the show from backstage with his crew like a hawk stalking its prey, waiting for anyone to slip up and make a mistake.

It was all intentional.

And you had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

When Eren and Jean sat down, it was with a bit of a struggle, as if they were both old men with bad backs and wobbly knees. Their faces — which held radiant, fake smiles — were minimally covered with makeup that was a tad bit different than the usual quick dust of powder that the majority of men received before going on live television.

You knew exactly what it was when the studio light briefly shined upon their faces from a very specific angle as they adjusted themselves among the cushions.

The makeup was meant to cover their bruises.

Although your face didn’t show anything but an amused grin, you were deeply confused.

For Eren, it made sense.

He had gotten on Connie’s bad side quite often.

But Jean was Connie’s favorite little tool at the moment. It made no sense for Connie to hurt him, and he wouldn’t leave his face covered in fresh bruises right before forcing him to go on the show.

Even The Irritable Eren didn’t receive any recent beatings for the sake of this interview, and his current bruises were about a week old.

But, truth be told, it didn’t matter.

Not one mindless human being who would watch tonight’s show would notice the covered bruises, and if they did, they simply wouldn’t care. Not their problem.

“It isn’t unusual for troublemaking rockstars to get into fights and injure themselves,” everyone would think.

“So,” Flint paused, his voice snapping you back to your overwhelming reality. “The three of you are finally here together — how does it feel? Be honest!”

No one replied immediately. The three of you simply continued to grin like malfunctioning robots, hoping that someone else would speak, and give the perfect response.

“Well, you definitely surprised me tonight, Flint.” The calmness that masked your true anger could have fooled anyone.

The perk of being a professional liar.

“I’m sorry for catching you off guard, Y/N,” he lied, “but I believe everyone is curious to know about the tension between the three of you. Some have even said that all of your public behavior is nothing more than a publicity stunt, but I don’t think I believe that!”

“It’s not a publicity stunt, I can tell you that much,” Jean suddenly spoke up, giving an amused smirk, which then became a serious frown. “Everything that happened between the three of us was real. As much as I wish it was fake for the sake of guilt and regret, it’s not.”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Facing the crowd as they briefly applauded — surely with sore, red hands at this point — Flint then looked over at the one person who hadn’t spoken yet.

“And what do you have to say about all of this, Eren? Do you plan on listening to Y/N’s song about you? Does it depend on the genre?”

Although you, Jean, and the audience laughed softly, Eren did not.

In fact, he didn’t even bother with faking a smile anymore. Instead, he simply sat there, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch as his hand covered his mouth, and he gave the host a death stare.

A death stare was against the pleasant personalities he demanded all of you to have.

A death stare would lead to trouble.

A death stare would lead to unapproved rumors.

More articles.

More embarrassment.

More punishments.

Jean must have realized that too, as he suddenly spoke up once again, doing anything to get everyone’s attention away from Eren and his bad attitude.

“To be honest, I think all of our actions are a result of our love for each other. I know that might sound crazy, but we all care about each other, which is exactly why everyone reacted so strongly towards feeling betrayed.”

“So when this guy,” Flint paused, pointing at Eren as he spoke to Jean, “when this guy punched you in the face for sleeping with his wife, you mean to tell me it was because he cares about you? You and I have different definitions of caring about someone, buddy!”

Jean started to crack his knuckles in his lap. He chuckled nervously.

“Me and Eren were . . . are best friends,” looking at the audience with sympathy-seeking eyes, Jean showed everyone why he deserved to have an Oscar or two. “As his best friend, I betrayed him. Someone he cared about betrayed him. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

The cheers following Jean’s statement dwindled once Flint turned his attention back to Eren again.

“You’re awfully quiet, Eren,” He said with a hint of a playful, teasing tone. “I’m sure everyone here would love to know what’s on your mind — right, folks? C’mon, Eren, tell everyone what you’re thinking! Surely you have more to offer than just allowing everyone to stare at that handsome face of yours!”

The thumping beat of your heart echoed in your ears so loudly, that you had to wonder if the microphone would be able to pick it up. The tension in the studio was so thick, that a knife could slice through it.

Eren was on the verge of ruining everything. And you couldn’t do anything. Anything except smile, sit there like a little doll and pray.

“D-Don’t worry about him, Flint. He’s just trying to look cool and make his fangirls go crazy,” you joked, giving a playful wave of your hand.

“Really? Is that all I’m doing, Y/N?”

Eren’s words were harsh enough to make you flinch, although truly, his anger wasn’t directed towards you. Even so, it was the first time you had heard that mesmerizing voice of his in such a long, long time.

“Care to explain what you mean, Eren?” The host leaned forward. The cameras zoomed in. The audience members didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly.

Jean slickly knocked his knee against yours. Later on, your shippers would more than likely create edits of that little moment and post it on every social media platform available, calling it romance; “it must have been a sign, right?” They would tweet.

But you knew better. He was signaling you. Warning you.

If anyone knew Eren, it was Jean.

And he knew that his bandmate was about to ruin everything.

But you could only smile, sit there like a little doll, and pray.

“No, I don’t care to explain, Flint,” Eren started. “You get millions of viewers every night. Millions of people across the world tune in to watch your shitty little show. And yet, you dragged us down to Las Vegas, and tricked us into coming here together, all so you could get even more people to watch your show in hopes that some sort of drama would break out. Jean and I didn’t know Y/N would be here until we were backstage. Y/N didn’t know until now. Who the hell toys with people like that? You’re a shitty host and a shitty person.”

And with that, Eren pushed himself off of the couch, and the rockstar left the stage.

Flint Davidson tried to play it off with a laugh, but even a professional puppet like him had a spec of a human soul lingering around somewhere inside of him, and that humanlike part of him faced the audience with an awkward grin.

“Well, unfortunately, that’s all the time we have, folks! Thank you all for . . .”

You could no longer hear much of what anyone dared to say after Eren left the stage. And, based on the fear gracing Jean’s pale face as he glared at the ground with wide, worried eyes, he couldn’t hear anything either.

Most of Eren’s words were truthfully not meant for Flint Davidson. They were meant for Connie Springer, as he was the one who put this show together, and Flint was nothing more than a happy pawn. It didn’t matter though, as no one aside from you, Eren, Jean, and the energetic host knew that little fact.

And, of course, Connie Springer, who was waiting outside of the private guest exit with his crew.

The unusually chilly wind sent an unpleasant shiver up your spine once you stepped through the back door with Jean and Eren. Typically, when leaving an event, you were hurriedly escorted out of the building and into some sort of car before fans and paparazzi could catch a glimpse of you.

However, no one seemed to be around, and while there were cars parked on the curb, the doors weren’t being opened by some sort of bodyguard with a driver ready to pull off. Instead, Connie and his men — who were all dressed sharply in black — stood in front of the cars.

They blocked them.

“You guys enjoy pissing me off, don’t you?” Connie smiled, and it was a grin that was colder than the uncomfortable nightly breeze.

“Eren was the one who-”

“Shut the hell up,” Connie interrupted Jean, glaring at the musician as his grin faded away. “I watched that shit. I know what happened.”

“Eren? Got anything to say?” Connie looked at Eren, then darted his eyes over to you. “Y/N? What about you?”

The group of men standing behind Connie moved. They hovered around the three of you, and hundreds upon hundreds of behavioral lessons were instantly forgotten, as your body stiffened once your name fell from between Connie’s lips.

What were you supposed to say? Jean was right, it was Eren’s fault.

You were perfect.

Aside from the swirling wind, it was otherwise silent, and in Connie’s mind, silence meant that he was being ignored. And, it was as if his minions shared the same thought process as him, as one of them took a step in your direction.

Suddenly, Eren grabbed your wrist.

Your ex-husband swiftly pulled you behind him, putting himself in between you and the pissed-off man like a human shield.

That protective grip of his sent a wave of warmth throughout your body, and his large hand didn’t let go of your wrist as he spoke.

“Just do what you always do, Connie,” Eren scowled. “Get your guys to beat me up. I don’t give a damn. Just leave her alone. She didn’t do anything wrong, so stay the hell away from her.”

Connie tossed his head back with a sigh before he spoke.

“This is becoming a routine, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gripping your wrist even tighter — but not enough to hurt — Eren turned to face the two bigger men standing threateningly to the left of him. “Let’s see how many of these bastards I bring down with me this time.”

One of them stepped closer yet again. Eren released your wrist. He needed his hands to fight, after all.

Jean reached out, grabbing your arm, pulling you away from the potential fight that was destined to break out as soon as Connie gave his men the approval to hit Eren. It would come at any second, in the form of a verbal response, a nod, or the raise of his hand.

Everyone waited for it.

As two men stepped closer to Eren, two more of those silent, mindless souls hovered behind you and Jean.

But, when Connie finally said something, it wasn’t any sort of indication to fight. He gave the man standing closest to him an odd order instead.

“Bring me Eren’s phone.”

The man nodded, opening the door to Connie’s red Ferrari. Hidden in one of the compartments of his vehicle was a little bag. A bag that held not only Eren’s phone, but yours as well, and every single member of Eldian Devils.

He took them a while ago.

Punishment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eren called out, watching one of the silent men hand Connie his phone.

Connie simply didn’t answer. Instead, he turned on Eren’s device and started scrolling through his contacts list.

“Hey, look!” Connie suddenly laughed, raising the phone to one of his men. “It’s Eren when he was a teen. See the short hair? He was a piece of shit back then too.”

Then, Connie smirked at Eren.

“I bet you haven’t seen your momma since you took this photo, have you?”

“What are you-”

Eren instantly stopped speaking once Connie clicked on a phone number and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Mrs. Yeager!”

Connie smiled as he stared right into Eren’s eyes. Eren tried to approach Connie, but those men of his were as strong as they were silent, and they quickly grabbed him and forced him down to his knees, one of them covering his mouth with their gloved hand.

And they wouldn’t let go of him.

All Eren could do was sit there in utter confusion, watching as Connie chatted with his beloved mother.

“Yeah, it’s Connie, sorry for calling you from Eren’s phone . . . Been a long time, I know, I know . . . I’m just hanging out with Eren and wanted to see how you were doing.”

Connie paused as Carla responded to him. Then, he said, “that’s good. Hey, listen — mind if I come over? You were kinda like my momma too, and it’s been too long since I last saw you.”

Eren tried to lunge at him again, but he couldn’t move an inch. He could only listen. Connie started to move around casually, looking at his watch and staring at the ground.

“Yes ma’am, I’d love a plate, c’mon now, you know me . . . Bring Eren? I’ll ask, but he’s not feeling well, so it might just be me. That alright? Okay . . . I’ll see you soon.”

Once the phone call ended, one of Connie’s men removed their hand away from Eren’s mouth. And Eren didn’t waste a second before he angrily said to Connie, “what the hell are you doing?”

“How many times are you gonna ask me that? The fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Connie grimaced with annoyance and put his hands in the pockets of his black dress pants. “I’m going to your momma’s house. You see, I forgot you’re not like most people. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to hurt your ass, you’ll never listen. But if I hurt your family-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard. If you lay a hand on anyone in that house, I’ll kill you myself.” Eren’s threat fell on deaf ears.

Surely Connie was bluffing.

That’s what you thought, at least.

Until Connie started walking towards his car.

“Don’t you fucking do it . . . Don’t fucking do it,” Eren shouted again, trying his hardest to shake himself loose, all while you stood there like a frightened statue.

“Connie, listen to me.” Jean took a hesitant step forward as if he were approaching a dangerous wild animal.

A wild animal might have been safer.

“You’re going too far, alright? That woman has always treated us like family growing up. Don’t do this, please.”

“Oh, I get it.” Connie started to open his car door, but he paused, staring a hole into Jean. “So, you can speak up for him, but you couldn’t speak up for me that day.”

His words had caught Jean off guard. That much was clear based on the sweat accumulating across Jean’s forehead.

What did Connie mean, exactly?

“I . . . that was years ago, Connie.” Jean swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Connie demanded. His tone was colder than it was earlier. He turned his attention towards his men, pointing at them as he gave orders like a true dictator.

“You two, take Y/N and Jean back to their own houses. You know what to do. And you two, make sure Eren doesn’t follow me. Keep him here for a while. Here,” Connie tossed one of the men Eren’s phone. “I’m gonna FaceTime you guys once I get there. I want Eren to watch.”

“Wait, Connie, please don’t do this, I’m begging you.” A tear rolled down Eren’s cheek, and he looked at Connie with the eyes of a broken man. After years and years of trying, Eren had finally lost his will to fight. “Please don’t hurt my mom. I’ll do whatever you want, okay? You fucking win. I won’t say shit like that on camera anymore, I’ll do whatever you want me to, just fucking torture me at this point, I don’t care, just don’t hurt my mom. Please, please don’t hurt her.”

“Damn. You’re pathetic, but I’m glad you’re learning, Eren.” Connie gave Eren a genuine, heartfelt smile, and at the sight of it, Eren sighed with relief.

“Too bad I already told her that I’m on the way.”

“No,” Eren’s eyes widened, and he thrashed around with all his strength, but it didn’t matter. Connie continued to get into his car as Eren tried to beg. “No, please-”

Suddenly, you spoke up.

“Going after Eren’s mom because you . . . because you aren’t strong enough to handle Eren himself is pathetic, Connie.” Your body trembled with fear, but you didn’t stop speaking, even when one of Connie’s men gripped your arm. “I-I mean, you’re even too much of a coward to beat him up yourself. You get other people to do it. Can’t handle yourself in a fair fight?”

“Hush, Y/N-”

“No, let her talk.” Connie interrupted Jean, and he stepped away from the car, making his way over to you, his eyes staring into yours. If looks could kill, you would have been a rotting corpse by now. “What are you trying to provoke me for?”

“I’m not trying to provoke you, I’m just stating the obvious.” Although you tried to maintain a confident tone, your voice was shaky.

“Ohhh,” Connie grinned. “You’re trying to make me believe that going after Eren’s family is a cowardly move so then I won’t do it, huh? And you only feel brave enough to do that because someone like you doesn’t have any real loved ones for me to hurt. That’s weird as hell.”

When you opened your mouth to respond — although, truly, you didn’t know what you would have said — Jean stepped closer to Connie, even daring to touch his old friend’s shoulder.

“Connie, listen. Eren knows you’re not playing around anymore, man. Just look at him, bawling like a baby. You broke him, alright? There’s nothing more you need to do. If he gets out of line again, then take it out on whoever you want, but for now, you’ve done enough. Marco . . . wouldn’t want you to treat us this way-”

Connie pulled his arm away from Jean.

He slammed his fist right into Jean’s jaw.

He watched his old friend fall to the ground as if it was nothing. And, when he pulled out his phone, which dinged from a new text message, he looked at his notification screen as if the bleeding man wasn’t worth any of his time anymore.

But, perhaps, the three of you had gotten lucky, because Connie smiled at the text message he had just received, and his anger melted away.

“Take all of them home. Maintain constant supervision. I wanna know where they go, who they speak to, what they eat for breakfast — Just tell me everything. Got it?” Connie ordered, walking towards his car. “And for Y/N, don’t let her leave her house at all. In fact, I don’t want her ass to leave her own bedroom unless I say so.”

“Understood, sir.”

Once again, Eren tried to pull away from the men holding him still once he heard Connie’s plans for you.

All he wanted to do was protect you.

To be with you.

But he couldn’t.

“Have a good night, guys. Get some rest, okay?” Connie said, darting his eyes between the three of you as his men dragged you all into the other cars parked around Connie’s.

As Connie closed his car door, the smile on his face didn’t fade away.

After all, the text message was from one of the many, many people under his command — an obedient little worker of his — who had successfully found Levi Ackerman’s location.

—

THREE DAYS LATER – PHOENIX, ARIZONA

“Here ya go,” Hange placed a ceramic frog mug down on the table in front of Levi, sweet steam circulating from the hot tea. “It’s Earl Grey, of course! The tea bags were getting kinda old, though. Been awhile since you last came over, just sayin’.”

“Sorry,” Levi mumbled, taking a sip of the pleasantly bitter beverage. Regardless of his dry, emotionless response, a lump of guilt started to form in his throat.

Despite being in the military with the eccentric, four-eyed genius, and considering them to be a close friend after so many years, he had hardly bothered to make the drive over to Arizona to visit them.

He truly didn’t realize how much time had passed until Hange’s three-legged cat hopped into his lap, and the precious animal was noticeably older and adorably chubbier.

“So, it takes your life getting ruined for you to come pay your dear ol’ friend a visit, hmm?” Hange pulled out one of the mismatched chairs at their kitchen table — all four seats were drastically different from one another in terms of shape, color, and size, — and they sat down with their own frog mug, filled to the brim with coffee.

Smelling the fresh coffee beans only made Levi feel even more guilty, as they famously despised Earl Grey tea, only purchasing it for Levi to drink whenever he came to visit them in their colorful, cluttered apartment.

“My life isn’t ruined.” Levi paused, shifting his eyes away from Hange.

“You sure about that?” Hange’s tone softened, their words laced with worry. “Your own home isn’t a safe place for you anymore. When it comes to your career, I know you have money in savings to fall back on, but I’m just being honest here; it’s rare for an entertainment manager to become so rich and successful as it is, ya know? And now . . .”

“Now I’ve lost everything. My reputation is ruined. I shitted on my own luck. That’s what you wanna say, right?”

“Oh, c’mon, give me a break, I-I wasn’t gonna say it that harshly!” Hange put their hand up defensively.

“Yeah, well,” Levi took a sip of his tea, “I’m suing the shit outta whoever really leaked those photos. I bet it’s that goddamn stalker who keeps coming after Y/N. She thinks it’s Armin. I don’t trust that new husband of hers. I’m not saying Reiner’s the one stalking her — the phone calls started before they even met, and the I miss you note wouldn’t make sense, but still. I don’t trust him one bit. And if Connie makes her get on live T.V. and spread lies about herself again, I’ll kill that bastard.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” raising their eyebrows, Hange looked at Levi with wide, brown eyes.

Of course, he wouldn’t care about the lies being spread about him.

Of course . . .

“Seen me like what?”

Hange slurped loudly on their hot coffee, darting their eyes back and forth between Levi and the table.

“Spit it out, Hange.”

“Alright, jeez,” Hange paused, taking a moment to think before they spoke, as saying the wrong thing could result in Levi flicking their forehead.

It had happened more times than the rowdy cat lover wanted to admit.

“I was just flabbergasted when I woke up that one morning and saw what the media was accusing you of. I mean, Levi? Levi Ackerman? My Levi Ackerman? I knew you wouldn’t take pictures and leak them yourself — you’re not that much of a peabrain, right? — but then again, you’d have to be a complete idiotic fool to sleep with a famous, married client. Either a fool, or madly in love.”

Swallowing down the last few sips of his beverage, Levi sat the mug down on the table, the practically undrinkable droplets of warm black liquid forming a ring around the bottom of the inside.

“I was drunk,” he claimed. “That’s all it was.”

Hange’s cat jumped off of Levi’s lap and skedaddled across the floor.

Levi stared into Hange’s eyes, and although it was only for a few solid seconds, it felt like an eternity — plus, an extra day — had passed before Hange broke eye contact, and sighed heavily.

“Fineee,” Propping their elbow up on the table, they rested their chin in the palm of their hand, giving a small pout as they did so. Then, suddenly, Hange perked up. “Oh, I almost forgot! Someone dropped this off for you.”

Hange reached into the pocket of their old blue jeans and pulled out a folded envelope.

“You would fold an envelope in half. You’ll fold anything that isn’t laundry, won't you? I bet you also cut sandwiches right down the middle instead of diagonally, too.” Levi glared at them, but there was a hint of playfulness behind his tone. Grabbing the disgracefully folded, white envelope, Levi inspected it closely as he said, “What is this? Who’s it from?”

“Don’t ask me, I haven’t got a clue. Found it sitting on the ground outside of my door, and it had your name on it. I was gonna open it, but as you can see, I decided not to be nosy for once! I doubt you’d get any interesting mail anyways, probably just a bill or something.”

“Doesn’t make sense. No one knows I’m here except for you. How the hell would . . .”

The front of the envelope didn’t have Hange’s address on it, any sort of sender’s address, or a name. It lacked a stamp as well.

It clearly wasn’t mailed to their apartment and left on the ground by some incompetent mailman. The only thing displayed on the flat packaging item was Levi’s name, written neatly across the front.

Once Levi started to slowly open the envelope, Hange sighed and sluggishly got up from their chair.

“Well, I’m gonna get some more coffee,” they announced, grabbing their mug, along with Levi’s. “I’ll refill your tea too. You gotta use up as many of those tea bags as possible while you’re here! Ohhh, actually, I could just send the entire thing with you once you leave, heaven knows I’m not gonna drink any of it . . .”

As Hange rambled on, Levi unfolded what appeared to be a letter, and he read it silently.

—

LEVI,

We at CS Records surely hope that you are enjoying your quality time with your friend, Hange. As you can see, we know where you are. We know what you have done. Sexual intercourse with a client is entirely against our represented morals and agreements, and leaking photos of your disgraced activity to the public media for attention is despicable.

Because of your actions, we must take action.

Consider this letter as an official notice of your immediate termination.

We highly recommend getting comfortable on your friend’s couch, as we will stop at nothing to drive you into abject poverty and homelessness for your behavior.

To address another issue on behalf of Jean Kirstein, we are well aware of the violence you have inflicted upon our respected artist.

For hurting someone we care for, we will now hurt someone you care for, starting with the person who is currently housing you — the person who gave you this letter.

Sincerely,

CS RECORDS

—

Hange turned their attention away from their frog teapot, glancing back at Levi with a gentle smile.

“Everything okay?” They questioned innocently.

Levi didn’t respond. He didn’t move an inch.

He only sat there, staring at the letter.

—

TWO WEEKS LATER - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

The stars in the night sky sparkled especially bright for your special album release party. Oh, how pretty the sky was. You hadn’t seen it in a while. Opening the curtains to your bedroom window was prohibited.

Even as you walked down the stunning red carpet leading up to a venue owned by CS Records — where your celebration would take place — you couldn’t take your eyes off of those glistening stars.

They were brighter than the hundreds of flickering flashes from the cameras belonging to the paparazzi, who screamed and shouted your name to get your attention.

Even some fans had managed to press themselves against the velvet stanchion ropes on each side of the red carpet.

Your devoted admirers screamed your name in hopes that you would simply notice them, waving their phones and pens in the air, wishing to get lucky enough to take a photo with you or grab your autograph.

But only the stars had your attention tonight.

“And, as you can see, ladies and gentlemen, F/N L/N had finally arrived with Connie Springer to the release party of her new album, Heartbreaker, and she looks absolutely stunning! Her silk, champagne-colored, bodycon dress was designed by Fernand Appell himself . . .” The Vogue reporter excitedly glanced back and forth between the red carpet and the camera in front of her.

But she had no idea.

None of them did.

About what was truly happening to you.

Connie Springer’s hand touched your lower back like a true gentleman, and his lips graced the shell of your ear.

“Pose,” he whispered. He warned.

Your artificial smile appeared mechanically, and you were no longer staring at the night sky, but at the cameras all around you.

Walk elegantly. Give a wave or two. Smile. Laugh softly. Be perfect.

Walk elegantly. Give a wave or two. Smile. Laugh softly. Be perfect . . .

—

Classy black and red decorations were spread tastefully throughout the massive, beautiful room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. A statue of a big, black, broken heart served as a centerpiece, surrounded by gorgeous red roses, all of it inspired by your album’s theme. There was a dance floor, a bar, and an overwhelming amount of chatty celebrities.

“Have some fun,” Connie looked down at you, removing his hand from your back. “Tonight sets the tone for how you’ll be treated in the future, okay?”

A sparkle of hope twinkled within your soulless eyes. Did he truly mean it? If tonight went well, you might be allowed to have a bit more freedom? Just a bit?

You nodded eagerly like a little kid agreeing to behave with the hopes of having ice cream.

Connie smiled, and he walked away, headed towards the bar with a handful of his celebrity friends.

—

For the next two hours, you behaved like the flawless being you were conditioned to be. You greeted everyone kindly. Gave a “thank you” speech. Sat down for a small interview.

Everything was going well. Perfectly.

Making your way to the bathroom, your heels clicked against the marbled floor of the deserted lobby a good distance away from where your party was held.

Far enough away for the music and chatter to sound muffled.

Suddenly, you stopped walking.

As far as you could tell, no one was around.

It was just you, an empty receptionist desk, closed doors, big windows, and an elevator.

Perhaps, if you could just find some sort of exit . . .

Your thoughts were interrupted once a large hand grabbed your arm. Naturally, you assumed it was one of Connie’s men, but when you turned around, you stared up into the worry-filled eyes of your husband.

“Reiner?”

“Oh my god, baby,” Wrapping his arms around you, your teary-eyed husband pulled you in for a hug. The embrace was warm — so, so warm.

His comforting, faint, woody scent made you release a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He was so, so warm.

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” Reiner cupped the side of your face with his large hand, holding your head against his chest. “You look so . . . so miserable. What are they doing to you, baby?”

As his fingertips gently stroked your skin, you thought, for only a moment, that perhaps, you were worth touching.

Worth holding.

It was Reiner.

Reiner Braun.

He was holding you.

And he was so, so warm.

Your trembling arms held onto him as tightly as you could. If you let go, he could fade away. He could vanish.

“Are . . . Are you really here, Reiner?”

Reiner’s heart ached like someone had pierced him through the chest with a spear, as he could feel your brokenness. He could hear it in your voice.

His tears splattered against the top of your head. How could a company be so cruel? How could anyone treat his baby this way?

Reiner moved your head away from his chest, but only so he could softly smash his lips against yours. So much time had passed since the last time he had seen you, his beautiful wife.

So much time had passed since he was able to hold you like this. To feel your perfect lips against his.

No matter how much it hurt when you betrayed him, he would always love you, even the flawed pieces of you.

His soft lips passionately moved against yours in a way that told you just how much he loved you. And, for once, you understood what fairytale writers were talking about when they came up with the concept of princes awakening their beloved princesses with a kiss, as Reiner’s lips against yours gave you the one thing you needed most.

Hope.

“I’m gonna get you outta here,” Reiner pulled away, and he stroked your tear-soaked cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m gonna get you away from these people and out of this city. We can go to Tennessee again and be happy and safe, and we’ll never come back here, I promise. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Reiner was wearing an expensive black outfit that allowed him to blend in with every other guest. Thanks to his celebrity status — and him being your husband, of course — no one would question his attendance at your party. And he arrived with the goals of avoiding Connie and his pawns — and finding you.

But was it really possible? Was it really him? Or was it a trick? A cruel joke your mind was playing on you, to make you think that you could truly be happy? Be free?

It seemed too good to be true, but yet, as you hugged him again, pressing the side of your head against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat.

He was so, so warm. Everything else was always so cold, but he was so, so warm.

And he wasn’t fading away.

When you cried this time, there wasn’t anything perfect about it. It was raw, real, and it soaked the front of his shirt, but he didn’t mind one bit. He only held you — held his miserable wife.

“I think he’s real,” you whispered to yourself. “Please let him be real . . .”

“Come on, we’re leaving right now,” Reiner kissed you again, but briefly.

And you smiled. It was a real, genuine, grin of relief. You had almost forgotten how to do something like that.

As Reiner grabbed your hand and started to guide you to the back door, guide you to freedom, you couldn’t help but picture sitting at the dining table in Reiner’s childhood home, having a warm meal in the company of normal, loving people. Maybe Reiner’s mom could make peach cobbler again.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Reiner halted his footsteps.

Connie and his men were guarding the door.

Of course.

Happiness was too good to be true.

You could hear Reiner trying to argue, but it didn’t matter.

You could see him trying to fight against the men that separated you two, but it didn’t matter.

You felt pathetic for even hoping for happiness for even a minute. That was why you didn’t call out for Reiner when they dragged him out of the building.

That was why you didn’t fight against the men when they shoved you into a car, taking you back home.

—

You did an amazing job at the party.

Maybe that would be enough.

Maybe Connie would overlook everything else.

The two men who gripped both of your arms guided you through your front door, and Connie watched as they carried you to your bedroom.

But suddenly, you pulled against them, using what little strength you had to face Connie.

“No, no, this isn’t fair, I did great tonight until Reiner showed up,” You struggled against the two heavy men who tried to yank and grab you like you were nothing more than an animal who broke out of its cage. Your breathing became uneasy. “Connie, please, it wasn’t my fault — I was perfect.”

Breaking free from the tight grip of one of Connie’s men made you fall to the hard ground, a small yelp escaping your throat as your jewelry and heels clinked against your polished floor, your expensive dress tearing a bit at the bottom.

You looked up at Connie through your blurry vision, who casually stood there with his hands in his pockets. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping onto your trembling body and soaking the front of your dress.

“I’m sorry for all the times I embarrassed your company. Your reputation is very important, I-I understand. I was wrong, I was an idiot, and I’ve disrespected you multiple times, but believe me, I’ve learned my lesson, sir. I won’t–I won’t do-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Connie yawned. “Put her back in her room.”

“No,” you cried.

The men reached down to grab your arms, and you tried. You really did. You pleaded. You struggled. But they started to drag you nevertheless.

“Please, Connie, don’t put me back in there, I’ll go-I’ll go back to New York, I’ll go back to the bakery, I’ll completely disappear from your life, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t put me back in there, please don’t put me back in there, please don’t put me back in there-”

The door of your bedroom slamming shut abruptly cut off your begs and pleads.

The dark, luxurious room had quite a few places for you to sit, but you found yourself scooting your trembling body into the corner furthest away from the bedroom door.

Pulling your scraped knees to your chest, you sat there with your head down, the last of your tears falling from your bleary eyes, drying against your skin.

Who knew how long they’d keep you in here this time?

There was only one thing you could do if you ever wanted to see the sun again.

You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect . . . perfect . . . perfect.

Perfect.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

The best way to earn trust is through time.

Apparently, it heals all wounds. Makes it easier for humans to forget the impact caused by the actions of other humans.

However, when it came to Connie Springer, he didn’t forget, nor did he forgive, but he rewarded.

He rewarded Jean and Eren for their good behavior by allowing them to have a little bit of freedom once again.

Instead of having someone constantly follow them around, he placed the two artists under curfew.

They could go wherever they wanted.

Do whatever they wanted.

Call whoever they wanted.

As long as they made songs that would surely break records, behaved decently while in the spotlight, and reported back to their homes by eleven P.M.

And, of course, listen and obey Connie’s every command.

Maybe that small bit of newfound freedom was a result of their complete loyalty and good behavior.

Maybe it was because Connie was busy ruining someone else’s life.

Either way, they certainly had more freedom than you.

Jean and Eren used their privileges to make their way to Armin’s house, as he wanted them to come over for a reason he wouldn’t give over the phone.

Eren was the last one to step through Armin’s front door, fashionably late as usual.

As he closed the door behind him with one hand, tugging off his jacket with the other, he noticed that not only were Jean and Armin sitting on the living room couch, but Levi and Reiner were there as well.

“What’s going on?” Eren asked.

“They . . .” Reiner gulped. He stood against the wall, staring at the ground with wide, exhausted eyes. Eren couldn’t see it at first, not immediately, but as he walked over to join Jean and Armin on the couch, he saw Reiner’s horrific black eye. Suddenly, a small fit of shocked, terrified laughter erupted from Reiner’s throat.

“Connie had someone go all the way to Tennessee. To my childhood home, where my . . . where my family lives. And they burned the place down. All because I tried to help my wife. She’s my wife — she’s mine.”

—

Thirty minutes had passed before Reiner was calm enough to tell everyone what had happened.

“I, uh . . .” Reiner smiled sadly. “I went to her album release party. I didn’t know what I was gonna do, but I needed to see her. I just . . . need her. I tried to get her out of there, but we didn’t even make it through the damn doors. These guards pulled me away from her and dragged me away. You can see what they did to my face after. Then, couple days later, my mom called me and told me that her house burned down. I was upset, but I didn’t think anything of it at first. Everyone made it out safely, and that place was pretty old. With all the cooking my mom does, I can’t say I was surprised when I heard it had caught on fire. But, later on, there was a package outside of my front door with nothing on it except for my name. It had divorce papers and pictures of Connie’s men setting the goddamn house on fire. Setting it on fire with my family inside . . . sleeping.”

“Shit, Reiner,” Jean said to the unfamiliar man. “I’m sorry that happened. I really am.”

“This was the safest place for all of us to meet,” Armin’s eyes darted between all of the other men. “That’s why I called all of you here. I was hoping that maybe . . . we could stop all of this.”

“I think Connie has been Y/N’s stalker the entire time,” Levi suddenly announced, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms folded across his chest. “He’s not as stupid as he looks. I bet the I miss you note was just to throw us all off. Even if they didn’t meet in person until after she started receiving phone calls, he had known about her well before then. She’s one of his artists, after all-”

“Slow down,” Holding out a hand, Eren interrupted Levi, frowning in confusion as he did so. “None of that makes sense to me.”

“Very few things make sense to you, Eren,” Glaring at him, Levi grumbled. “Shut up and listen. He’s holding her hostage and won’t let her go. If that isn’t a sign that, maybe, he’s been the one stalking her this entire time, then I don’t know what is. He obviously wants her all to himself. He made the two of you divorce her, and I bet he took those photos outside of my house and blamed it all on me for revenge. For touching something he wanted. You said it best, Jean. He’s not afraid to embarrass his company if it embarrasses us even more.”

“I hope he burns in Hell,” Eren clenched his jaw.

“I’d do anything to see the old Connie come back someday.” Jean looked at Eren with the saddest eyes, filled with nostalgia.

“Not being able to trust someone is the worst feeling in the world.” Reiner folded his arms, making eye contact with someone across the room.

Someone who was quieter than the rest.

“Reiner, by the way,” Levi paused, suddenly grabbing the blonde-haired man’s attention. “I’m sorry for sleeping with your wife. I don’t have any excuse. I hope you can forgive me for it someday.”

“It’s alright,” Reiner gave Levi a soft, heartfelt grin. “I mean it — I forgive you.”

Levi gave him a sad look. Then, a moment later, Jean spoke up.

“Does anyone have any ideas? On how to . . . free her? Free all of us?”

Jean’s question remained unanswered, a thick silence circulating the small living room.

“I’ve got one,” Levi said, looking at no one in particular. “It won’t free us, but it’ll free her. That’s all that matters to me.”

“What is it?” Eren frowned.

“Based on what I know, Connie doesn’t pay that much attention to his crew. I don’t even think he knows their names. It’s a gamble, but I bet if I asked a friend of mine to sneak into CS Records and pose as a bodyguard, no one would notice. And he could find a way to get her away from Connie. Get her somewhere safe.”

“That has got to be the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Eren lowered his head in defeat.

“How would he even get into that side of the building? It’s closed off to anyone who doesn’t have access, and going through the front entrance means that he’ll just get stopped by the receptionist. And how would he get her away from Connie when he doesn’t let her out of his sight?” Furrowing his brows, Jean took a sip of his water, wishing desperately that it was some form of alcohol.

“One of you idiots can let him into the private part of the building. You all still have access, or did you forget that little fact? And trust me, this man is a genius, and looks intimidating enough to pass as one of Connie’s men. He’ll figure the rest of it out on his own.”

“Sounds good to me,” Reiner said, giving Levi a nod. “I trust you, Levi.”

Levi nodded back, then looked at the other three men, who all nodded in agreement as well, although they did so hesitantly.

And with that, Levi pulled out his phone as he walked away, and dialed his old friend from his days in the military, Erwin Smith.

As they chatted privately in the kitchen, Jean pushed himself off of the couch and headed to the nearby bathroom. Reiner simply closed his eyes as he continued to lean against the wall. Eren looked over at Armin, staring at him curiously for a moment before he spoke.

“Hey,” Eren said softly. “You okay? You didn’t say much.”

“Yeah, I’m just . . .” Armin’s eyes didn’t meet his. “If this works, if we get her away from Connie, what then?”

“What do you mean?”

Armin clenched onto his mug of coffee a bit tighter, hugging it close to his body.

And his eyes still wouldn’t meet Eren’s, even as the frowning man stared at him.

“None of this changes the fact that you and everyone else are still under contract. If you try to fight against it, Connie will be well within his rights to sue. Not to mention, any case you could make about his cruel behavior won’t hold up in court thanks to his influence. He can ruin everyone’s lives. Take all of your money. Hurt your loved ones. Even kill . . . and no one would bat an eye. At the end of the day, he could do all of this to Y/N too, the very person we’re trying to save.”

“You don’t have to help us if you don’t want to, Armin.”

“Are you kidding me?” Armin smiled a bit, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If anyone should help, it’s me. Connie doesn’t have me under any contracts, and I don’t have anything to lose. No real money. No family. If I end up out on the street, I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“You really are tougher than you look, huh?” A gentle smile graced Eren’s face as well, but it did reach his eyes. “I was wrong about you.”

“I was wrong about you too,” Armin sighed softly. “I mean, you must really love her if you’re willing to risk everything for her, right?”

“Yeah, but so does everyone else, clearly. Every single one of us knows what the risks are, but we’re still gonna try.”

“So, what happens if this does work? What happens if everyone manages to be freed from Connie’s grasp somehow, and it’s time for her to pick someone to be with?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.” Eren answered Armin’s question as casually as he could, but there was a hint of nervousness coating his tone, and Armin noticed.

“You’ve lived a pretty comfortable life, Eren. You’ve gone from being rich to being even richer. You could never write another song again and still live out the rest of your days in an abundance of wealth. Not to mention, you’re good-looking enough to have any girl you’d ever want. You don’t know what it’s like to walk around without a roof over your head, wondering where you’ll end up sleeping once nightfall comes. You haven’t had to choose between saving up money to buy yourself a meal so you won’t go to bed hungry, or buying medicine for your wounds so you can push through another work shift. So, I’m asking you once again: are you truly willing to risk everything for her, even if she might not pick you?”

“I am, Armin. You think I give a damn about the money? Cause I don’t-”

“Then what about your family? Mikasa? Your parents?”

Eren looked away from Armin as he said, “nothing’s gonna happen to them.”

“Well,” Armin stared down at the floor beneath his feet. “I admire your bravery.”

“Hey,” Jean suddenly spoke up as he walked into the living room, grabbing the attention of Eren, Armin, and Reiner. “ So, I know I . . . I know I really don’t have a shot with her anymore, but someone has to speak up about what we’re all thinking right now. What will the rest of us do when Y/N doesn’t pick us? We can’t all have her.”

“We have bigger things to worry about than which one of us she’ll pick,” Levi suddenly said as he walked back into the living room, shoving his phone in his pocket, “such as the fact that she’s with someone who’ll shoot anybody who looks at him the wrong way.”

“I know it’s selfish to worry about that when she needs our help — and, hell, we can’t even help ourselves — but, if we can get her away from Connie, won’t we all just go back to trying to win her affection? Besides, even if she does pick someone, are we all going to respect her decision, or are we just going to go right back to stealing her from each other?”

Jean’s question prompted another minute of silence yet again.

“We’ll worry about that when she’s safe,” Reiner suddenly said, opening his eyes to stare at the musician, who sat back down on the couch.

“Of course you’re not worried. You were with her last, and you’re not even completely divorced yet. You have every reason to think that she’d crawl back to you.” Jean frowned as he spoke.

“I am worried. She did cheat on me with Levi at the end of the day. You don’t do that to someone you truly love. Right, Eren?”

“Shut the hell up,” Eren glared at Reiner coldly. “What happened between her and Jean was just a mistake. If it wasn’t for Connie, we’d still be together.”

“Yeah?” Reiner said, glaring at Eren just as intensely. “Well, I could say the same thing.”

“Oh yeah? Did she fucking beg for you to forgive her like she did me?” Suddenly, Eren pushed himself off of the couch. “Or, was she just begging for Levi to fuck her-”

“Hey, cut it out,” Armin spoke with a hushed tone, getting off of the couch as well. “We shouldn’t fight among ourselves. We have to work together.”

“Why?” Eren turned away from Reiner and glared at Armin instead. Although his gaze had softened a bit, his words were still laced with anger. “Why do we have to work together, Armin?”

“Because it’s the smartest way to stop Connie. He can’t control all of you with his contracts, guns, and crew forever, and working together makes it more difficult for him to do that. And he can’t just . . . hold someone hostage. That’s cruel.”

“I’m not helping any of you.” Reiner’s sudden statement caught everyone’s attention. “Don’t get me wrong, you all seem like good people with good hearts, but Connie doesn’t have me under any contracts. If he wants to send his men after me again, fine. If he wants to kill me, fine. But every single one of you had something to do with this current situation. Armin, you brought her to Hollywood in the first place to try and make money off of her. Eren, you poisoned the mind of an innocent woman, making her think dishonesty and betrayal were good traits to have. Jean, you took advantage of her sadness to fulfill your own selfish needs. And Levi, as her manager, you failed to protect her, and by sleeping with her, you screwed her over more than anyone else. So, I’m going to help her no matter what it takes, but the rest of you are on your own. I’m sorry.”

Reiner walked out of Armin’s apartment without another word. A bit of guilt prickled at his heart, but he didn’t feel it nearly as much as he felt the overwhelming presence of distrust.

He had to trust his gut, and his gut told him that not everyone in that room could be trusted.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

♡ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

🎟: @consuming-karma @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @nanamochii @bunny2612 @cupids-soul @crazychaoticizzy @ramonathinks @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @lovelyless-fiction @svftackerman @musegonemad @inciteterr0r @honeybleed @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @moonmalice @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan@beaniebanby @theitchbbbb @skit-brentfaiyaz @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @magictrump @shinzouwoeren @anonymousme23 @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches @sasha-glass @getwaves @deluluvibes @p3nislawd @emery-333

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jrob64 · 1 year ago

Text

Pet for Rent, Chapter 1/4 (The Meet Cute) A CS Modern AU Story

For those of you who read "Sowing Seeds of Trust", you might remember that my dog Zeke had a starring role in it. To my great heartbreak, he died of cancer last June. When we rescued him, the shelter had named him Ernie, and he will be referenced with that name in this story.

Life without a dog proved to be very lonely, so at the end of August, we rescued another dog. The sad story of the dog in this story is what really happened to our new dog. He was named Norman and we renamed him Winston, just like in the story. That's actually him in the pic set with his 'ducky'.

This was supposed to be a short, sweet story, but somehow turned into 4 chapters. Updates will be once a week.

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom and also to @beckettj and @zaharadessert for helping me understand the football (soccer) system in England.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 7754

ALSO POSTED TO A03 & FFN

Story begins under the cut

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Emma Swan flopped down onto her sofa with a sigh. Since their beloved dog Ernie died three weeks ago, she had come to dread her eight-year-old son Henry’s bedtime. Every night when he said his prayers, he ended with, “God, please tell Ernie I love him and miss him, and please send me another dog. Amen.”

Her son knew the chances of getting a dog were slim to none because of his soccer practices and games, and Emma’s schedule for her new job at the sheriff’s station. They had no time to train a puppy.

Understanding why he couldn’t have a dog didn’t make his heart hurt any less. Her heart was just as broken, knowing the sadness and loneliness Henry was experiencing.

After decompressing for a few minutes, Emma’s searching hand located her phone on the end table. She unlocked it and opened her Discord app, selecting the icon representing the parents’ group of Henry’s second grade class. Sitting up a little straighter, she typed a message: Does anyone have ideas of how to help Henry get over the loss of his dog? He keeps praying for a new one, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog to get one with our busy schedule.

She watched the screen intently for a couple of minutes, but when no names appeared to show that someone was answering, she tossed the phone onto the couch and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

Forty minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, going through her nightly routine and changing into her pajamas, she went back into the living room. Television held no interest for her, and realizing she finished her last library book the previous evening, she picked up her phone to mindlessly play a game. Upon unlocking it, her screen opened to the Discord page and she saw three replies to her question.

The first two simply expressed sympathy for the loss of Ernie, but the third one offered a helpful suggestion. Have you thought about ‘renting’ a dog for a day? The animal shelter just outside of town offers that option. We did it for my mother when her Maltese died. The post ended with the web address for the shelter.

Emma immediately pulled up the site and, after searching the homepage, clicked on the tab for ‘services’. Scrolling down the list, she saw ‘Rent-a-Pet’ and selected it. As she read the description of how the program worked, she idly twisted strands of blonde hair around her index finger.

It sounded like a great compromise for their situation. For a donation to the shelter in the form of money, bags of pet food, treats or toys, one of the available animals could come home with them for several hours. The dogs and cats were guaranteed to be docile and house-trained, and could be adopted by the ‘renter’, if desired.

Clicking on the link taking her to the bios of the pets currently housed at the shelter, she filtered it to include only canines. Pictures of nearly two dozen dogs filled the screen, each more adorable and aww-worthy than the last.

Quickly ruling out any that were guaranteed to shed fur all over her house or were bigger than her son, her search was narrowed to nine prospects. She knew her rambunctious son would be keen to play outside with the dog and walk him or her to Storybrooke’s dog park, so a tiny fru-fru pup was out of the question, too. That left six.

She selected one at a time, reading about their breed and temperament. When she brought up the picture of the fourth candidate, the big, chocolate brown eyes and happy expression nearly made her heart melt.

‘Norman’ was a mixed breed and very little was known about him, because he was found tied to a stop sign in the middle of Portland, Maine. He was guessed to be a cocker spaniel mix and was approximately 1-2 years old. His black fur looked sleek and Emma knew he probably wouldn’t shed. A short video showed him romping and playing with another dog in the fenced play yard of the shelter.

Saving the page, she brought up the calendar on her phone and checked their schedule for the rest of the week. Henry had an early soccer game on Saturday, which would be over by 10:30, leaving the rest of the morning and afternoon free. Switching back to the shelter website, she hit the ‘Rent-a-Pet’ button again and began filling in the information, selecting ‘Norman’ when it gave her the choice of animals.

She decided not to tell Henry about the plan, opting to surprise him with it instead.

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“Great game, kid,” Emma complimented her son, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Your pass to Avery was a nice assist. That goal turned out to be the game winner.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry grinned around his mouthful of granola bar. “That’s the first time all season we beat the orange team.”

“I know, and I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Emma fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket, before picking up her lawn chair and water bottle.

“Are we gonna get ice cream?” he asked, before cramming the rest of his snack into his mouth.

“You just ate a granola bar and a banana, and lunch will be in just an hour or so,” she laughed. “I have something else in mind.”

“Whaisit?” he queried, the unswallowed food muffling his voice.

“Well, I know how much you miss Ernie, and Violet’s mom told me about a program at the animal shelter that lets you rent a pet for a few hours,” she answered slowly, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. “So, I signed up to get a dog for you to play with until three o’clock this afternoon.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, swallowing down the rest of his snack as his eyes grew wide. “Really? You can do that?”

“Yeah, we’re scheduled to pick him up at eleven. What do you think about that?”

His exuberant shout of joy and sprint to the car was all the answer she needed.

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Emma couldn’t keep up with her son once he unstrapped his safety belt, exited the car and bounded toward the front door of the shelter. He was already ringing the little bell on the counter for service before she made it inside and chided him lightly for not waiting for her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and light blue eyes entered through a door, the barking of dogs stifled when it clicked shut behind him. He gave them a dazzling smile and greeted them warmly with a hearty ‘good morning’.

Emma reached forward to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan and this is my son, Henry.”

“David Nolan,” he responded, shaking her hand, then doing the same with Henry.

“My teacher’s name is Mrs. Nolan, the same as yours,” the boy told him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in second grade at Storybrooke Elementary, would you?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“Ah, well, that means your teacher is my wife!”

“Wow, cool!” Henry exclaimed. “She’s the best teacher I ever had!”

David’s grin grew even wider. “That’s good to hear. She tells me all about her students every evening and she thinks yours is the best class she’s ever had!”

“It’s quite a coincidence, meeting you here,” Emma commented with a smile.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret I met the two of you. Now, what can I do for you today?”

Emma pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen a few times. Then she laid it on the counter and turned it to show David. “I signed up for the Rent-a-Pet program. Here’s the email with my confirmation.”

David peered down at the screen and used his finger to scroll down a bit. “I see you chose Norman,” he commented, looking up at her.

“Um, yeah. Is he a good dog? I don’t want any messes in my house or car.”

“He’s a great dog,” he assured her, reaching back to the wall behind him to lift a leash off of a hook. “Gets along well with other dogs, seems to love kids, and is generally a very happy little guy.”

Henry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we take him to the dog park? Ernie always loved going to the dog park.” His countenance dropped, a small cloud of sadness passing across his features.

David shared an understanding look with Emma. “Of course you can take him. I’m sure he will love it! Would you like to come back with me to get him?”

The boy turned to look at his mother. “Can I?”

“Sure, kid. I think I’ll come back, too, if Mr. Nolan doesn’t mind.”

“The more, the merrier,” David said cheerfully.

He waited until they joined him on the other side of the counter, then opened the door to the large room full of animal cages. Immediately, the sound of barking, howling and meows filled their ears.

“They get very excited when they know someone is coming back here. I think the animals closest to the door are spies and tell the others,” David joked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Emma walked behind Henry, watching him turn his head left and right to peer at the occupants of all of the pens.

“Aw, Mom, look at that little puppy! He’s so cute! Aw, that dog seems sad. I bet he doesn’t like being in a cage. Look Mom, they have cats here, too.” His litany was continuous as they slowly walked down the aisle between the enclosures.

Finally, David stopped in front of a pen and turned to them, gesturing toward the dog inside. “This is Norman. He has a sad story, but he’s kept his sweet temperament, haven’t you, boy?”

As if in answer, the black dog stood up, his tail starting to wag as he realized the man was talking about him. Henry dropped to his knees in front of the cage, placing his hands against the wire. “Hi, Norman! My name is Henry. Would you like to come home with us for a little while?” The dog’s tail was wagging so fast, his entire body wiggled. “I think he understands me, Mom!” Henry said excitedly.

As David slipped inside the pen to clip the leash to Norman’s collar, Emma asked, “Has he ever been rented before?”

“Several times,” David answered, straightening up once he had the leash attached. “He’s always done really well.” Opening the door of the kennel again, he allowed the dog to go ahead of him, out to where the boy still knelt.

“Hi, boy,” Henry crooned, running his hands over the dog’s head.

Emma bent down and stroked the sleek fur on Norman’s back and sides. “He’s so soft,” she commented.

“He appears to have the coat of a cocker spaniel,” David said, “but he’s definitely a mixed breed.” He watched the boy and dog interact for a few seconds before holding out the looped end of the leash. “Would you like to lead him out to the lobby, Henry?”

He looked up at Emma with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay, Mom?”

“How is he on a leash?” she asked David. “He won’t pull my kid’s arm out of the socket, will he?”

David laughed. “He does fairly well, but if he gets excited, he can get pretty rambunctious. He’ll be fine just going to the lobby, but you might have to walk him out to your car instead of Henry.”

“Sounds like a deal, kid,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.

Henry eagerly accepted the leash and started off down the aisle. “Come on, Norman. Come on, boy. You’re gonna like it at our house. We still have some of Ernie’s toys and balls.”

Emma and David trailed behind. “How long ago did you lose your dog?” he asked.

“Almost a month and Henry is really struggling with it. He and Ernie were best buds.”

“I’m sorry. That’s rough, especially for a kid.”

“And his mom,” Emma added. “I never realized how much I loved that dog, until he got sick and I knew we were going to lose him.”

“Hopefully, Norman will give you both a few hours of enjoyment and help ease the heartache a bit,” David said, before hurrying forward to pull the door open for Henry and the dog.

While David printed off the paperwork, Norman sniffed around Henry, who sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling when the dog licked his ears. “Ernie used to do that too, remember, Mom?”

Emma smiled down at him. “Yeah, you must have very tasty ears. Maybe you should start washing them better.”

“I won’t need to, after Norman washes them!”

She turned back to finish signing the papers. “It’s nice to hear him laughing again. He hasn’t done much of that lately,” she confided to David.

“I think this will be good for both of you and Norman. He really likes being around people. I’m very surprised he hasn’t been adopted yet.”

“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

David shrugged. “This tends to be a slow time of the year for adoptions. Summer is over and school is back in session, so people don’t have as much time to welcome a new dog into their house.”

“That’s the boat we’re in right now,” Emma commented.

“Once it gets closer to Christmas, people will come in looking for pets to give as gifts. That’s good, but also bad, because about a quarter of them are brought back when they realize a pet is more work than they anticipated.”

“We got Ernie from the shelter when Henry was two. He was already five years old, house-trained and had all of the annoying puppy behaviors out of his system.”

“Most people want puppies instead of adult dogs, but there are a lot of advantages to getting an older dog.”

“Norman doesn’t seem to be very old.”

“I’d say at least two, but he’s pretty chill. Once he runs out of energy, he becomes a couch potato.” David collected the paperwork and tapped it on the counter to straighten it. “Well, that’s all I need from you. Norman is yours until three o’clock.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted, causing the dog to start barking.

Emma reached down to take the leash. “Don’t get him all riled up right before we put him in the car, kid.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry apologized. “I just can’t wait to get him home! Can he sit in the back with me?”

“Sure, but first you need to thank Mr. Nolan.”

Henry popped up from the floor and looked back at David. “Thanks, Mr. Nolan! I’ll take good care of Norman, I promise!”

“My pleasure, Henry. Have fun!” David grinned.

Mother and son exited the building, with Norman leading the way, tugging excitedly on the leash. “Slow down, pup,” Emma laughed.

Henry ran ahead to open the door of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle, sliding the front seat forward and clambering into the back. As soon as Norman reached the car, he hopped in and sat on the seat beside Henry like he’d done it every day of his life.

“Well, that was easy,” Emma commented, removing the loop of the leash from her wrist and tossing it beside the dog. After closing the door, she circled around behind the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and choked up at the sight meeting her eyes. Henry had his arms wrapped around Norman’s neck with his eyes closed and his head resting against the dog’s.

Emma was sure the time with Norman was going to be good for both boy and dog, but she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when it came time to bring him back to the shelter.

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Emma was barely able to get Henry to eat when they got home, and had to reprimand him for sneaking Norman bits of his sandwich. The dog, for his part, sat politely while they ate, not begging or whining. She was impressed with his behavior, remembering how she had to break Ernie from begging at the table when they first adopted him.

Henry and Norman bonded quickly as they chased each other around the small backyard, playing with a tennis ball and squeaky toys from Ernie’s toy basket. Emma sat on their small patio, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of happy barking and her son’s laughter. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, posting it to the Discord group and tagging Violet’s mom to thank her for the idea of renting a pet.

Just after two o’clock, Emma suggested taking Norman to the dog park before going back to the shelter. They played there for forty minutes, then the three of them returned home and piled back into the car. Once again, she caught sight in the mirror of her son hugging the dog and sighed, but instead of dreading Norman’s return, she decided to enjoy every minute of happiness it was bringing to Henry…and herself.

Their time with the dog was over all too soon. After Emma parked the car at the shelter, Henry got out of the car and trudged to the door with the leash gripped tightly in his hand. Norman seemed to sense the boy’s mood and walked slowly beside him, his head hanging low.

David was at the desk to greet them again, an understanding look at his face at the dejected look of all three of them. “Was he good for you?” he asked.

“He was great,” Emma answered, rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back. “Wasn’t he, kid?”

“Yeah,” Henry quietly agreed, his eyes trained on the floor.

“You know, you’re welcome to rent Norman, or any of our other dogs, anytime you want,” David said.

Henry looked up. “But what if someone adopts him?”

“Well, that would be a good thing for Norman,” Emma reminded him.

“I guess,” Henry sighed. He knelt down beside the dog, wrapping him up in another hug. “I’ll miss you, boy, but maybe I’ll see you again.” The dog licked his cheek, eliciting a small giggle. Then Henry stood and held the leash out to David. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I had a lot of fun with Norman.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” David said, accepting the leash and moving around the counter. Patting the dog on the head, he added, “I hope we’ll see you again, soon.”

Henry turned pleading eyes to his mother. “Can we do it again next weekend, Mom?”

“You have Avery’s birthday party next Saturday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry nodded, then bit his lip in contemplation. “The next weekend, then?”

Emma laughed. “We’ll see.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s head. “Be a good boy, Norman. You’re welcome at our house anytime.”

After saying their goodbyes, they watched David take the dog toward the door leading to the back. Norman turned and gave them a sad look before following the shelter worker through it, tearing at Emma’s heart even more.

She swallowed hard and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

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The sadness soon wore off and for the next several days, Henry talked almost incessantly about all of the fun he had with Norman. Emma checked their schedule and saw that Henry had another early game three weeks later, which would be the last game of the soccer season. She relayed that news to Henry, asking him if he wanted to rent Norman again that day, and was answered with a very enthusiastic ‘YES!’

She nearly forgot to make the reservation, only remembering three days before, while waiting to pick Henry up from practice. Quickly, she pulled up the website and filled out the form, glancing up often to see if Henry was coming off the field because she always liked to meet him as soon as he did, instead of waiting for him in the car.

Emma was especially glad they decided to rent Norman Saturday, since Henry’s soccer team lost their final game by one goal. His downcast look was soon replaced with excitement when she reminded him that they would be going to the shelter.

When they arrived, he bounded out of the car and waited impatiently for his mom to join him, before practically sprinting to the door. It took a couple of minutes before David emerged from the back, beaming a smile when he saw them waiting at the counter.

“Henry! Emma! I’m very happy to see you again!”

“We’re here to get Norman,” Henry said excitedly.

A puzzled look crossed David’s face. “I’m sorry, but Norman is already being rented by somebody else today,” he informed them.

“What?” Henry asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Then he turned to Emma. “But Mom, you said we would be getting Norman.”

Emma was already pulling the email up on her phone. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Nolan. I reserved Norman when I filled out the form. See?”

She turned her phone for the worker to see it. David looked at it carefully, then pointed to the screen. “It looks like you didn’t ask for a specific dog.”

“I didn’t?” she questioned, then looked at her phone more closely, her heart dropping when she saw the blank space beside the ‘requested animal’ inquiry. “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry when I filled it out and I must have missed that question.”

“We have several other dogs,” David consoled. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun with one of them.”

“No I won’t,” Henry pouted. “I only want Norman.”

“Henry…” Emma started, but was interrupted when the door behind her opened.

“Good morning, Dave,” said a deep voice with a distinctive British accent.

Emma turned to see the newcomer and nearly swallowed her tongue. The man standing before her had to be a mirage, because surely someone that handsome didn’t really exist. He had a lean physique clad in dark jeans and a maroon henley, with a tantalizing view of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned neckline. A black leather jacket completed his ensemble. His chiseled jawline was covered with a pleasing amount of scruff and his dark, windblown hair was falling over his forehead. He sported a wide grin and, between that and his deep blue eyes, Emma was mesmerized.

She was suddenly very aware of her own appearance. Henry’s early game meant she had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, donned an old hoodie and stuffed a beanie over her barely brushed hair that morning. Her face was free of makeup, unless you counted a few stray flecks of mascara that stubbornly refused to come off when she washed her face the previous evening.

“Hey, Killian,” David greeted.

The man’s - Killian’s - eyes had settled on Emma, a glint of curiosity evident in them.

“Oh, um, come on Henry,” she said, after several moments of silence. “Let’s get out of this man’s way.”

“But Mommmm…” he whined.

Emma put her hand on his shoulder and guided him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”

“I’m in no hurry, Miss,” Killian began.

“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m afraid I created a problem that might take a while to straighten out, so please, go ahead.”

“In that case, thank you very much,” he smiled. Turning his eyes to David, he asked, “Is Winston ready?”

Emma was surprised to see the genial shelter worker furrow his brow at the other man. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”

Killian shrugged. “He looks like a Winston to me, and he answers to that name when he’s at my house.”

David glanced at Emma and Henry and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Grabbing a leash off of a hook, he said, “Give me a minute,” then he pushed the door open and disappeared into the back.

“Are you adopting a dog today?” Henry asked Killian.

“Alas, no. I just moved into a small apartment here three months ago and am still trying to get everything organized and put away. Being in a new town has been a bit lonely at times, so I’ve been coming here now and then to borrow a dog for a few hours.”

“That’s why we’re here, but somebody is taking the dog I want,” Henry grumbled.

“Henry, that’s enough,” Emma reprimanded. “You haven’t even looked at any of the other dogs.”

“None of them will be as good as Norman.”

Killian’s brows raised. “Did you say Nor-”

Just then, the door behind the counter opened and David came through, trying to control a very excited dog.

“Norman!” Henry cheered, dropping to his knees. The dog started jumping toward him, wildly licking his face as soon as he reached the boy.

“I thought you said he was already rented today,” Emma questioned David.

“He is,” he replied, looking pointedly at Killian.

Emma followed his gaze and saw the other man watching the interaction between Henry and the dog with a sheepish look on his face. The pieces began to click together and she asked, “Wait a minute - is Norman the dog you’re renting today?”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re here for the same dog.”

“But you called him by another name,” Emma continued.

“He’s the dog I’ve rented every time and he just doesn’t seem like a Norman to me, so I started calling him Winston,” Killian explained.

All three adults stood looking at the whirlwind of fur jumping all over Henry, who was giggling so much, he could hardly catch his breath.

Finally, Killian spoke. “It seems as though Win-, I mean, Norman, has made his choice. Please let Henry and…his mother have the dog today, Dave.”

“Emma,” she informed him. “My name is Emma Swan, and you don’t have to do that. You had him reserved first. Besides, Henry needs to learn he can’t always have his way.”

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my time with the dog, knowing how sad it would make Henry,” Killian responded. He took a step forward and offered Emma his hand to shake. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

As they shook hands, David cleared his throat. “Um, I have an idea of how to work this out. It’s a nice day, so why don’t all of you take Norman to the dog park together?”

Emma and Killian both whipped their heads around to stare at him. He seemed to shrink back a bit before stammering, “I mean, that way you could all spend time with him and get to know each other at the same time. You’ve been saying you’d like to meet more people in Storybrooke, Killian, and that’s where Henry and Emma live.” Looking at Emma, he added, “I’ve gotten to know Killian pretty well because he sings in the church choir with me and Mary Margaret. He’s a good guy.”

Emma slowly turned her eyes back to the very handsome man whose hand she suddenly realized she was still holding. She dropped it quickly, as she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Then she looked at Henry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman sprawled across his lap. He was looking up at her with hope in his eyes.

Meeting Killian’s gaze once again, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Emma.”

“You wouldn’t have to go all the way back into Storybrooke,” David said. “There’s a small dog park at the end of the walking path, where a lot of people take dogs they’re thinking of adopting.”

“Please, Mom?” Henry pleaded. “Norman would like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Emma took a look at the pair and groaned, “It’s bad enough when you use the puppy dog eyes on me, kid. Now you’ve got the dog doing it, too.”

Killian chuckled lowly, the sound of it making Emma’s stomach flip in a very pleasant way. “I would hate to disappoint the two of them, so I’m game if you are, lass.”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation for a few seconds, before saying, “Okay, but on one condition - you let me pay half of the rental fee.”

“I already paid the fee online,” Killian said.

“So did I, so I guess that takes care of that.”

“Not really,” David said. “You both paid, but you’re only renting one dog. I should reimburse each of you half of the fee.”

“Keep it,” Emma and Killian answered at the same time, then both laughed.

“The shelter can always use a little extra money, can’t it, Mr. Nolan?” Emma asked.

“Please call me David. And of course we can, if you’re both sure you don’t mind.”

As soon as they affirmed their answer, David walked around the counter and picked up the end of the leash. Handing it to Emma, he said, “In that case, Norman-slash-Winston is yours for the next four hours. You can bring him back sooner, if you like, but I’m sure he’s going to love getting out for a while. Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s usually a couple of food trucks near the dog park on Saturdays. Have fun!”

Emma and Killian thanked him, then went out the door with Norman straining at the leash, and Henry skipping along beside him. They quickly found the sign marking the path and started walking it.

After several paces, Killian turned to Emma and asked, “Is it me, or do you feel like David just set us up?”

“One hundred percent,” Emma laughed.

“How long have you known him?”

“David?” she questioned. At his hum of affirmation, she said, “Henry and I rented Norman three weeks ago and that was the first time I met him. David, I mean, not Norman. Well, it was the first time we met Norman, too. His wife is Henry’s teacher. Again, I mean she’s David’s wife, not Norman’s.” She knew she was rambling, but the thought of spending several hours with the gorgeous stranger was making her nervous.

Killian laughed. “That’s a relief. I borrowed Win-, uh, Norman three times and he never once mentioned being married.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh - mostly because what he said was funny, but also in relief that he responded to her embarrassing prattling with humor, instead of judgment.

“So, if Dave just met you, he probably doesn’t even know if you’re married or dating anyone. That was a little presumptuous of him.”

“Are you fishing for information, Mr. Jones?” Emma teased.

“Killian will do,” he grinned. “And…perhaps?”

Before she could answer, Henry ran back to join them. “Can I take Norman, Mom? He’s walking really well on the leash, so I don’t think he’ll yank my arm out of the socket.”

She looked at Killian, who raised an eyebrow with a bemused look on his face.

“That’s something I said when we picked Norman up the last time,” she explained. Handing the loop of the leash to Henry, she said, “Don’t get too far ahead of us, kid.”

“We won’t,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Emma turned her attention back to the man beside her. “To answer your non-question Killian, no, I am not married or dating anyone. It’s just Henry and me, and always has been. When I told his father I thought I might be pregnant, he didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if I was or not.”

Killian absorbed this news for a few moments before responding, “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if the two of you might be better off without someone like that, anyway.”

“Oh, definitely. Henry is more mature at eight than his sperm donor was as an adult. I was young and foolish, but I had to grow up fast once I became a single mother.” She watched her son trying to get Norman to walk beside him, then turned to look at Killian. “Sorry, that is a lot more information than I’m sure you wanted to know.”

“No need to apologize, Emma. I did ask, in a roundabout way.”

“So what’s your story? Did you move here from England, or am I misreading your accent?”

“You got it right,” he chuckled, then took a deep breath. “There was nothing left for me in England. My brother moved here soon after our mother died two years ago, and once I found out my girlfriend was actually a married woman, I needed a fresh start.”

“Ouch,” Emma commented.

“Aye, and now I’ve probably shared more than you wanted to know.”

“We’ll call it even, and promise to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the day,” Emma said.

“Deal.”

“You said your brother moved here. Does that mean he lives in Storybrooke?”

“Aye, he followed his heart and it led him straight to this quaint little town.”

“Who does he date, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s engaged to the town librarian, Belle French.”

“Liam is your brother? I guess I should have figured that out since your last name is Jones.”

“It’s a very common name, lass. Yes, Liam is my brother. I gather you know him?”

“Belle is one of my best friends, so I know him through her. She used to babysit for Henry quite often, when I was a waitress at Granny’s.”

“Ah, the famous Granny’s Diner!” Killian exclaimed. “I visit that establishment frequently. She makes the best lasagna.”

“I think you meant to say the best grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma grinned mischieviously.

“I’ve yet to try those particular delicacies,” he smirked.

“Try them,” she advised. “I guarantee you’ll love them.”

Looking ahead, they saw they were nearing the dog park and picked up their pace. They caught up with Henry and Norman just before reaching the entrance. There were about a half-dozen dogs running around the park, some loose and others on leashes.

“I think it would be a good idea for Mr. Jones to take Norman before we go in,” Emma told Henry. “He’ll be able to control him better if he gets too excited.”

“Okay,” Henry said, willingly handing over the leash.

“Thanks, lad,” Killian smiled.

Henry went through the first gate, holding it open for his mom, followed by Killian and Norman. When they were all in the buffer zone, Henry opened the next gate leading into the main part of the park.

“You’re raising quite the gentleman, Emma,” Killian commented, after he entered with the dog.

“He has his moments.”

They all watched Norman as he began sniffing around excitedly, then pulling on the leash when he noticed the other canines sharing his space. He nearly yanked Killian off of his feet with his enthusiasm to meet new friends.

The next twenty minutes were spent chasing the dog and trying to settle him down. After a few of the other owners left with their animals, Henry found a tennis ball and engaged Norman in a game of fetch. The adults sat on a bench to observe the pair, laughing at the clumsiness of the dog.

Emma noticed Killian rubbing his shoulder. “Alright there, Jones?”

“I think he might have pulled my arm out of the socket, Swan,” he quipped.

“Very funny, smart guy,” she said, making him laugh again. They watched for a few more minutes before Emma asked, “Do you have a job in Storybrooke? I started working at the sheriff’s station three months ago and I don’t remember seeing you around town.”

“I’m an architect. I was able to keep my job with the firm in England by working online and attending meetings with clients and my colleagues via Zoom. All of my time is spent in my office at home. It’s not ideal, but I appreciate my boss being willing to make concessions for me.”

“Do you plan to get a job here eventually?”

“Aye, if I decide to stay.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Living in Storybrooke has been quite an adjustment.”

“I get that. We moved here from Boston when Henry was two. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, was our neighbor there, and when she decided to move back, she talked me into coming with her. At first, I had a hard time getting used to the peace and quiet. That was one reason why I adopted Ernie - just to have a little more noise in the house.”

“Ernie?” Killian questioned.

“Oh, he was our dog. We had him for six years, but he died a couple of months ago.” She pulled her phone out of the pouch of her hoodie and swiped to reveal her lock screen. “This is a picture of Henry with him.”

“Beautiful animal,” Killian commented sincerely, taking in the photo of the brown and white spaniel. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Emma sighed, locking her phone and returning it to the pocket. “Henry grew up with him and he’s had a really hard time with it. Someone suggested renting a pet from the shelter to help him work through it, and that’s how we ended up renting Norman.”

“They seem to really like each other.”

“Yeah, they got along great the first time. That’s why I signed up to get him again, but I was in a hurry when I filled out the form and forgot to ask for a specific dog.”

“Ah, that explains the mix-up,” Killian remarked.

Another half hour passed while they chatted easily, until Henry came over and flopped down on the ground, quickly joined by Norman. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure, kid. Put Norman back on his leash and we’ll go find those food trucks Mr. Nolan mentioned.”

They soon located the food trucks just down the sidewalk from the park. After discussing their options, they decided to get pulled pork sandwiches from the barbeque place. It was obvious that people who took their pets to the dog park frequented the food trucks, because each one had bowls of water set out in front of them and containers of dog biscuits on their condiment tables.

While they waited for their food, Henry tried to teach Norman to sit, rewarding him with pieces of the biscuits when he obeyed.

“He’s very good with him,” Killian noted.

“He prays for another dog every night, but our schedule is so busy right now. Plus, it’s such a big responsibility and I’m not sure Henry is ready for it. I might be wrong about that though, seeing how he is with Norman.”

After eating, they followed the sidewalk a little further and spotted a playground. Emma and Killian sat on a bench, with Norman sitting between them as they watched Henry play on the equipment.

“You know, we’ve lived in Storybrooke for six years and I never knew this playground existed,” Emma commented. “We don’t come this way very often, because whenever we go out of town, we take the road going south.”

“It appears to be fairly new,” Killian observed. “Perhaps they constructed it when they built those apartments over there, because they don’t look like they’ve been there very long.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I remember when they were being constructed a couple of years after we moved here, which means they’re less than five years old.”

They lost sight of Henry for a few seconds when he climbed a ladder up into a tower. Suddenly they heard him shout, “Hey, Mom! Look what I found!” and saw him coming down a twisting slide with his arms over his head, clutching a tattered looking soccer ball.

He landed at the bottom and came running over to them. “Someone must have forgotten this at the top of the tower. Wanna kick it around with me?”

“Sure, kid,” Emma answered, hopping up from the bench. “It looks a bit deflated. Are you sure it’s even going to roll?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. Placing it on the ground, he gave it a kick and watched it roll across the grass. “See?”

A black streak flew past him, with Killian following close behind shouting, “Wins-, I mean, Norman! Come back here!”

The dog ignored him, but stopped when he got to the soccer ball. He was trying to pick it up in his mouth when the three humans reached him. Killian was able to kick it away from him, directly to Emma, who stopped it with her foot, then booted it over to Henry. Norman ran from one to the other, in hot pursuit of the elusive ball.

The ‘keep away’ game kept them entertained for a long time. They ran, shouting instructions to each other and laughing until all of them were completely out of breath. Norman was able to intercept some of their passes, but they always managed to get it away from him before he was able to pick it up and run off.

Finally, Emma declared that she had to take a break. Picking up Norman’s leash, she said, “I think we should take him back to the food trucks to get a drink and buy a couple of bottles of water.”

“Aww, Mom,” Henry complained. “I’m not ready to go yet. Can’t I stay here? Killian will stay with me, won’t you, Killian?”

“First of all, you should call him Mr. Jones, and secondly, you’re putting him on the spot, which isn’t cool,” Emma admonished.

Henry looked appropriately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Henry, but if I may be so bold, I don’t mind you calling me Killian. That is, if it’s okay with your mother.”

Henry looked to his mom, who considered for a few seconds, then gave him a nod of approval.

Killian put his arm across Henry’s shoulders and walked him the short distance to where Emma was standing. “I’d be happy to go get the water, Emma.” He took the end of Norman’s leash from her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

While he was gone, Emma sat on the bench watching Henry continue to kick the soccer ball around. Killian and Norman returned a few minutes later, handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her.

“Do I owe you anything for this?” Emma asked, unscrewing the lid.

“Not at all. I think I can afford to buy a lovely lass a bottle of water.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of the adjective, still rueing the fact she met such a handsome man while looking like she just rolled out of bed. As she was getting ready to take a drink, Henry kicked the ball and sent it sailing over their head, causing Emma to duck and spill some of the water in her lap.

Henry ran over, stopping in front of her. “Oops. Sorry, Mom. I was trying to kick it at the teeter-totter.”

Emma brushed at the water droplets, looking around to locate the teeter-totter, which was at least twenty feet away from the bench. “Not even close, kid.”

Killian stood up. “Perhaps I could give you some pointers, lad. I was a rather good football player when I was younger .”

Henry’s forehead creased in confusion. “I play soccer, not football.”

Killian chuckled as Emma explained, “Killian grew up in England and over there, soccer is called football. They call what we play ‘American football’, don’t they, Killian?”

“Aye, lass. Sorry to confuse you, Henry.”

“Oh, I never knew that. So, how good were you?”

Killian rubbed a finger behind his ear, ducking his head a bit. “I played in a semi-professional league for a couple of years and actually tried out for a professional club, before I decided to go to Uni and become an architect instead.”

“Wow! Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “You probably know even more about soccer than my coach!”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows a bit more than a volunteer coach for a youth league team.” She took the dog’s leash back from Killian. “Norman and I will sit this lesson out.”

Killian attempted to wink at her. “As you wish, Milady. Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do.”

She smiled fondly, watching the two of them passing the ball back and forth for a while, before pulling out her phone to catch up on her social media apps.

When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw Killian giving Henry instructions for controlling the ball as he dribbled it down the field. Apparently, they were using two trees as the goal and Henry was moving toward them quickly, while trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the ball under control. When he kicked it from quite a distance away, the ball hit one of the trees and ricocheted away.

Killian went to retrieve the ball and took it back to where Henry was waiting. He squatted down in front of the boy and began talking to him, gesturing now and then to different parts of the field.

Henry listened intently, nodding once in a while. When Killian finished speaking, he stood up and did a short demonstration of how to move the ball back and forth from foot to foot. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder, walked the ball further away from the trees and set it down.

Henry lined himself up behind the ball and looked up at Killian. After getting a reassuring smile from him, Henry started dribbling the ball across the ground with shorter, more controlled kicks, while Killian jogged beside him, shouting encouragement. This time, he got the ball much closer to the trees, before giving it a powerful kick that sent it shooting right between them.

Killian whooped as Henry raised his arms in victory, giving a triumphant cheer. What Emma saw happen next put a lump in her throat. Henry flung his arms around Killian’s waist, hugging him tightly, and Killian returned the hug, rubbing his hand over her son’s head as he looked down at him with a proud smile on his face.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

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#pet for rent #jrob64 #csff #CS fluff #CS smut #CS modern AU #captain swan fanfic #art by jrob64 #ouat Captain Swan fanfic #Captain cobra

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hookedonapirate · 7 years ago

Text

To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: There's two more chapters after this, and I'm so sad this story is coming to end soon but I've had so much fun reading all of your reviews. Because someone had mentioned this, I wanted to clarify that Killian's character is in no way based on Jack in Heartbreakers, in case you've seen the movie and haven't already figured that out, and I love that one of you mentioned it! Killian may be a fool in love, but he's certainly not a hopeless spineless sap, so please don't expect Emma to be let off scot-free - but you will see how things turn out very soon. Here we go!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is. And thank you @wellhellotragic for pointing out a few dumb mistakes as well.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9

Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Artwork by @distant-rose

Ch 1 Art Ch 3 Art Ch 4 Art Ch 7 Art Ch 8 Art

Chapter 10: Final Round

~Rule #10: Keep your eyes on the finish line. You're about to rip the rug from underneath his feet, flip his world upside down and destroy everything he’s worked so hard for, so whatever you do, don’t let anything or anyone get in your way, no matter what. Put on the show of your life, but your heart must remain of steel when you rip his out and let it crumble in between your fingers.~

The early morning light illuminates softly through the bedroom windows, creating a warm glow in the room. Killian is lying on his stomach as he starts to stir in the tangled blankets and sheets, the delicious aroma of coffee intriguing his senses. Turning his head away from the intrusive light, he instinctively reaches out towards the other side of the bed, but instead of finding his wife, he finds her side empty. Gradually opening his groggy eyes, he lifts his head to confirm his Swan is not there.

Mustering the energy from his tired bones, he slowly makes his way out of bed, pulls on a pair of boxers and goes in search of her.

He once again finds Emma sitting out on the terrace, this time in a light blue nighty, staring out over the ocean and nursing a coffee. He doesn't blame her though. The sound of the waves and seagulls are soothing, and the gentle breeze feels quite perfect.

Killian grins at the sight and comes up behind her, wrapping her up in his embrace. “Aren't I the one who's supposed to be the early riser?” he teases playfully.

Emma shudders in his hold, turning her head and offering a smile smile. “I just woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep.”

“How come, darling? What's on your mind?”

Emma shrugs softly. “I just realized last night how little we really know about each other.” She turns around in his arms, looking up at him. “I mean, aren't married couples supposed to know every little thing, like the tattoos they have and what the other likes in bed? We've never even seen each other naked until last night.”

Killian’s features fall in disappointment. Was he not adequate enough for her? He thought she’d enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had, but maybe he was mistaken. “Was I… did I do something wrong?” he asks, worry lacing his tone.

Emma shakes her head, a smirk curving her lips. “No, of course not. You were... incredible.”

Killian sighs in relief, his expression relaxing a bit. “Then what's the problem, sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Not all couples have sex before marriage.”

“I know… but those people normally know everything else about their partner. And we didn’t. We still don't.”

“Emma, we have from now until the end of time to get to know each other,” he points out in a hopeful tone. “Are you regretting getting married too soon?”

Emma shakes her head, pursing her lips in contemplation, her eyes full of conflict. “No, I'm not, I just... there are some things I need to tell you.”

Killian places the pad of his index finger on her lips to stop her from saying anything more. “It can wait. Our honeymoon is supposed to be relaxing, not stressful,” he reminds her.

Emma looks like she still wants to tell him something, but right now he has other ideas as he takes the coffee cup from her hand and places it on the outdoor table.

“I want my wife to feel pampered and loved appropriately, not worried or discouraged.” Before she can respond, Killian is running his hands down her exquisite curves, following the trail down her clothed body with his lips. She shows him no resistance and is already responding with a soft moan, her body molding into his touches.

He kneels down in front of his sweet goddess, lifting her leg over his shoulder. She braces back against the railing as he sneaks his head underneath her gown and uses his mouth and fingers on her, caressing her folds and enjoying her sweetness on his tongue. Hearing her soft curses above him, he eagerly explores his wife, devouring her in his mouth and pumping his fingers into her heat. It's not long before he’s pulling her into the abyss, her walls fluttering around his tongue as she offers all of her essence to him, crying out into the open, morning air.

Licking his lips, he picks her up and carries her back to bed where they display their affections with gentle caresses, satisfying strokes and sweet kisses. They explore every inch of skin, every line and every curve, memorizing and getting to know each other’s body more thoroughly. They stay in bed long into the late afternoon until they finally remove themselves to shower and make breakfast together.

$*$*$

Emma wants to stay on the island with Killian forever, but alas, real life forces them to go back. After getting back from their honeymoon very late, Emma drives to work early in the morning, while he visits the driving range.

She has this foreign feeling blooming inside her. She’s never been this happy before, and can’t say she hates the feeling. There’s just a tiny problem of having to tell Milah to call off the con, though, but she hopes to quickly rectify that.

She dials Milah’s number during her drive to work and it rings a few times before her sister answers.

“Hey?” Milah’s words are laced with confusion. Emma really has no reason to call her, because the plan is already set in motion. They never talk to each other between the wedding and the carefully planned affair, so neither will get doubts or mixed feelings, and neither one will be influenced by the other to back out. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Emma takes a deep, shaky breath, not sure how to form in words what she wants to tell her sister. “Actually, no, not really,” she confesses, the inside of her stomach twisting with nerves, like it’s filled with snakes.

“What is it? If you’re worried about how things will go, please don't. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

“It’s not that,” Emma begins, and she’s feeling conflicted. She knows she has to fess up and tell Milah the truth, but at the same time she doesn’t want to disappoint her sister. She also doesn't want to hurt Killian. It’s a lot like she’s choosing between them, and her loyalty should be leaning towards Milah, but her heart is going off in an entirely different direction. “I’m calling off the con,” Emma blurts out loud, and the silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Emma starts to panic, not knowing exactly how Milah is reacting to this.

“You wanna what?” Milah questions finally, after an eternity, or so it feels, her tone hinting towards anger and irritation.

Emma’s heart is hammering so fast, she’s not sure if she can tell her sister how she really feels exactly. “I… I can’t go through with it.”

Milah emits a strangled noise and Emma has to hold the phone away, her features twisting in confusion. Is Milah really laughing?

Holding the phone to her ear again, Emma can still hear her laughing for several more seconds before the sound finally dies in Milah’s throat.

“Oh Emma, that’s a good one. You really had me going for a sec.”

“No, I’m serious, Mi. I can’t go through with this.”

“And why not?” Milah’s tone is much more serious, and Emma can tell she is not thrilled by this revelation.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Emma throws around the idea of telling her the truth because isn’t that the whole point of this conversation—to tell Milah the truth? “Because I’m in love with Killian.”

Again there is silence, and it’s completely overwhelming. She needs something; any sort of response will do, really, but there’s nothing for what feels like several minutes.

“Milah?”

“I cannot believe this. You’re the one who begged me to go along with this. Ever since you saw that damn golfer, you have nothing but insisted that he is the one who will get us to Hawaii.”

“Milah—”

“No, let me finish.” Her tone is sharp, full of fire as she continues. “You swore up and down you could do this. You said ‘trust me, sis. I won’t let you down, I promise,’ so I agreed, even though I knew it wasn’t the best decision.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t help the way I feel. Do you really think I wanted this? I mean after everything we’ve done so far, do you think I wanted to let you down? It hurts like hell knowing I did,” Emma admits, her voice cracking with apology. “I really wanna make this up to you, but right now I just need to know you won’t go through with this.”

Mialah sighs through the phone, and Emma can sense her resolve is weakening. “Fine, I won’t. Your feelings are more important than the con.”

Emma is flooded with relief, and she takes a deep breath, releasing all of the stress she had felt from thinking about Milah going through with the plan. “Thank you Mi. I really owe you one.”

“Big time,” Milah agrees with a laugh.

Emma smiles, knowing that everything will be okay. Or at least she hopes. She still has to tell Killian the truth, as much as it will hurt. She cares for him too much to not tell him. She just hopes she doesn't lose him after she does. “How about I start off with a thank you meal from TooJay’s Deli after I get out of work,” Emma offers, knowing their corned beef and pastrami sandwich is Milah’s favorite.

“I’ll take it,” Milah accepts rather quickly, her words edged with excitement. “When do you think you’ll be home?”

Emma looks at the clock below her dashboard. It normally takes fifteen minutes to get from Marco’s to her house, but since she has to stop at the deli first, she knows it will be longer than that. “Well, based on the traffic, I wanna say two, two thirty is that too late?”

“No it's perfect. Can’t wait.”

$*$*$

Entering the driving range he’s grown so familiar with, Killian wipes the sweat from his brow. He’s prepared for a morning of practice in the sweltering heat, reflecting on the honeymoon and the wonderful time he’d had with Emma.

Killian knew he’d be taking a risk proposing so soon and getting married not long after, but he doesn’t regret any of it. He’s incredibly happy, and he never thought he could be—not until Emma had entered his life.

He’s looking forward to the future awaiting him and his wife—a future of Emma being by his side, both of them supporting each other in any possible way, a future of loving Emma until his heart no longer beats in his chest. He’s also looking forward to telling the whole world he’s married to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“Hook, I should’ve known you’d be back here practicing for the next game right after your honeymoon.”

Regina’s playful words surprise him before he can hit the ball in front of him, and he looks over, seeing her striding over to him holding a manilla envelope in her hands. Still gripping onto the club, he greets her with a blushing smile before returning his focus to the range in front of him. “So you’ve heard?” He swings and hits the ball, letting it cut through the air, and he watches it land before turning around to face Regina once more.

The woman nods, closing the distance between them and standing in front of him. “Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

“And let me guess who told you—Mary Margaret?”

Regina laughs. “Come on Hook, you know she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Killian nods in agreement. He likes to give his agent the benefit of the doubt, but she’s been known to let things slip out once in a while when she gets too excited. “So, what can I do you for?”

Her face becomes more serious, concern washing over her features. “Look, Killian, I really wish you would have told me you were getting married to Miss Swan, because then I could’ve warned you.”

“It’s Mrs. Swan-Jones now,” he corrects, lifting a brow as his smile dims; he suddenly has a bad feeling in the pit of stomach. “Warn me about what?”

Regina sighs and peers down at the folder in her hands. “Well you know whenever I have a bad feeling about something, I can’t let it go. I end up turning to Sydney to gather information and ease my mind.”

“Regina, who did you spy on?” he demands, growing irritated. He hates when she uses Sydney to do her dirty work. Hell, he hates that she always has to go digging up dirt in the first place. Everyone has a thing or two from the past they want to keep buried, so what gives this woman the right to go and uncover those things and stir up trouble?

“Killian, I don’t know how to tell you this. Maybe we should go inside so you can sit down for this?” she suggests, glancing up at him.

“I’m fine right here. Just tell me,” he says, agitation lacing his words. He doesn’t like to be interrupted during his practice, to be messed with, and Regina has a really bad habit of doing that.

“Alright fine, I’ll be up front with you then. Emma Swan is not who you think she is.”

Anger bubbles under his skin. This woman had the audacity to go and dig up information on his wife? “Bloody hell, Regina, I don’t wanna hear this.”

“Oh believe me, you need to know this. The woman is playing you.”

Killian’s already heard enough. He turns around, sliding his club into his bag. “I don’t believe this. I’m finally happy, and you have to go and try to spoil it for me. I’m leaving.” He picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Wait, please Killian,” she begs, and he can sense the concern and urgency in her voice, but he doesn’t want to hear about it.

“If you had concerns about her, you should’ve come talk to me, not go behind my back and—”

“I know, but I didn’t. Instead I do what I do best. I panicked and had to find out more information. I’m sorry Killian, but none of that changes the fact that Miss Swan is a gold digger and Miss Byrd is not an interior decorator. Her real name is Milah Raven, and she's going to try and get you to have an affair. It’s all part of their scheme. They’re only trying to screw you over so they can run off with your money.”

“Just stop,” he begs sharply. “I’ve heard enough. How can you just waltz over to me and accuse my wife of such things?”

“Because I care about you. And I can prove to you that Miss Swan and Miss Raven have done this many times before.”

He scoffs and looks her dead in the eye as he steps close to her with a threatening glare, speaking in a more quiet volume. “You don’t give a bloody damn about me. All you care about is your precious country club. Whatever you think you have on her, I want you to burn, or I will never come back to this place ever again, you got it?” he demands, his eyes clouding with rage.

Regina nods, swallowing thickly. “Got it.”

With that, he turns and walks away, angry and irritated and wanting to get into his vehicle and drive away as fast as he possibly can.

Back at home, he can’t stop thinking about what Regina has told him. He peers down at his wedding ring, moving it around his finger. Is it possible Emma has been playing him this whole time?

No, it can’t be true. His amazing Swan would never do that.

Or would she?

When he'd first met her, she wouldn't even go on a date with him. A month later, she's agreed to marry him? There's falling fast and hard for someone, but this was too fast, wasn't it?

No, he refuses to believe his lovely Swan is anything other than who he knows her to be. Regina has all of her facts wrong.

Killian guzzles down a bottle of water and goes upstairs, charging his phone which is only at five percent. He and Emma had engaged in some incredible morning lovemaking before she’d left, and he’d forgotten his phone battery was almost dead. Once his phone is connected to the charger, he takes a refreshing shower to rid the sweat from his skin after being out in the heat.

As the hot water cascades over him, his wife floods his thoughts, and he looks forward to her coming home in the evening after she's packed some more of her things to bring over. He’d asked if he could help with anything, but she’d refused. Come to think of it, every time he’s asked about going over to her house, she always supplies him with an excuse, saying her apartment is messy or that she prefers being at his place. Now Regina has him thinking she’s living with this Milah person she had mentioned, but Killian refuses to let her words get inside his head.

After his shower, he goes downstairs, catching the PGA at the Quicken Loans National on the telly when he hears a knock on the door. Turning off the game, he stands from his comfortable spot on the sofa, wondering who could be at the door. He knows it's not Emma because for one, she’s at work, and two, he's told her several times she doesn't have to knock when she comes over. They're married now, and she’s got a key, so why would she?

He answers the door, seeing Trixy on the doorstep holding up a bottle of champagne. She’s also wearing a long sleeved blouse with her skirt, and he can’t believe she’s not too warm in this heat. It’s over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside.

“Howdy!” she greats brightly.

He scratches behind his ear, not recalling ever setting up an appointment with her today. “Oh uh, hi, Trixy. I wasn't expecting you...”

Her mouth falls open a bit, and she lowers the bottle appearing to feel bad about dropping by. “Oh, didn't Emma tell you I was stopping by to show you some samples? She wanted you to decide which design to go with.”

Killian shakes his head. “No, she must have forgot.”

Trixy makes a gesture with her hand, waving off his words. “Well that's not a problem, I can come back another time. Sorry for botherin’ you,” she says, her words full of regret as she starts to turn around.

“No, that's okay. Please come in.” He steps aside, allowing her to come into his home.

“Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

“Please, call me Killian.”

Trixy smiles at that. “Alright. Thank you, Killian. And congratulations on getting married. Mrs. Jones told me over the phone. I brought you both a wedding gift.” She holds up the bottle of champagne again.

“Thank you, lass, and actually it’s Mrs. Swan-Jones, but you can call her Emma.”

Trixy flashes a coy grin. “Will do.”

$*$*$

Emma arrives at the apartment, carrying a bag of takeout from TooJay’s.

“Milah, I brought food!” She sets the bag on the table and heads for her sister’s bedroom. “I really want to thank you for being understanding.” She reaches Milah’s room, opening the door. “I never planned on falling for—” Emma’s words die in her throat when she steps inside, finding the room empty. “Milah?”

She leaves the bedroom and searches the rest of the apartment, including the balcony, but Milah’s nowhere to be seen. Her features fall, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Where the hell did she go?

Emma came home just after two, like she'd promised.

Maybe Milah went to the gym or to treat herself to a Swedish massage or Sanctuary Jewel facial spa. If so, why the hell didn't Milah invite her to go with?

Emma walks over to the table and opens the bag, deciding she's too hungry to wait for Milah’s return. She removes her sandwich and picks up the bag to put Milah’s food in the refrigerator, but when she drags it from the table, a piece of paper slides off the surface, falling to the floor. Lifting a brow, Emma kneels down to pick it up and rises, turning the slip of paper over to see what it is.

Her eyes instantly widen, face draining of blood when she reads Milah’s writing.

Sorry sis. I have to finish the con. This is for your own good, so don't be mad. You’ll thank me later, trust me. You know where to find me.

Love, Mi

“Son of a bitch!”

$*$*$

Killian takes the bottle and makes his way to the kitchen, Trixy following behind him. “So I have to ask, how are you not burning up in long sleeves. I don’t care if you used to live in the dessert—it’s bloody hot outside,” he comments casually as they enter the kitchen.

“Oh well, I put this on before I knew it was so hot,” she tells him with a laugh. Trixy starts to unbutton her blouse, but Killian reaches out, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. “Whoa, lass, what are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just cooling off a little. I shouldn’t have worn long sleeves,” she says, unfastening the first few buttons of her blouse. “The air conditioning in here feels nice, but the heat outside had me sweatin’ like a pregnant nun in church.” With the fourth button undone, Trixy reveals a little too much of her cleavage, so he averts his eyes from her and puts the champagne away. “Anywho,” Trixy begins, clearing her throat and getting down to business, “I've brought some sketches of different décor styles for you to look at.” Her eyes wander the room, spotting the kitchen table.

“Aye, you can lay them out on the table," Killian says, pointing towards it and they make their way over.

Offering a grin, Trixy takes out the first design from her black leather work bag, placing it on the surface. She sweeps her dark hair to one side, leaning over the table.

Killian is only interested in the work she is doing, but he can’t help but notice her cleavage is being presented to him, and he starts to think about what Regina had said to him. He wonders if maybe she was right and if this is all a part of Emma’s and Milah’s ploy.

Is this woman’s name actually Milah?

No, he refuses to believe that. He refuses to believe his beautiful Swan would lie to him.

“This one is a contemporary style.” The sketch is for the main room as she describes the features. “It gives the room more of a family feel, but it’s still simple and opens up the space without having too much of it.” The room is full of neutral colors, ranging from beige to brown, a wooden floor and a large area rug and sofa pillows with curvy lines and shapes.

$*$*$

“Dammit!”

Emma hangs up the phone after her third attempt at calling Killian. She throws her phone in the passenger seat with a huff, wondering why he’s not answering.

Keeping her eyes on the road, she’s seeing red as she drives faster than she has ever driven in her entire life. She's so stricken with fear and anger her knuckles are turning white as she grips the steering wheel. She shouldn't be worried. She knows Killian won't cheat on her; she has faith. She's more angry at Milah than she’s afraid of Killian having an affair.

Emma waits at another goddamn red light, her patience wearing extremely thin. She’s still clutching to the steering wheel like it's a lifesource, hoping she can make it before Milah tries anything.

How can her own fucking sister do this to her?!”

Looking at the clock, she tries to steady her breathing, knowing she should be at Killian’s in ten minutes.

The light turns green and Emma presses on the gas pedal, peeling out so fast she's sure to be there much sooner.

$*$*$

Trixy takes out the second design, placing it next to the other one. “This next one I think will fit the home you’ve invested here by the ocean, but it doesn't have as much of a family feel. It’s more of a coastal style or what we also refer to as the Hampton's style.” The sample is also for the living room and includes blacks and whites paired with blues and greens. The furnishings include a sleek, black and white sectional sofa, a simple, black coffee table and fireplace with a dark green rug, and blue and white striped patterns for pillows. “The room contains elements of wood, and the accessories are inspired by the sea to create a relaxed, comfortable environment for your family. So what are your thoughts?” Her words pull his eyes up from the samples and he looks up to see her smiling at him with a twinkle in her eye.

“Hmm.” Killian nods, scanning the designs, and running a hand along his stubbled jaw. “They’re both brilliant, and I think each of the designs are stunning in their own way. I do like the idea of the family design, although I’m leaning more towards the coastal design for obvious reasons,” he chuckles. “But I want to go with what fits more with my wife’s style.”

Trixy nods in understanding, pursing her lips in thought. “You really love her don’t you?”

“Of course I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married her.”

“Of course.” She stares into his eyes, speaking softly. “It’s really a shame though.”

“Why do you say that?” He swallows thickly, praying to the gods above that Regina was not right.

“Because another great guy is off the market. Emma’s a very lucky gal to have snagged a man like you, Mr. Jones,” she says sincerely, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

He looks down at the gesture and lifts a brow, unsure of how to respond to that.

Trixy’s eyes widen when she realizes what she’s done, and she quickly removes her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jones, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, lass,” he assures, seeing the red in her cheeks; he knows the gesture was unintentional and that she’s embarrassed about it. “And I told you, it’s Killian.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeats sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and biting her bottom lip, looking away. “Anyway, I agree with your choice, and yes, you also have to be considerate of what Emma will like, too. This shall be a couple’s decision, so I’ll tell you what, even though Emma trusts your judgment, I think I should come back when both of ya’ll are here to decide together.”

She leans over the table and picks up her samples a little too quickly. When she spins around, the sketches fall from her hands, one sliding away from her. “Oh mah, I’m such a clodhopper!” She bends over, trying to kneel down to pick up the one within her reach, but her skirt is too tight and she ends up falling to her hands and knees to gather up the sample. If he were any less of a gentleman he probably would’ve looked as the fabric rode up her arse, but he is only interested in his wife.

“It’s not a problem, Trixy.” He bends down to help her pick up the other sketch as she apologizes profusely.

“Oh lordy,” she grumbles as he rises and returns to her, extending his hand. She takes it, using him as an anchor to stand up. “Thank you so much, Killian.”

“It's not a problem,” he assures, noticing she’s still clutching onto his hand.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Her eyes meet his and he can hear the hitch in her breath. This whole time he’s tried to convince himself that her touches were accidental. Now he’s starting to see that everything she has done since she's arrived, and even during their first meeting when she'd tried to rub his crotch, has been intentional. “Well, I should get goin’ now.”

Killian peels his eyes away and peers down at their joined hands. She takes the hint and starts to release her grip, but when she does, he can’t help but notice the sleeve of her blouse slipping past her wrist, part of a tattoo peeking out. He tugs the cuff away from her wrist to get a better look.

It's just as he suspects—a raven tattoo.

“Killian!” he hears Emma call from the front door, but before he can process what is actually happening, Trixy is launching herself at him and smashing her lips into his.

He quickly pushes Trix—Milah (or whoever the bloody hell she really is) away from him, anger burning inside of him as he rips himself from the thralls of her arms.

“How could you do this to me?!”

He turns his head to catch Emma witnessing the entire scene, complete devastation in her features.

“Oh Mrs. Jones, I'm so sorry,” Milah says in her fake Texan drawl.

Killian tightens his jaw, eyes fleeting between these two vixens who have set him up. He is heated. “Oh please, spare me the act. I know this is all part your scheme,” he snaps at both of them.

“I wasn't talking to you,” Emma says to him and steps up to the other woman. “I told you the con was over, but you didn't listen to me!” she hollers at the brunette, a ferocious storm brewing in her emerald depths. “I trusted you!”

Killian is completely baffled as he glances between them. Why is Emma angry at Milah if this was all a set up?

“And I trusted you to make this work, but you failed!” Milah shouts back at her, just as furious and no longer using the fake accent.

“I told you I can't help how I feel, but you put the con before your own sister! You're nothing but a selfish—”

“Excuse me,” he cuts her off briskly. “I don't mean to interrupt this sisterly squabble, but what the devil is going on?!” he demands, breaking up their feud.

Emma looks at him, regret and tears swarming her eyes. “I'm sorry, Killian. I wanted to stop it, but she went behind my back.” Emma points at her sister accusingly, and she's about to say something else, but her eyes blow wide in realization, and she glances back at Killian. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Regina told me,” he snarls and sets his death glare on the brunette.

Emma closes her eyes, breathing out, “Regina,” through clenched teeth.

“And I didn't want to believe her, but she said your name was Milah Raven, then I saw that the tattoo on your wrist is a raven, and it's on the same spot where Emma has a tattoo of a swan. Plus, you tried to kiss me when Emma bursted inside, so it wasn’t difficult to put the bloody pieces together,” he mutters spitefully.

“Killian, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to go through with it, but Milah wouldn't listen.” Emma tries to approach him and touch his shoulder, but he backs away. “Killian, you have to believe me.”

That's when he explodes with the rage he feels inside. “You lied to me and tricked me into marrying you! Why the fuck would I believe you?!’

“Because my feelings for you are real!” she tries to reassure him in a pleading voice, her words cracking as tears slide down her cheeks.

He looks at her with a steely glare. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“Yes, you do, Killian! My name is Emma Swan, I used to be an orphan like you and I work at Marco’s Italian Tuxedos. I've been more real with you than any other man I've ever met!”

“No, to me you're nothing but a gold-diggin’ charlatan.”

She swallows audibly, her lips trembling and another tear escaping her eyes. “Not anymore,” she vows, but Killian can’t listen to another word.

His heart is shattered into a million pieces, anger and rage replacing the love he’d held for her. She is not the beautiful Swan he thought he knew. “I want you both out of my home,” he speaks quietly, but his words are just as deadly.

Milah doesn't hesitate, and grabs her bag, storming out quietly, but Emma stays, trying to convince him she actually loves him.

“Killian, please, I'm so sorry.” More tears are streaming down her face, and he can't help but still see her as his wife who's in pain, but he has to stay strong.

“I said leave,” he tells her again, pointing towards the door, as much as it hurts. “I don't ever want to see you again.”

“But we’re married,” she chokes out, the fear of losing him evident in her voice, but he couldn't care less. She’s hurt him badly and he can’t find it within him to have sympathy for her.

Killian’s eyes darken as he stares into hers, wondering how she could do this to him? How could someone be so cruel? “Our wedding was a sham,” Killian states, his words heavy with the hurt and pain he feels. He storms past her, rushing to the front door and yanking it open, his voice growing louder and harsher as she follows behind him. “Now get the fuck out!”

His booming voice makes her jump, but she complies, her head down as she makes her way towards the entrance, sniffling and wiping her tears. She digs into her purse and grabs her keys, taking off the one for the cabin and holds it up for him. He snatches it from her grasp as she looks up at him one last time before she goes. “I'm truly sorry, Killian,” she whispers softly.

“You can get your belongings later when I'm not here,” he says flatly. “I'll have someone here to let you in. But don't be surprised if your things are floating in the ocean when you come back.”

Emma simply nods and proceeds sluggishly out onto the porch. She walks down the steps and heads towards her car, looking back at him once more, eyes red and puffy and cheeks stained with tears. She enters her car as he steps inside, flinging the door shut, his heart aching and his breathing crippled, emotions washing over him like a tidal wave.

He can't believe in one day his world has completely crumbled apart between his fingertips. He can't believe the love of his life was never really his love at all. The entire thing was a bloody joke. He feels like such a bloody fool; he should've just listened to Regina. He should've never rolled the dice on Emma.

He should've never followed his heart in the first place.

A/N: Okay, you can throw things at me now

Tagging: @mayquita @freakassbuthunter @libbcoxnet-blog @goldengirlschildhood @courtorderedcake @florenzu @marcella2727 @veryverynotgood @i-would-cross-realms-4-her @hooklineandswan @wonderfullycarriedaway @0swald-c0bblep0t @cs-forlife @andiirivera @snotelek @capswantrue @nikkiemms @capswantrue @swansong12 @lg-campbell @lassluna @followbatb @harshini01 @betchesgetshitdone @coliferoncer @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @kinkyhiddlesgirl @teamhook

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs heartbreakers au #cssb #captain swan #cs smut #to play the game (and win your heart)#my fic

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thejollyroger-writer · 3 years ago

Text

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles (part 3 of 4)

Summary: British soldier Killian Jones is nursing his sick brother back to health in the middle of the coldest winter the Pennsylvania countryside has ever seen, and in the middle of a war he never wanted to be a part of. Emma Swan has found herself surrounded by American soldiers who have taken over the family farm in Valley Forge, but the biggest change in her life comes from a young British soldier she meets delivering extra rations. Will they give into the temptations of their hearts, or decide that the chance of unrequited love is not worth the dare of being branded a traitor?

Title from Robert Browning’s “Love Among the Ruins,” 1855. Written for @cshistfic and my forever cheerleader @shireness-says, who made her dream event a reality. Thanks to @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @profdanglaisstuff and @kmomof4 for being excited enough about this to make it happen. 💕

part one on AO3 / on tumblr

part two on AO3

"And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve Smiles to leave To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece In such peace, And the slopes and rills in undistinguished grey Melt away— That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair Waits me there" - Robert Browning

It’s not unusual for Ruby to show up at the door of their cabin; she is the only one who knows where they are, has been supplying them with food every once in a while. She has a feeling that David also knows where they are — the secluded cabin was his father’s, though he swore never to return to it. For weeks, their only connection to life outside their cabin is Ruby, with letters from Mary Margaret tucked into the bottom of her basket.

So, when there’s a soft knock at the door on unseasonably warm early March morning, the very last thing Emma expects to see is Mary Margaret, her swollen belly due any day now, and her eyes red from crying, clutching tightly to Ruby’s arm.

“Mary,” she whispers, pulling her sister-in-law — her best friend — in for a hug after the moment it takes her brain to catch up. “What are you doing here?”

“You know I wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t an emergency,” Ruby replies, ushering them into the cabin.

It’s small, just enough for her and Killian to survive comfortably, a whole house crammed into a single room, but their two guests suddenly make it obvious just how small the cabin is.

Ruby’s words make Emma think the worst, her heart sinking in her chest as she watches them sit at the table, Mary Margaret’s eyes finding Killian, standing wordlessly at the stove.

“So you’re the reason my best friend disappeared,” she says. It’s not a question.

He nods. This isn’t his place to speak, and he knows it.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Emma says, her throat already dry. There is only one thing that would send Mary Margaret all the way out here in her state, and Emma can sense the words before they leave Ruby’s lips, a nod from Mary Margaret telling her to speak.

“David’s been killed.”

Her whole world seems to crumble from beneath her, head spinning as she tries to keep her feet on the ground. She has no words, and is unsure that she could speak even if she wanted to.

“How?” Killian asks, his voice sounding much further away than she knows him to be.

“I need your help, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, avoiding Killian’s question. “Please. I can’t do this alone. I need you to come home”

There’s no argument in her, nothing can be said that will change her mind. She has to go back.

And he can not go back with her. She knows it.

He knows it.

The air in the room is thick with the knowledge.

Home . Where is home anymore? She would have sworn that it became this very cabin, that it became any place she could be with Killian, but when the word leaves Mary Margaret’s lips, she knows that the farm will always be her home, no matter what.

“Of course,” she whispers, turning to meet Killian’s eyes. “Can we… have a few minutes?”

She fully anticipates the No , hearing it in David’s voice — which only makes Ruby’s “Of course, Em,” hurt all the more.

Neither of them move, frozen in their spots as Ruby and Mary Margaret move back through their door. The clock on the mantle over the fireplace ticks in the silent air, much slower than Emma’s pounding heart.

“You have to go,” he says, still leaning against the kitchen workspace.

She swallows, fingers gripping the edge of their dining room table. “Yes.”

“I can’t… I don’t want to stay here without you.”

“I cannot tell you what to do.”

“I love you.”

She sighs, her whole body shaking on the exhale. It is not the first time the words have been spoken under this roof, their feelings for each other quite obvious after giving up the rest of their lives to be together. In all definitions save the religious, they are married, have been together physically multiple times; perhaps in other situations, he would be able to return to the homestead with her as her husband, or at least her betrothed.

But that is not the situation they find themselves in, a fact they are both aware of.

Finally, she finds the strength to stand, closing the space between them just enough to touch him, though she does not. She holds her hands at her side, fingers squeezed into fists. “What are you going to do?”

He laughs out a single breath, shaking his head. In the ten weeks they have been together, his dark beard has grown thicker, stubble covering his chin, somehow making the sparkle in his blue eyes all the brighter. He has grown into the habit of running his fingers through the hair on his face, scratching along his jawline, and that is what he does now.

“All I can do is go back to camp and hope that my brother keeps me from scandal. From death.” After all she has heard about the elder Jones brother, plus the few moments she knew him once he regained consciousness, she has no doubt that Liam will do anything to save his brother’s life, even if he has been missing from their camp for ten weeks.

“I will write to you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, Killian!” she yells, throwing her hands in the air. All at once, she feels all the emotion that she has been holding in — fear, anger, despair, grief — and she crumbles against his chest, searching for solace in the one place she has been able to find it recently. She chokes out a sob, finally allowing her tears to fall. “All I know is I cannot lose you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, losing himself in the scent of her tresses, lovingly washed by his hands just the night before. “They are waiting for you,” he says finally, his hands gently pushing her hips away from him.

It is not goodbye, but feels just as final, and they share one last kiss before she closes the door of the small cabin that has become their home, not knowing the next time she will see the man she has loved since the first time they met.

But she is needed elsewhere, and for now, that is more important.

She expected a bit of a mess. A few piles of papers on the desk, maybe an old tea mug or two.

She did not expect the whirlwind of papers strewn about the small study, looking as if a tornado ran right through the middle of the house.

“What the hell happened here?” she asks aloud, though she is alone in the room.

“Sorry my organization strategy doesn’t fit your standards,” a voice from the darkened corner of the room says, making her jump. For a moment, she contemplates crying out, as she recognizes the figure in the corner as none other than her recently-deceased brother — but when she steps out of the shadows, revealing his pristinely-tied cravat, embroidered waistcoat, and knee-length jacket, she knows it is not David; it is his twin brother, their only other sibling. Sure, she hadn’t seen James for almost ten years, but she recognized the differences between him and David immediately.

“Hello, brother.”

He bows slightly, barely noticeable in the low light of the study. “Emma.”

“You’re here for the funeral, no doubt?” she asks, trying to keep her contempt towards her brother out of her voice. Along with the other differences in their personalities, James was always much colder to her than David, separating himself from his other siblings as often as possible.

And moving far from their farm as soon as he could, attending a prestigious college in New York City on the hard-earned dime of their parents. He left the day after he turned eighteen, almost ten years ago.

“And to take over my duties as the head of household.”

Had she not just placed the pile of papers in her hands on the desk, they would have fallen to the floor. She feels her stomach flip, but tries to calm it with a swallow. “Yes, of course,” she replies, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

But she can tell that he recognizes the sheer shock written on her face. It’s a look that he became familiar with during their childhood, always going out of his way to scare her, to upset her. Just as he has done now.

“Let me know if I can assist you as I did with David.” And with a small curtsey, she leaves the room.

It’s not very often anymore that Emma finds herself lucky. Over the past three days, her entire life has crumbled around her, losing her brother and having to leave behind the man who still holds her heart.

But James has gone to town to call on the casket makers, leaving Emma to cover the duties as head of the estate. Which, today, includes responding to a small pile of correspondence left ignored by James, some delivered that morning.

Today, she is lucky to be covering James’ duties; otherwise, she would have missed a letter she knows is for her, written in a script that she would now recognize anywhere.

Swan Household

Head of Staff

What a clever man. He had no way of knowing who would be placed as their head of household; even she did not expect James to return home. But he remembered her technical title, given to her to be able to receive funds from David — the very same funds that covered them while they were at the cabin.

Her hands are shaking as she pulls at the seal, hoping that it bears good news, even with how short it is.

I once again thank you for the generosity of bringing me into your home to recover from the effects of getting lost in the storm before Christmas. If not for your assistance, I surely would have met my death on the snowy hillside. I wanted to assure you and the rest of the staff that I was safely able to return to my camp and to my duties as a soldier.

Though I cannot be thankful for the war that brought me to this continent, I am thankful for the time I was able to spend in your care. Perhaps if more households were as caring and understanding as yours, we would no longer need to fight senseless wars.

I wish you peace and prosperity for your upcoming harvest months, and am eternally grateful.

-Killian Jones

Setting the parchment back down on the desk, she smiles, even as tears begin to form in her eyes. She misses him with every piece of her being, misses the way he smiles at her over his tea cup, his warmth in the middle of the night, his fingers as he washed her hair. That they were only able to spend a few short weeks in blissful happiness was immensely unfair, though she would never have left him for anything less important. She is thankful for his letter nonetheless, ensuring her that he returned to camp safely, even deceptively. She blinks, a tear falling down her cheek, and when she opens her eyes, she focuses on his name for a moment. Killian Jones , the man she loves. The man who, in any other life, any other circumstance, she would surely already be married to.

But life is unfair, a fact that she is reminded of as her eyes move from his name on the parchment to the piles of other unopened correspondence on the desk. This life is unfair, but she has other responsibilities beyond sitting in David’s office and grieving for her broken heart. Grieving for what her life could have been.

She has a life here, and right now, that life needs her more than ever.

The morning of the funeral delivers a cold and dreary late winter day. A handful of guests arrive throughout the morning, all acquaintances of David’s, many of them merchants and farmers themselves. Each of them introduces themselves to James, knowing that he will be taking over the farm operations.

The only reply James gives any of them is a small bow of the head.

The dreary weather only matches the dreary feeling of being inside the house, the windows and mirrors covered with mourning fabric. Unprompted, many of their guests begin sharing lighthearted stories about David — how he spared a few coins when they were needed, how he would help deliver groceries when he went into town and was always available to anyone who needed his help.

With each new story, Mary Margaret falls deeper into despair, flanked by Emma and Ruby the entire day. She is, understandably, inconsolable, tears only falling harder as the evening passes. She pauses only to take a few small bites of the biscuit and jam Emma shares with her. Not long after, she excuses herself, waving both her companions away as she leaves the room.

Complete silence falls upon the room for the first time that day. Though a few of their guests have left for the evening, many still remain, faces Emma recognizes from the few times she was able to accompany David into the town, or was sent with Ruby. She smiles briefly at the baker, a greying man seated on their sofa, his young son asleep in his arms; beside him sits the owner of the closest dairy farm, the only animal their farm has not gained over the last few years. The seamstress that made Mary Margaret’s wedding dress; the journalist who wrote David’s death notice, seemingly taking notes for another article.

Emma cannot help but wonder what the papers will say about the future of their farm, about the lost brother returning home — and sharing his unhappiness about it with anyone that will listen.

Her fears only grow when the journalist — Isaac, she thinks his name is — fills the silence with a question she’s been avoiding for the last few days: “So, Mister Swan, what are your plans for the future of your family’s homestead?”

His eyes flick momentarily to Emma’s, holding a look that she remembers well from their childhood, one that sends a frozen chill down her spine. It’s the same look he used to give her before tattling on her, before getting her in trouble with their parents. “I’m so glad you asked, Mister Heller,” he replies. “I do not intend to pack up my life in New York and move back here, if that is your question. In fact, if neither my sister or sister-in-law can secure a new head of household in the next six months through marriage, I intend to put the whole estate up for auction.”

Not for the first time of late, Emma finds herself nauseated, her stomach turning at her brother’s words. If she was not already sitting, she may have fainted, or at least lost her footing.

Through marriage… the whole estate. He expects one of them to marry in the next two months — surely he must be joking. He cannot expect Mary Margaret to marry so soon after the death of her husband; she knows that he expects it only of her.

“A very sensible plan,” the journalist responds, marking down notes with his charcoal pencil.

Emma can’t help but disagree.

Killian cannot believe she really wrote him back — but, at the same time, of course she did, has learned that she is nothing if not stubborn. The swooping letters on the page make his heart pound, remembering the delicate hands that wrote them, the way her fingers fit perfectly into his, how they would card through his hair as she sat staring at him, as if in awe of his very existence. He swallows, avoiding any deeper thoughts that would give him away, and turns his eyes down to the parchment in his hands.

Mr. Jones,

The rest of the staff and I were happy to hear that you have successfully returned to your camp, and that you remain in good health. With the tragic death of our head of household, his twin brother has begun the search for a replacement, hoping that one of the ladies of the household will be willing to marry in order to keep the farm. Needless to say, things are a little chaotic, not to mention up in the air, here. The sooner this war ends and gives us one less thing to worry about, the better.

Best of luck in your future endeavors.

E. Swan

He reads it once, twice, again, trying to figure out exactly what her words mean. Surely this twin brother — which Killian did not even know existed — was not really expecting one of the ladies to marry, especially not his mourning sister-in-law.

Oh, Emma, he thinks, his heart sinking into his stomach. In another life, he would have happily taken that offer, spending the rest of his days with the woman he holds most dear in order for her family to keep their farmland.

In another life. A life that he does not find himself in, he is cruelly reminded when Liam enters their shared tent.

“Pack your things, brother,” he says, beginning to do just that.

“Why?” he asks, dropping the letter on his lap. “What is happening?”

“We’ve been ordered to move west, and to do it quickly. There’s rumor of a storm moving this way and the captain wants to be clear of it before the rain hits. Orders are to pack up as quickly as possible and be ready to move before nightfall.”

Jumping to his feet, he tucks Emma’s letter into the breast pocket inside his jacket and begins to organize his few belongings back into his pack.

Emma already thought she knew heartbreak, having to leave behind her sweetheart to take over the responsibilities of her brother. She thought she knew heartbreak when she watched them lower his casket into the ground, right beside where she watched them lower first their father, then their mother, years before. She even thought she knew heartbreak when James declared in front of the entire village that the only way they will keep the farm is if she marries in the next six months.

But writing to Killian, replying to the letter he sent, and failing to receive a response after three weeks, hurts more than everything else combined.

Especially as her symptoms grow worse, the same symptoms she recognized in her sister-in-law less than nine months before, and she can no longer avoid them. She is thankful to have Granny on their homestead (more thankful than usual), knowing the woman also includes being a midwife in her history. She measures Emma’s stomach, asks her when the earliest she could have gotten pregnant could have been.

“New Years’ Eve,” she tells her, trying to keep herself from blushing remembering the evening — the excitement, the nervousness, the promises whispered in the darkness of their shared bed, the flickering of a single candle still lit to allow her to see his face.

Granny hums, looking down at the measuring tape in her hands before turning back to Emma and nodding. “You’re barely showing yet, but I would say it wasn’t long after that. Eight or nine weeks.”

That night, she does not even try to stop the flow of tears, curled up under the blankets in the coldness of her own room. She misses him immensely, wishes that he would just write back to her, even just to confirm that he is still alive. She knows there is no way to tell him that she is carrying their child, a being made by their love — and exactly the worst case scenario that David was trying to avoid when she introduced her to Neal. Tears come, puddling on her cheeks, dampening her pillow case.

James gave her six months, but if she is going to marry without their knowledge of her current state, it’s going to have to be much sooner than that.

Other interested parties: @thisonesatellite @a-faekindagirl @lfh1226-linda @pirateprincessofpizza @gingerchangeling @kmomof4 @onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian @ultraluckycatnd

#cshistfic #captain swan #cs ff #my writing #cs hist fic #cs fic #historical au #heartbreaking chapter #sorry yall #but like #not really

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wistfulcynic · 5 years ago

Text

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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