#such a talented shipmate!!! 💕⚓️💕

[snowbellewells]

@once-upon-a-pirate-ship I just continue to be so wowed by this story and what you are doing with it!! You really have such an interesting adventure going on here, and my heart aches for Emma at the weight of guilt and responsibility she’s carrying on her shoulders.

Her conversation with Will in particular in this installment really tugged at the heartstrings. That he had lost his sister, while Emma is so desperately missing her brother really binds them and makes Will all the more able to understand the emotions she is trying to handle. His advice for her was right on target though. The same thing was true for Robin later as well. He’s a great support and encouragement for her and I’m glad they’ve met up with Robin and his band.

I did not see Anna coming there at the end! Not at all!! Another great twisty surprise! They are seeking she and Elsa and she comes crashing out of the woods toward them. But the knights have Elsa?!? And they’re nearby?!? I’m going to have to rush right on to Chapter 8 now…. 😳😳😳

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam - Chapter 7: Restless

Here's an early additional update, as promised!

This is fairly close to what I suppose you'd call a "filler chapter," but we know those are necessary for any story to build properly. That is precisely why I'm updating on Friday, too.

Story summary: After the Evil Queen kidnaps and curses her family and destroys her kingdom, Princess Emma is on the run. She boards a merchant vessel with her godmother Red, and they intend to travel to Arendelle to seek magical assistance. But when Emma discovers the dark truths aboard Captain Silver's ship, she must put a stop to his cruelty and rescue the Jones brothers from their enslavement. Emma has to find her own allies and face her fears in order to save her parents, her brother Leo, and her kingdom.

Find the first chapter here on AO3, or read this one here.

tagged readers: @kmomof4 @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @teamhook @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert

DM me or reply to this or any other updates if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

(another minor thing: I'm tweaking a few very minor details in the previous chapters on ao3 to stretch out the time a bit more. Emma is on the ship for three weeks or so before they left it, and I wanted to make that clearer, but there's no reason to reread or anything just for that)

Chapter seven summary: Emma is...worn down from all of it. Things are getting to her (she's just got PTSD, but therapy really isn't an option for her). She has some conversations. Some things happen. Let's find out what.

read chapter seven: Restless below the cut:

The fire crackled, the sound of it weaving together with the others, the voices that were warm with laughter and light conversation.

Their dinner that night had practically been a feast compared to what they’d eaten the first night in the forest; Robin’s people had more than adapted to their lives beyond the comfort of a house. They didn’t simply survive in the woods, they thrived there.

Robin had opened his arms and his resources to them, given them food and protection, tended to their wounds, all without ceremony. He’d pulled her aside when the others were busy familiarizing themselves with the newcomers, and he hadn’t been shy in sharing the details of his operation.

That was how Emma was able to sit amidst them all, seemingly calm and unaffected. She knew that there were four people circling the camp at all times, hiding in trees and preparing to signal if anything suspicious came near.

But earlier that day, her nightmare had almost become her reality. When she stood with Killian in that clearing, she’d practically been able to feel the threads of his life poised and ready to be cut by the Black Knights, and it had been her fault.

Every time she blinked now, it was not darkness that she saw, but death, his death, and when she’d cleaned her hands in the rushing water of a creek, the droplets of blood didn’t feel like the enemy’s blood, it felt like his. Perhaps not now, but one day, she would find her hands covered in his blood, and that was his fate, so long as he remained close to her.

She stood, unable to linger a moment more, finding a tree far enough from the crowd but still within the bounds of their camp. She leaned against it, almost hid behind it, her arms folding across her body as her temple rested against rough bark. She allowed her eyelids to drop for a moment, her breath escaping her in a strained sigh.

The crunching of the forest floor behind her made her eyes snap open, and she spun, her hand half-retrieving her sword before she realized who it was.

Will had stilled, holding up a hand though he looked untroubled by her instinctual reaction. “Apologies, Captain,” he said, “I should’ve announced meself.”

She huffed, shaking her head and dropping her grip on her sword as she fell back against the tree. “No need to apologize, Scarlet. I’m just a bit on edge.”

“A bit?” he asked, his brows raised high, and even in the low light from the fire far away, she could see the amusement in his expression. He crossed the rest of the way to her, his other hand moving to offer her whatever he held.

Her blades rested in his open palm, flashes of silver in the darkness. “You cleaned them?” she asked, taking the first between her thumb and index finger.

“You can’t just let a blade like that sit in blood all day,” he replied, a scoff just on the edge of his voice.

Her lips pulled up at one side, even as she glanced down to find one of the hidden pockets, sliding the knife into its case until it clicked.

Will watched her replace each blade, his face a mixture of awe and fascination. “Where can I get one of those?”

She laughed, straightening once the last one was secured. “I made it myself about two months ago,” she told him, “when Red and I found an abandoned village with quite the armory, amongst other things. We stayed there a week—wouldn’t risk longer than that, even though we knew the Evil Queen wasn’t able to track us anymore.”

“It’s bloody brilliant,” he said.

Emma glanced away from him, away from the camp, and into the darkness. “Yes, well,” she shrugged. “It certainly saved some lives today.”

Will was quiet for a long moment, and when she looked back, he was watching her with knowing eyes. “I s’pose that explains the solitude, then,” he muttered, moving until his back was against the wide trunk of the tree beside her, though he was angled more towards the others.

She tensed—she was always so damn tense—though she tried not to show it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He leant casually against the tree, one foot crossed over the other with the toe pointed into the ground. “You know, I blamed myself, too. When the Black Knights killed my sister.”

Emma turned, eyes wide and questions on her lips that she was too afraid to ask. “What was her name?”

“Penelope,” he replied. She could hear that the name was nearly too heavy for him to say aloud, that the grief of it threatened to turn his tongue—and possibly his heart—to stone.

“I’m sorry.”

Will shook his head, his chest rising with the deep breath he took. “I hope you’re not convincing yourself that her death was somehow your fault.”

Emma’s lips pressed together, and her eyes trailed towards the camp, the faces of those she cared about. “Isn’t it?” she asked at last, quieter than she expected to be.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I spent a few months bitter with your parents for not killing the Evil Queen when they had the chance, but I hardly had me head on straight back then.”

Her arms moved once more to fold over her chest, and she had to turn away from him, her eyes finding the treetops instead. “I’m bitter,” she confessed, “more than bitter, sometimes. Sometimes I hate them for it.”

“It’s not as though they’re responsible,” he said, and he wasn’t correcting her, or scolding her, he just spoke as if he were following along the same line of thought that she was. “They had power, at one time, to prevent it. Their kind hearts didn’t let them. But they are not the ones whose hands are pulling hearts out of bodies to kill mercilessly across the land. That’s the Evil Queen, and her alone.”

“You’re right,” Emma replied, though her voice caught at the end.

“But,” Will continued, saying the word she hadn’t, “that doesn’t stop the guilt.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

They listened to the buzz of insects that needled into the air, growing louder with the approach of summer, and it accompanied the low chatter humming from the middle of their camp. She’d been cold, so cold, when she’d first set out into the woods with Red a few months before, and it had permeated her bones, sent cutting shivers through her that some fires hadn’t been enough to stave off. It certainly wasn’t cold now, but sometimes her skin still tingled as though it were.

“I thought being on me own would help,” Will said abruptly, “that it would minimize the risk.” He paused to shift against the tree, as if the need to scan their surroundings had overpowered him. “Needless to say, it didn’t work.”

“We need people,” she added, knowing it was true.

“Even more, I think,” he said, “when we’re carrying around all that guilt. Gets too heavy.”

Emma sighed, long and weary. “Right now, it just feels selfish.”

“Selfish?” he repeated, glancing at her with furrowed brows. “We must have different definitions of the word, Captain, if you think what you’re doing is selfish.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening involuntarily. “I’m allowing people to put themselves in danger so that I have a better chance of survival.”

“No,” he snapped, though it lacked anger, “that’s not what this is. You’re fighting to take down a mass murderer, and every choice you’ve made on the way has been to further that cause. Selfish would be hiding, it would be cowardice. What you’re doing, it’s not selfish—it’s leadership. And when we save your kingdom and the others of this realm, you will understand that.”

She had no reply, because she knew he was right. Even if she didn’t feel it yet, it was true. How many times had her mother explained the sacrifices that came with ruling? How many times had she warned about difficult choices and the weight upon every decision?

Will pushed himself off the tree, his feet angled towards camp though he looked back at her over his shoulder. “That’s all I’ve to say,” he told her. “Don’t let that mind of yours keep you from your beauty sleep, Captain,” he said, heading back.

“Scarlet,” she called, and when he paused, looking at her expectantly, she added, “Thank you.”

Emma lingered only a few minutes more in her solitude, and when she slept that night, she was not haunted by dreams of the real or otherwise. It was far from a good sleep, but it was as close as she’d gotten in a while.

—

The dawn had only just broken when Emma gathered with some of the others in the largest tent just off center of their camp. The large table in the middle was covered with maps of the land, and they circled around it, the six of them joined by Robin, Little John, and Mulan.

“Now that you have had time to rest and receive treatment for your wounds,” Robin began, “I’d like to discuss how we might move forward. Emma, you mentioned that you had been seeking magical aid from Arendelle before the Evil Queen ransacked the kingdom?”

“Yes,” Emma replied. “We’ve been allies with Arendelle for years, even before we discovered that Queen Elsa had magic. We had hoped for her assistance, and we were heading towards the Dark One’s castle to find a looking glass in order to locate her.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully, considering the map before him. “What is your objective in finding Queen Elsa?” he asked. “What specific magical service might she provide?”

Her eyes flicked to Red, and a moment passed before Emma stepped around the table in search of another map. She found it partially concealed beneath some others, pulling it out so it lay where they could see.

“Nearly two months ago, Red and I found where my father had been taken,” she told them. “He is secured here—” she pointed to the place on the map, “—in a dungeon at the base of this mountain. Three outposts feed into guards outside the prison doors and within. Dozens of Black Knights walk the perimeter in a circuit from the dungeon to the western-most outpost, moving east and then returning to the dungeon.”

“Dozens?” Mulan asked, “Do you have a more specific number than that?”

Red joined Emma in front of the map, her hand moving to where Emma had indicated the center outpost to be. “This one holds the most, at least fifty at any given time. The others seem to have fewer, but not by much. Thirty, perhaps more. But there’s barracks here,” she paused, drawing a circle with her fingertip southwest of the dungeon. “It’s large, and they sleep in shifts, so it need only be half the size of the available knights.”

Killian’s hands braced on the table, his eyes narrowing at the map. “Round up, to be safe. Say the middle has sixty men, each side plus the prison has forty. That’s nearly two hundred men, not considering the ones off-duty.”

“No wonder you need magic,” Will grumbled.

“As talented of fighters as we may be, our numbers cannot withstand that kind of force,” Robin agreed.

“Queen Elsa has sufficient power for such a task,” Tink said.

Emma sighed, stepping back from the table and looking at her godmother. “If she’s in any position to help us.”

“It’s a risk, to be sure,” Robin said.

“Anyone else know of any benevolent magic users who could lend us their assistance?” Liam asked, and though his humor attempted to lighten the gravity of their situation, Emma was left with less hope than before.

Killian straightened, glancing at Emma. “You said it yourself, Captain. You’ve been allies for years. If this queen has magic that could help us, I believe it’s worth the risk. She is facing, I believe, a similar predicament to the one you find yourself in. I’m sure there could be no one more willing to fight for this cause than another who has faced its violence and lived to tell the tale.”

“He’s right,” Mulan said, “she’s invaluable. With the right forces behind her, she alone could turn this war in our favor.”

Emma hesitated, rolling it through her mind. More decisions. What sacrifices would they hold? Time? Resources? Lives?

She relaxed into her royal posture, trusting her gut. “I think we should find her. As her ally, it is my duty to ensure that she is protected and supported in times of need, even if she is unwilling to help us. However,” she said, her gaze locking with Killian’s, “if she has been thrown out by the Evil Queen, it’s likely that she will be prepared for a fight. Since she took her parents’ place, I’ve heard of Queen Elsa’s intense loyalty and the responsibility she feels for her people. I doubt she would allow this to remain unchecked.”

“You, Emma, will make an exceptional ruler,” Robin said, his eyes glimmering with fatherly pride.

“Let’s save my family and my kingdom, and then hopefully we can discover if that’s true in a decade or so when my parents step down,” she replied, bristling beneath the compliment.

“I’ll drink to that,” Will said.

Tink smacked his arm, “It’s barely past dawn.”

“Oi!” he cried, swatting her hand away.

Emma cleared her throat to silence them before turning back to Robin. “So we continue to the Dark One’s castle as planned?”

“Unless there are any objections,” he replied. “I will join you, and Little John will remain here in my absence. And I’m sure we’d never dream of keeping Mulan from the chance of a fight,” he teased, but there was no doubt of her abilities, of her skill with the sword strapped to her back.

“I should stay behind,” Tink said, curious eyes finding her. “While the injury I sustained yesterday is not life threatening, I could use more time to heal. I’d risk slowing you down.”

Emma frowned at the thought of leaving one of her own, even for a night or two. She didn’t like being separated from the ones she trusted, and though she hadn’t had the time or opportunity to grow as close to Tink as some of the others, she cared about her.

“A few days of rest will serve you well,” Robin said, turning to Emma. “She will be protected here, you have my word.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, nodding to Tink, “take the time you need.”

Robin patted Little John on the shoulder. “Good, now that’s all settled. I propose that we depart just as soon as we’ve eaten a hearty meal.”

—

The hearty meal had dragged into late morning, and Emma thought it was close to noon before they made any progress into their journey. Mulan had led the way, though Robin joined Emma just behind, and his good humor never ceased to amaze her.

“We will find all manner of magical objects in this castle, I’m sure,” he told her, anticipation alive in his voice.

“Then it may take some time for us to find what we’re looking for,” she replied, working hard not to be frustrated by the thought of another setback.

Robin hummed, unconcerned or trying to seem so. Instead of dwelling on that, he launched into a story about another magical object he’d come across in his days, and Emma didn’t mind the distraction.

When they stopped at a stream to refill canteens and waterskins a few hours later, Robin insisted that they take some time to rest and prepare for the rest of their hike until night fell. His stories had calmed her slightly, she’d found it comforting, but now that they’d stopped moving, her skin prickled with unprompted panic that she couldn’t control.

She felt as though they were targets, standing out in the open in the daylight, and the knights would descend at any moment. Every snap of a twig nearly made her flinch, and though she’d seen Robin approaching her from the corner of her eye, she still jumped when he spoke.

“You seem troubled by our pace,” he commented, keeping his voice below its usual volume. The others sat by the stream—with the exception of Mulan who stood guard—but Emma had found a log within view that kept her apart from them. Robin joined her, his eyes scanning their surroundings habitually.

“I’ll admit, I was hoping to have gotten an earlier start,” she said.

“As much as you’d like to, you cannot run ahead without ever stopping. You need time to rest, too.”

Emma shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs. “I know. I just can’t stand not moving,” she told him.

Robin’s eyes found the ground in front of him for a long moment before he turned his gaze back to her. “I understand what you mean.”

“You think about him all the time, don’t you?” she nearly blurted, unable to stop herself from asking. “I miss my parents so much, but with Leo, it’s—”

“It’s different when you’re their protector,” he finished for her. “You feel responsible for it all, but more for your brother.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling like she would crumble right there, shatter into bits and pieces that could never return to make a whole. “Waking up every day, knowing I failed him,” she murmured, “it makes it hard to breathe. Moving is better; it feels like progress.”

“It can’t always be,” Robin said sadly. “There is progress in rest, because it propels us forward once we’ve started again. Running at full speed without a break will only lead to exhaustion, and it will make you vulnerable to attack.”

Emma sighed, “You’re right.”

“I often am,” he replied, a playful smile on his lips. “Now, drink up, try to relax for a few more minutes, and then we will keep on till dark.”

—

She stared up at the stars, the ones she could make out between the leaves that rustled in the gentle breeze. Her mother had tried more than once to teach her all the stories, but Leo had been more interested, and she could only recall a few of the constellations. She saw one now, one that glowed steadily in the bigger opening several feet from where she lay, and it was the one of the dragon.

She’d been eleven or twelve, perhaps, when she’d stood on the balcony with her mother who had crouched down so their eyes were at the same level, and Emma could see the design in the stars that she spoke about.

It was a classic tale, one of love and loss, but it ended with victory, with True Love, with a dragon captured and displayed in the heavens. Emma wished she could remember the details now, as she lay at their camp for the night, unable to sleep yet again.

Robin and Mulan had claimed the watch, insisting that they were better rested than the others, and Emma had no energy left to fight it.

But now the tension returned to all of her muscles, and no matter how many stories she attempted to tell herself, she found no reprieve. She rose from her bedroll, snatching her canteen before meeting Mulan’s questioning gaze. Emma lifted it to signal her intent, and Mulan nodded, returning to her perusal of the forest.

Fresh water was one of the things that had drawn them to this particular spot, the stream that trickled two minutes away offered much needed replenishment of their supply. The air had been drier than usual for the time of year, and canteens had emptied quicker than they expected.

She knelt at the edge when she arrived, filling the water and taking a slow drink. When she was finished, she filled it once more, sealing it and tossing it onto the ground beside her. Her hands dipped into the rushing water, cupping to bring some up to her face. The cold did its job, grounding her, momentarily stalling the ever-present flicker of fear that lived within her.

Until movement rustled behind her.

Emma drew her dagger, cursing herself for leaving behind her sword, but when she spun, it was no one she’d ever want to hold a blade against.

Killian froze, meeting her gaze in the moonlight. He, at least, had remembered his sword. “You were gone a few minutes too long,” he told her, his voice soft. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t come across any knights.”

She slid the blade back into her boot, pushing herself up to stand, though she did not close the space between them. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and she found no way to move them any closer.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded once, a single, controlled movement, and then he turned back in the direction of camp.

Disappointment rose in her chest, a bitter and ugly sensation, but she ignored it, bending instead to retrieve her canteen where she’d left it on the ground.

Fast, thudding footsteps barrelled towards her in the same direction as the stream, frantic cries pulling at her heart.

“No, no!” the voice called, “Please, no!”

A woman came into view, an oversized sword held in her hands, and she skidded to a stop twenty feet or so from Emma. Tears dampened her cheeks, and now that she was closer, Emma could see that her hands were smeared and dark—blood.

The woman’s distress turned sharply into anger fueled by fear, and she moved forward with purpose, her sword pointed to Emma. “Who are you?” she demanded, desperation in her voice while her hands trembled.

Emma wanted to take a step back, but the stream kept her from it, and turning her back to a sword was never something she would do. She swallowed, raising her hands in surrender. “My name is Emma.”

“Did you see them? Are you working with them? Tell me where they went!” she snapped, creeping towards Emma.

“Who?”

Her response was prevented by the arm that wrapped around her from behind, a blade pressing against her throat. “Drop your weapon,” Killian ordered, and the woman obeyed immediately.

“Please,” she begged, almost a sob, “please, they took my sister. Or—at least, I think they took her. They tried to take her, and she ran to keep me safe, but they attacked us anyway, and he…” She had gotten more and more emotional as she went on, and she could no longer form words.

Killian released her instantly, quick to pick up the fallen sword and pass it to Emma before he put himself between them. “Who attacked you?” he asked. Gone was the anger, the threat from when he’d first spoken to her, replaced by urgency and compassion.

“The Black Knights!”

Emma’s world shuddered, and she spun, searching for the danger, for any sign of them nearby. “Killian,” she said, her voice low in warning.

“Aye,” he agreed, not needing to hear the rest. “We’ll help you,” he told the woman. “What’s your name? Your sister’s?”

She reached up to swipe a few tears from her cheek, blood painting her face. “I’m Anna,” she said. “And Elsa—my sister’s name is Elsa.”

[snowbellewells]

Fandom Birthday Rec List for @jrob64

Happy Birthday, dear Joni! Happy Birthday to You!!!

Okay, when I set out to make this list of my favorites of your works, I had a couple in mind right off the top of my head, and thought "This is a no-brainer! It'll be easy!" You would think I'd have known better after the massive list I created when Krystal asked for our favorite fics overall a couple years ago and I ended up making a Sweet 16 style bracket to even narrow mine down. Needless to say, I ended up with a solid dozen stories on my paper, instead of the five or six I needed, and discovered a few hidden gems from way back before I knew you that I hadn't even read!! However, my very, VERY favorite has never wavered and is still exactly the same - you'll see! ;)

Anyway, I am so glad I found your wonderful writings, have gotten to know you in person, text with you, travel with you, and become genuinely good friends. Your are a blessing in my life, and I hope this gift brings a bit of a smile to your face as I try to celebrate the joy you've shared with us all in creating further adventures for our pirate and princess. Happy Birthday!!!

**Top 6 Favorite @jrob64 Fics (in descending order)**

#6 - "One Thrill Ride Leads to Another" (my own birthday fic! ;p )

This five part (six, with the epilogue) story is pure fun and chemistry and sweetness overload. I adore it more than I can really say, and am beyond flattered that a handsome sight and chance comment of mine helped to birth the original idea. And no, it isn't even just because this one include an alive and happy Graham as supporting character and a hilariously hot secondary Red Huntsman plot line -- though it certainly doesn't hurt!! ;) My rambling can't really do this one justice, so if anyone reading this has missed it, I beg of you: Check it out for yourself! It's a perfect summer treat!

#5 - "Silly Songs With Killian" (Modern AU one shot - adorable!)

Okay, I realize that I am using a valuable spot on this list for a fluffy little one shot, but it's just that much fun and has that much heartwarming power. I dare you to get the image of Killian playing VeggieTales on the guitar for a wildly enthusiastic audience of one small boy who is madly excited by the effort out of your head! You won't be able to - it's gonna stick with you and make you smile every time it floats back in!! If you've had a bad day and need a pick me up, this is your fic right here!

#4 - "Taking on Mrs. Jones" (hilariously hot silver fox one shot)

This is another more comic/lighthearted one shot, but I just can't resist it. In fact, I re-read it in making certain of my list, and I love it all the more. This one features a slightly older, professor Killian (one of my serious weaknesses) and a married version of CS. Plus, when he gets an overly flirtatious new co-worker who makes him uncomfortable - Emma comes perfectly to the defense of her man and teaches that girl a lesson.

#3 - "Ghosted" (a WIP supernatural modern AU MC for @cssns24)

This story is still in progress, but it has very quickly jumped the list to become one of Joni's best, best offerings (in my humble opinion)! I love the unusual and intriguing plot and can't wait to see how it will turn out. The inclusion of Will and Belle as secondary characters (and a secondary love story) is wonderful👩🏻‍🍳 *chef's kiss!* And a ghostly version of Liam absolutely tugs on my heart. Definitely check this one out if you haven't yet.

#2 - "Always in my Heart" (5 Part Modern AU, so feelsy and angsty and deep)

This one moved me to tears in the process, way more than once. I loved the long lost friends reunited aspect of this story, right from the start. I loved the sense of adopted family Emma has with David and MM, and most especially Ruth. (I always loved David's mom in canon, and the chance to see a lot more of her in this fic, and to see what this version of her means to Emma was priceless, even if heart wrenching too.)

#1 - "Sowing Seeds of Trust" (and its extra chapter "Marco's Legacy")

This story was the first one of yours I discovered, Joni, and I was completely captured! It was wrapped around my heart from the very first chapter. I loved the vulnerability and need, but also strength and resilience, in this version of Emma. I loved Killian's support, understanding and love in how he reached out to her. I love the friendships with David, MM, Ruby, and of course MARCO!! (He steals the whole show here, honestly!) The faith and restoration and perfect "happy beginning" after trials in this story are original, unique, and unforgettable. It's always going to be my favorite, I think, as it lead me to your writing to begin with, and it touched me deeply.

*Honorable mentions - if anyone is curious - also not to be missed:

"Snowstorm Confessions"

"Lonely No More"

"Faultline"/"Seismic Waves" (Liam x Elsa)

"Where Her Heart Belongs"/"Her Heart's Home"

"For the Sake of Henry"

Hope you enjoy your little list - and an absolutely wonderful day!!! Very Best Birthday Wishes to You!!!

[snowbellewells]

@initiala Oh man, oh man! Another one shot that has been around a while, but rediscovering and rereading it today definitely made me smile. Just a beautiful reminder of how Killian truly kept his word in the missing year and “not a day went by” without him thinking of his Swan. But in your version she finds the visual evidence of just how close she always was to him.

Brilliant and simply lovely!!

Could you write a fic of Killian getting drunk one night and coming home with an "Emma" tattoo? (maybe similar to his "Milah" one?)

Tweaking this one just a little :)

It’s not until Camelot that Emma notices it.

In her defense, she and Killian had only slept together once before the whole Queens of the Night People thing. She’d been much more interested in finding out if the good captain could put his money where his mouth was than a slow exploration of each other’s bodies. After things went haywire, they’d been reduced to quickies in a dark corner to take the edge off, always promising to take it slow, take their time later, later, later.

They’d thought there would be more time.

Keep reading

[snowbellewells]

@hollyethecurious Well, I’m more than a bit slow on this, but I read this whole story today and enjoyed it so much!! It really is a treat to curl up with on a chilly day, like a cozy blanket or a mug of cocoa. I loved the fun and camaraderie of the whole group of friends taking a Christmas vacation getaway together, and of course the humorous setup of the cabin not really sleeping 10 when there are two singles, forcing Emma and Killian into the same room and one bed, is perfection! It’s a trope, sure, but it’s believable and really works for our two stubborn hearts who need to finally admit their feelings.

I especially loved when you got to the gift exchange between the friends. Killian’s gift was so thoughtful, caring, so suited to and supportive of Emma and her job and the skill it takes. I loved how appreciative of it she was, and how it helped her see just how Killian has always been on her side when the others may not understand what she does and worry or fret. And I loved the bit about her seeing how she hates to be cold - how he always has noticed - and is sure to be certain that she is safe, comforted, and warm, whatever he can do to make it so. Loved that whole part! “The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.”

And then, when they finally confess all (not to mention both of the love scenes!) I was just absolutely melting in a puddle! You even used the “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you” line so beautifully! Them both finally braving the chance of rejection or unreturned feelings to find the other felt the same and to finally come together for good. I can see why Emma was willing to leave a five star review, with it finally bringing she and Killian to the relationship they’d both been wishing for. I can’t really say enough good things about it: hot and heartfelt and completely fulfilling. Everything you’d want in a love story!!

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (2/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest I'm sorry this Part Two took a little longer to get to you than I'd planned, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait! Again, it was lovely being your CS Secret Santa!! I hope you have a wonderful 2025!!

For the rest of my readers, I started over with my Curious Crew Tag List (which I typically do at the first of the year). Although I'm pretty sure I've added everyone who told me to date that they wished to be added, if I missed you (SORRY) or you wish to be added, please let me know!!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition square for the CS Winter Bingo!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma clinked her mimosa against the glasses of her family and friends then settled onto the sofa next to her brother. Taking a sip of the bubbly beverage, she perused the room and let the early morning alcohol warm her from the inside as the fireplace beside her took care of the outside.

Much as Killian had done for her last night.

Shaking off that thought - and the remnants of the dreams she’d had where he’d kept her warm in other ways - Emma tucked her legs beneath her and gave Liam her attention as he passed out the gifts.

The couples tended to exchange gifts with one another in private before they met as a group, and Emma imagined this year was no different. The gifts Liam was handing out were the ones each of them had brought for a specific member of their group. Every Thanksgiving they drew names at random so each person only had to buy something for one other person. Then, Christmas morning, they would all open their gifts and reveal who had bought for whom.

Emma was grateful that she did not have to buy something for everyone, but she did not enjoy the fact that they opened the gifts one at a time while the rest of the group watched, making the person unwrapping the center of attention.

Well, the person unwrapping and the person who had gifted it.

“David, I love it!” Elsa praised with a laugh, holding up the lightweight sweatshirt for everyone to see.

Printed across the front in bold lettering, it read: No. I don’t need a coat. The cold doesn’t bother me.

“That’s perfect,” Liam chortled, already tearing his gift open.

And around the room they went. After Elsa was Liam, then Kristoff, then Anna, who Emma had drawn and gifted a pair of boots she’d known her cousin had been wanting. When Anna was finally done gushing over them, Emma began to open her gift.

“So… who will I be thanking for this…” She’d gotten the rest of the paper off and the lid to the box open when her words fell away as she looked over the myriad of items within.

“It’s a, uh...” Killian cleared his throat and pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear as he went on to explain. “It’s a sort of… winter stake-out care package, I guess is what you’d call it.”

Emma began lifting the items out of the box as Killian described them and the thought process behind his selecting each one.

“I’d noticed earlier this month when we all got together for that holiday festival that you needed a new beanie,” he said as she slipped the hunter green beanie onto her head and then pulled out a pair of soft gloves. “Now, I know you don’t tend to wear gloves on a stake-out because they get in the way of you taking photos or making notes on your phone, but with these you can slip the individual fingertips off so your hands can stay warm while you still have use of your finger pads.”

Emma tested them out whilst he explained their function, loving the ease with which she could quickly bare her thumbs and fingertips. They would certainly come in handy, as would the next item.

“A portable electric kettle,” Killian informed the group when more than one of them had murmured an inquiry about the item in question. “You just add water and plug it into the cigarette lighter in your vehicle and it’ll boil in less than 90 seconds. It also serves as a thermos once you’ve heated the water.” Killian lifted his chin in a pointed gesture and added, “There’s some hot cocoa packets and instant coffee in there as well.”

“This is…” Emma began, somewhat at a loss of what to say.

“Do you like it?”

Emma’s eyes jumped to Killian’s which were filled with a hesitant anticipation; his brows furrowed as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I do,” she answered, smiling softly at him. “This was all so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Swan,” he replied, a bright smile adorning his lips as he let out a heavy breath of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret elbow David in the ribs. No doubt it was an attempt to keep whatever snide comment he had at the ready about her occupation from falling out of his mouth. Emma knew her brother did not approve of her line of work. In truth, most of them didn’t. The only one who never gave her a hard time about it, who never questioned her abilities or capability, who only ever asked about it out of genuine curiosity and interest, and without an ulterior motive to somehow diminish her success or exaggerate the dangers, was Killian.

Emma tried to focus on the remaining gifts being opened by the rest of their group, but her mind kept circling back to her own. The way Killian had noticed the state of her beanie and how he inherently knew and understood the reason why she tended to not wear gloves, despite her having the opposite reaction to the cold from her cousin.

The cold did bother her. It always had.

The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.

Like last night. Like many times before. Like with his gift. Making sure she’d be warm and comfortable during the long, wintery nights whilst on a stake-out. The way he’d made sure she was warm that night. The night in the Caribbean when a cool ocean breeze had met her damp skin - sweat soaked from dancing in a crush of people - and she’d shivered, her slip of a dress, which left little to the imagination, unable to combat the chill as goosebumps erupted over her entire body.

She could still feel the soft fabric of Killian’s jacket around her shoulders, the warmth it transferred from his body to hers, his scent lingering on the collar and intoxicating her sinuses in the same way the rum had infused their blood. The memory of the heat of his hand, pressing against the small of her back as he walked her to her cabin made Emma shift in her seat, as did the whisper of his hot breath against her neck when she recalled the words he’d murmured into her ear.

“I’ll keep you warm, love. Just say the word and I’ll make you burn until morning. It would be both our pleasure, I swear it.”

He had been good to his word.

So, so good.

“Who's ready for breakfast?”

Mary Margaret’s inquiry, which signaled the end of the gift giving portion of the day, shook Emma from her thoughts. Her highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that had caused her cheeks to grow hot and blush pink; a fact she hoped no one had noticed.

“You look a bit flushed, Swan,” Killian commented on their way to the dining room - much to Emma’s mortification. “I guess my gifts are doing their job.”

Unable to meet his eye, Emma swiped the new beanie off her head and peeled the gloves off her hands. “Yep. I’m nice and toasty now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied in a deep, quiet timbre. Was she imagining the mixture of promise and longing in his words? Was he merely being his usual cheeky self, or was he reminding her of all the ways they could produce heat together… and his willingness to explore them with her?

“Who needs a refill?” Elsa offered, holding up the bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

“Me!” Emma responded, hurrying towards the island with her champagne flute and receiving the first of many, many refills she’d imbibe that day.

~/~

This was a bad idea. No, it was a great idea, but it was also, potentially, a very, very bad idea.

It had been Anna’s idea. Which wasn’t the reason it was a bad one. It was actually a really good one. After a long day of cooking and drinking and eating and games and drinking and cleaning and drinking, her cousin had suggested they end the evening with a soak in the hot tub.

Which was a terrific idea, except… wearing nothing but her bikini, in a hot tub, with Killian Jones, also in his swimsuit, with his hair curling from the steam and water droplets clinging to his chest hair and pooling in the hollow of his throat while she - and the rest of them - continued to polish off the bottles of champagne that never seemed to end was a very, very bad idea.

But when had a bad idea ever stopped her before?

Especially when said bad idea had actually crossed her mind days before when she’d packed her bag. More specifically, the tiny, red, string bikini she’d worn during their cruise vacation. But no, she absolutely did not choose to pack this particular bikini because she remembered the look on Killian’s face and the hunger in his eyes when he saw her in it the first time on the pool deck. The same hunger that was threatening to devour her from a darkened, forget-me-not gaze across the hot tub.

Okay, maybe she did pack this particular bikini on purpose with this particular scenario in mind.

The idea wasn’t the only thing that was bad. Emma was also being bad. Very, very bad. And she wanted to do bad things. Very, very bad things with the man she found herself alone in the hot tub with after all their family and friends had decided to turn in about an hour after they’d first all got in.

“D’you wanna stay inna bit longer or turn in,” Killian asked with a heavy tongue from all the alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the day.

The same amount that was currently coursing through her veins and causing her to want to act on her very, very bad ideas.

“Prolly should turn in,” she replied in an equally tipsy tone. “M’ry Marget wants to head out early for after Kissmas shopping.”

Another loathsome tradition, but one Emma complied with for her sister-in-law’s sake. She wasn’t much for bargain hunting, but she knew what the bonding time together meant to the woman who had married into a sisterhood (despite Elsa and Anna actually being Emma’s cousins) after being an only child all her life and an orphan for the greater part of it.

“Right then,” Killian said, standing from where he’d been lounging in the corner and offering her a hand up. “We should get you to bed, love.”

Taking his hand, Emma stood, then immediately lost her footing and fell into his wet, firm chest. His arms circled her waist, his inebriation making him a bit clumsy and the slickness of their skin causing one of his hands to inadvertently land a bit too low. Palming her ass cheek may have been an accident, but the way his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he prompted her hips forward was not.

Nor was the way she responded, bringing herself flush against him as their lips, teeth and tongues met with fervor. He groaned into her mouth when she raked her nails down his back, then reached up and wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck.

“I want you,” he breathed, the much needed air secondary to the words he seemed desperate to convey.

“I want you, too,” she told him before suddenly finding herself in his arms, being carried out of the hot tub and into the cabin. After setting her down by the dying embers of the fire, he grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around her.

“I’m gonna shut off the hot tub and close things up,” he informed her. “Wait for me in our room?”

Emma nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she headed for the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she giggled at the way he hurriedly - and drunkenly - took care of the tasks so he could follow after her. He didn’t keep her waiting long. No sooner had she finished drying off - still clad in her bikini, so not completely dry - and taking her hair down from the high bun she’d pulled it into so it would stay out of the water, than he came through the door like a man on a mission.

His mission, it seemed, was to pick up where they’d left off. In less than a second she was back in his arms, their hands indulging in the vast expanse of exposed skin while their mouths fought to devour the other.

“You’ve no idea what seeing you in this bikini does to me,” he growled against her lips, his fingers toying with the knotted strings tied at her back.

Reaching between them, Emma cupped his hardness through the thin, damp fabric of his trunks and hummed into his mouth before murmuring, “Actually, I think I do.”

“We’re drunk,” he stated, pulling back slightly while his hands gripped her hip and grazed her back.

“W’are,” she slurred, flicking her gaze up to his. “Your point?”

“We were drunk last time, too,” he reminded her, sloppily. “I’ve always regretted that.”

“Regretted it?”

“Not what we did,” he clarified, his fingers brushing up her side, over the back of her shoulder, then back down her arm. “I regret I wasn’t in complete control of my faculties when I took you. That the details of you, naked and quivering beneath me, are hazy in my memory because of the alcohol clouding them.”

Emma cupped his length harder, pulling a grunt from the depths of his chest and causing his eyes to slip shut as his lips parted in pleasure. “Will that regret keep you from taking me again?” she asked, kneading the underside of his balls with her fingertips. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she gripped his earlobe between her teeth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that interrupted the moans vibrating up his throat. “Will that regret keep you from allowing me the pleasure of being taken?”

Killian jerked his head away, her teeth scraping against the lobe of his ear. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and piercing despite the alcohol hooding his gaze.

“Absolutey the fuck not,” he declared in a tone that curled her toes and nearly made her knees give out.

With a series of sharp tugs, he undid the knots that had kept her bikini top secured, then tore the flimsy piece of fabric from her breasts so his mouth and hands could replace it. Clutching his head to her chest, Emma gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist when he managed to lift her, one handed, so he could carry her to the bed. He probably would have deposited her on the mattress with more finesse had he been sober, but Emma wasn’t complaining, not when he sank to his knees at the end of it and began divesting her of her bikini bottoms with his teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether she said them out loud, but the last coherent words to flow through her consciousness before his tongue began its assault on her sex were, we really ought to do this sober at some point.

~/~

“Got our to-go coffees!”

Emma groaned, her head resting against her arms which were crossed on top of the table they’d just finished having breakfast on. If you could call a slice of dry toast breakfast, that is.

She really shouldn’t have drank so much the day before.

She hated to think how much worse her hangover would be if, after their… relations, Killian hadn’t insisted they both take an aspirin and chase it with a large glass of water before crashing.

Yet another thing to be grateful to Killian Jones for.

And he had given her many, many things to be grateful for last night.

Of course, she’d given him her fair share as well.

Not that she should be thinking about any of that now, especially when thinking in general was causing her head to pound.

“Here,” Elsa said, prompting Emma to sit up and take the to-go cup being offered to her. “I slipped a little hair of the dog in it for you.”

Emma glanced down to where Elsa was brandishing the flask she had tucked away in her purse, a very Jones-esque smirk pulling at her lips.

“Your brother-in-law is a bad influence,” Emma chortled, then winced at the way the action made her stomach gurgle.

Elsa laughed and stood, prompting the rest of the table to follow. The four women made their way out of the diner and towards the shops that were just beginning to open for the after Christmas sales. Emma took a large gulp of her doctored coffee, willing it to sustain her these next few hours. She was gonna need all the help she could get.

“Emma,” Elsa said quietly, as they milled around the third - or was it the fourth - shop of the day.

When Emma glanced over at her, Elsa tilted her head towards the corner, indicating a more private place to chat, and Emma, curious, followed her cousin.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, noting the discomfort and hesitation Elsa was struggling with.

“It’s just…” Elsa began, tentatively. “I know you were joking before, when you said Killian was a bad influence, but…”

“But?”

Elsa’s cool blue eyes locked onto Emma’s. She knew that look. It was the same look David would give her when he was about to go all I’m-telling-you-this-for-your-own-good, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, slightly insufferable, older brother on her.

“He isn’t a bad guy.”

Stunned, Emma blanched and assured, “I know that.”

“I mean,” Elsa continued. “I know David thinks he has a reputation of being a ladies’ man, and has written him off as a ‘bad boy’, but Killian isn’t actually like that.”

“Okay,” Emma drawled, suddenly very uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going. “Why are you tell--”

“Because… He talks about you all the time,” Elsa told her. There was something in her tone that alerted Emma to the fact that her words might be considered a betrayal, but she’d decided to place her loyalties with her cousin rather than her brother-in-law. “He asks about you when it’s been awhile since we’ve all gotten together. I really… I really think he has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t want any misconceptions to get in the way of you possibly--”

“Elsa, stop.”

Emma couldn’t listen to anything more her cousin had to say. It was too much. Too much to hope that this… whatever it was between her and Killian, was more than some ‘dalliance’. More than an itch he felt the need to scratch or some challenge he wanted to conquer.

More than just another notch on his bedpost.

“Look,” she said, her tone not quite as snappy as it had been. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to defend Killian to me. I know he’s a decent guy, and I…” Emma wasn’t sure what else to say without giving away her feelings, something she was barely ready to do with herself, and nowhere near ready to admit to anyone else.

“Right,” Elsa said, letting Emma off the hook. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. I just… Now that Liam and I are married, the Jones brothers are a permanent fixture in our lives and I--”

“I know,” Emma interjected, wishing to end the awkward conversation. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Elsa asked, stepping a bit closer. “Emma, Killian isn’t going anywhere. I know you keep your guard up because you’re afraid of being wrong about him, but… give him a chance? I really think he just might surprise you. In the best way.”

Elsa’s words lingered in Emma’s mind for the rest of the day, as did nearly every interaction she’d ever had with Killian over the past several years. If what Elsa had said was true, that Killian had genuine feelings for her, then why hadn’t he ever made a move?

Granted, in the early years of Elsa and Liam’s relationship, he only came around a couple of times, but he had been a solid member of their group for at least the past two. Yet, he’d never given her any indication of being serious about her. Sure, he flirted and made suggestive comments and did outrageous things with his eyebrows and tongue, but he did that with everyone, right? Even David and Kristoff.

He didn’t have their preferred drink at the ready when they inevitably showed up late, though. Nor did he buy them thoughtful gifts that affirmed and supported their chosen profession. He also did not gravitate towards the rest of them like he did her. And she to him.

He didn’t look at any of them the way he looked at her. In fact… She could not recall a single time they’d been together when she’d seen him look at another woman that way. Not even on the cruise when there had been no shortage of beautiful women in revealing, eye-catching outfits. Not even when those women had come onto him, slipping their room numbers, phone numbers, and who knows what else into his pocket.

Surely, given the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and sexy as hell - don’t get her started on the accent - and had women throwing themselves at him, he had no trouble keeping his date book full and his bed warm. It’s not like he’d been pining after her all this time.

Right?

~/~

The ladies got back to the cabin later than they’d planned. Initially, the group was going to make do with the leftovers for dinner, cleaning out the fridge and making sure nothing went to waste before checking out the next day. However, the shopping and bonding and girl-time had led to them informing the guys that they’d be dining out instead and to not wait up.

Emma - despite the internal turmoil and lingering questions her conversation with Elsa had left her with - had actually enjoyed the day with her cousins and sister-in-law. So much so that it might have been her idea to ditch leftovers with the gents and treat themselves to a lovely meal at the bistro they’d walked by several times during their shopping ventures through the town.

Was a small part of that suggestion due to the fact she wasn’t ready to face Killian?

Yup. Absolutely. 100%

There was no putting it off any longer, though. Despite their insistence that the men should not wait up for them, they had. Because, of course they had.

After a brief recap of the day and a run down of what would need to be done in the morning before they checked out of the cabin, the group dispersed, heading to their respective rooms and turning in for the night. Emma glanced at Killian, whom she’d been avoiding making eye contact with, and could see the same uncertain, hesitant, bracing-for-what-may-come-next demeanor she knew she’d walked into the cabin with.

Making her way into their room, she noted how he’d made the bed and picked up their discarded suits that had still littered the floor when she’d left early that morning. She swallowed heavily at the memory of her quickly quieting her alarm and getting ready - queasy and heavy-headed - as silently and stealthily as possible as not to wake him and force an interaction. What had it been like for him to wake up alone? Had he been plagued by thoughts and memories and questions all day like she had? Eager to see her and discover what it all meant whilst also willing to allow the hours to drag on and avoid having to face a reality that may not meet hopeful expectations?

The door softly snicked closed, the air growing heavy and charged as tense anticipation palpated throughout the room.

“Swan,” Killian began, his voice gentle but resolved as he hovered by the door, giving her as much space as he could within the privacy of their room. “I know talking about last night is probably the last thing you wish to do, but I really think, given that it’s happened twice now, that we really ought to dis--”

“You’re right,” she agreed, cutting him off. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Killian balked. That was clearly not the response he’d been prepared to receive from her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips and shuffling her feet against the carpet, her gaze turned downward as she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’ve, uh… I've been thinking about it all day. I mean…” she paused, her eyes closing briefly at how that statement could be misconstrued, even if the presumption wouldn’t be completely off base. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

“Me, too,” he replied with understanding, no hint of teasing or suggestive provocation in his tone.

Emma lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He was looking at her as one would a cornered animal, cautious and careful of making any sudden movement that might frighten the creature away.

“Actually,” she continued, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she gathered the courage to make her next confession. “I’ve been thinking about us since that night on the ship.”

“Aye,” he breathed out on little more than a whisper. “Me, too.”

With her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she dipped her gaze down to her feet once more and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

It took her a moment to get over her own.

“The other night,” she began, haltingly. “When you implied that you didn’t share your bed often enough to develop a preference on which side of the… I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Flicking her gaze to his once more, she took a breath and asked, “How often is not often enough?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear; a usually endearing tell of his, but one that had her stomach churning at that moment.

“I, uh… actually…” He cleared his throat and cast his gaze aside, though he did throw a furtive glance her way as he answered, “This past year I’ve only shared my bed with one person.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, her heart sinking a bit. “Can I ask who?”

Killian’s head snapped back towards her, a look of amused confusion on his face. His expression softened and he closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he said, “Don’t you know, Emma… It’s you.”

“What?” she exhaled, stupidly. “What do you mean… me?”

“I haven’t been with another woman since last Christmas when you kissed me beneath the mistletoe.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew she must have looked - in his words - absolutely gobsmacked. “B-But that was…” she stuttered, recalling the moment he was referring to. “That was just a silly, little peck on the lips because Elsa had hung it over the bar station and caught us standing there. It was hardly even a kiss.”

“Perhaps not to you,” he said with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “But it was to me.”

Dropping his hand he took a small step back and Emma instantly regretted making it seem as though the kiss hadn’t been a big deal. In truth, she’d had to convince herself for months afterward that it wasn’t.

“But it wasn’t just the kiss,” he continued. “It’s what the kiss exposed.”

Emma felt her breath hitch at the way he was looking at her now: vulnerable, unguarded, and - to use the word he’d just uttered - thoroughly exposed.

“Which was?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a longing took over in his forget-me-not depths. “That you’re it for me, Swan. I…” Boldly, he approached her again, his words and expression leaving no room for doubt as to his sincerity. “There’s no one else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

“Why… Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly.

He cocked his head to one side, an uncomfortable expression taking hold of his features as he reminded her, “At the time, you were with that Walsh bloke, and despite my dislike of the fellow, it seemed bad form to make heartfelt declarations whilst you were in a relationship.” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily and added, “When it did, thankfully, end, although his timing was rubbish, leaving you high and dry on Valentine’s Day, you seemed a bit… put off by the idea of, well, all men.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks flushing hot at the reminder. “My rant at the pub about how all men are bastards and how I was vowing to live a celibate life from then on.”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Didn’t seem like the right time to suggest we start… anything.”

“So,” she said, understanding why he’d taken a step back. “You gave me some space.”

“I thought it best to give it time. Let you heal. Remind yourself that, though the wanker had broken your heart, at least that meant it still worked.”

“And then,” she said, prompting him to continue. “The cruise.”

“Aye, the cruise,” he parroted, swallowing hard. “Liam and Elsa’s wedding, both of us in the wedding party, spending all that time together, flirting, connecting. I thought… I thought, perhaps, it was finally my chance. Our chance. We had that amazing night together. Not just the sex, but everything else that had led up to it. And then…”

“And then, I metaphorically ran for the hills the next morning.”

Killian dropped his head, his shoulders tense as he drew in a deep breath. “I was afraid that I may have taken advantage of--”

“No, Killian,” she said, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at her. “We went over that the next day. You didn’t take advantage of me. At least, not anymore than I took of you. That wasn’t why I--”

“I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t ready. You were still getting over--”

“No, I wasn’t,” she told him. “I got over Walsh a long time ago, I just…”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flicking between hers. “You just what, Swan?”

A contrite expression pulled at her brows and she dropped her hand to his chest as she confessed, “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost. I didn’t want to be some conquest.”

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “You are not some conquest. Not to me.”

He held her for several beats of their hearts, his face nuzzling the top of her head. “Ever since that night, I have waffled between the desire to respect your wishes, and the urge to fight for what I want.” Pulling back, he gazed down at her and professed, “I’m done waffling. I want you, Emma. I want to be with you. I want to pursue you, and woo you, and court you in all the ways you ought to be.” Bringing his hand up, he caressed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers and murmured, “But only if you want that as well. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she said, pulling a deep chuckle from his chest, and they both smiled at one another, basking in the joy of the moment.

A joy that transitioned as they stood there, lightly caressing the other, breathing the other in, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Eyes that were darkening and becoming more hooded and intense as the atmosphere began to electrify around them.

When their lips met, it wasn’t in the chaotic and frenzied way they had in the instances before. There was no less passion, no less heat, but the desperation in this kiss was for closeness, intimacy, and not because either of them thought this might be the only time they’d ever get a chance to experience the other in this way.

After a long, thorough, languid exploration of her mouth, Killian’s moved to her jaw, the space below her ear, then down her neck. Emma’s fingers carded through his hair as his tongue mapped the slope of her shoulder, his hand gently pulling at the collar of her shirt to expose a greater path.

“I agree,” he murmured into her skin, his lips applying soft kisses and gentle, sucking pressure to her pulse points as they traveled back up her neck.

“With what?” Emma panted, torn between wanting to bask in this unhurried moment of enjoyment and her eagerness to move things along so they could get to the really good stuff.

“With what you said last night,” he reminded her, pulling his face away from her neck so he could stare down at her with a smoldering gaze of desire. “We really ought to do it sober sometime, and I see no better time than now. Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean…” Emma silently cursed herself for sounding like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, then began lifting it as she replied, “I think so, too.”

Killian raised his arms, allowing her to peel the shirt from his body. His breath visibly hitched beneath her touch as she ran her fingers down the front of his chest; the muscles in his lower abdomen jumping when they reached the top of his jeans where his body hair began to taper into a happy trail. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she loosened his belt, heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips when she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and the groan he let out when she slipped her hand past his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening, hot, velvety length sent a shiver of wonder down her spine.

“I think,” she whispered in a sultry tone, flicking up her gaze up from beneath her lashes to meet his; her words causing them to open after her actions had clearly made them fall shut in pleasure. “I’ll be the one doing the taking this time.”

A shudder ran through him and his gaze darkened. “As you wish,” he murmured, his timbre low and gravelly and making her want to do all sorts of naughty things to him.

Her hand still wrapped around his cock, she guided him to the edge of the bed and prompted him to sit on the edge as she sank down onto her knees.

“Lie back,” she instructed while working to free him from his jeans and underwear.

“As my lady commands,” he replied, collapsing back onto the mattress, though his head remained lifted so he could watch.

After divesting him of his remaining garments, Emma pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She delighted in the way his body jumped and quivered beneath her touch; her teasing caresses and taunting kisses applied to all the areas except where he’d want them most. Pained pants puffed from his chest and soft whimpers collected in the back of his throat. The cords of his neck strained whenever his head fell back, his eyes following the motion, his lips parted and sticking at the corners whenever his teeth weren’t burying themselves into their soft flesh. When she finally turned her attention to his neglected manhood, his hips jerked off the bed from the feel of her tongue running the length of his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, his hands balling up the comforter in a white-knuckeled grip.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Don’t make me gag you like you had to with me last night.”

The reminder forced a half-growl, half-groan from his chest, but it fully transformed into a moan of pleasurable relief when she took him fully into her mouth.

“Gods above, Swan,” he croaked after several minutes of her working him over, trying to keep his voice down. Trying… and failing. “Fuck!”

With a soft pop, Emma released him and stood.

“Apologies, love,” he whispered in a desperate tone. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intentions of stopping,” she assured him. “But you clearly need help staying quiet.”

If he had a retort to her statement, it must have been forgotten when she lifted her shirt over her head and then removed her bra. Killian’s tongue slowly dragged across his lips, his eyes intently focused on her as she shimmied out of her own jeans and panties. Her black lace panties that matched her bra; a set, like her swimsuit, she had intentionally packed with him in mind.

Black lace panties that she picked up off the floor and let hang off her index finger as she made her way up onto the bed, mounting him dramatically and straddling his hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and keep quiet, or…”

She swung her panties once around her finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes trained on the black fabric until it came to a rest, crooked on her finger once more, before they met hers. Emma could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide which he’d prefer.

After a deliciously taut moment, he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, leaning down so her lips could hover over his. “Good choice.”

She laid her panties on the pillow next to his head as they kissed - just in case. Killian groaned when his tongue ran alongside hers and Emma knew it was because he could taste the brine of his precum still lingering there. When she finally broke off the kiss so she could sit back and position herself over his length, he followed. They both broke the promise of being quiet when he slipped inside her, filling her, stretching her, molding her to him as though they were only ever meant to fit one another.

Rolling her hips, Emma began to move as Killian held her. Murmurs, grunts, staccatoed breaths, sweet nothings, curses, praises, all filled the space between them as their bodies rolled, their hips swiveled, their lips collided, their eyes connected, and their pleasure mounted.

Whenever Emma would arch her back, Killian latched onto her breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and applying sweet torture with his teeth. Torture that reverberated down to her clit, causing it to throb and ache until she couldn’t take it any longer. Pushing Killian back down onto the mattress, she ground down hard against him in an attempt to alleviate the torment. When she felt the damp press of his thumb against her she nearly cried out before remembering herself.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, vigorously applying just the right amount of pressure and rhythm to her clit as he shifted beneath her so he could continue to thrust up into her warm, slick center. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. So soft. So wet.” His words became breathier and more strained, his exertions unrelenting as his thumb and cock competed to bring her to completion. “Come for me,” he pleaded, though there was a tone of command that grew more prominent as he repeated them.

“Come for me, love. I want you to come. Need you to come. Come for me, Emma. Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, My Emma. Come!”

And come, she did.

Hard.

Showing her no mercy, Killian kept pounding into her, his ministrations at her clit sending wave after wave of ecstasy and bone-numbing pleasure through her, making it impossible for her to stay upright. Collapsing against him, she felt his rhythm falter for a few brief seconds when he brought up his knees, giving him the necessary leverage to chase after her into the euphoric abyss she was still tumbling down. The sounds of his desperation panted and grunted and moaned in her ear, until his breath hitched and guttural groanings, deeper than words, reverberated through his chest and stuttered over his lips like his hips did against hers.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they laid there, sated and spent and unbearably content as their bodies cooled and their breaths evened out.

“Do you need to move?” Killian asked, his legs stretching back out as his arms kept her held firmly against him.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I probably ought to.”

During their post-coital cuddling, he’d already begun to soften and slip from her, but the emptiness she felt when he fully left her had them both quickly moving through their aftercare routines so they could be back in the other’s arms, nestled beneath the covers, as quickly as possible.

“Does it all still sound good to you, love?” Killian questioned between the soft kisses he was applying to the back of her shoulder.

“The wooing and pursuing and courting, you mean?” she clarified, sleepily.

“Aye.”

“Mmmm, you bet.”

~/~

“Well, I think that’s everything,” Liam said, tying a knot on the last of the trash bags that needed to be taken out. “Elsa is going over the check-out list one last time, but I think we’ve taken care of everything.”

“I don’t see why we even bothered,” David groused. “It’s not like the owner kept up his end of things.”

“And Elsa will make sure her review reflects that,” Liam assured him.

Emma and Killian exchanged amused glances with one another. Other than the heat going out that one night - which Kristoff had managed to fix the next day - she and Killian had been the only ones truly ‘inconvenienced’ by the misleading information in the cabin’s listing.

An inconvenience she was tempted to leave a five star review for.

Sleeps ten, her ass… and her eternal gratitude.

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@bluewildcatfanatic @scotchiegirl @jonesfandomfanatic @idristardis @lfh1226-linda

@paradiselady19 @phoenix-untamed @jackieorioncat @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells

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@earanemith @captainodonoghue @jrob64 @djlbg @wyntereyez

@kday426 @gingerchangeling @winterbaby89

[snowbellewells]

@jrob64 I am sorry that I didn’t get to read this sooner, because you deserve all the praise and to know how much your writing is enjoyed! But reading it at the end of this week when we’ve had snow and ice and freezing wind- it really was quite fitting I ended up reading it when I did!

The way this story comes to be is such a perfect setup - trope-y and funny and just so very Emma too! Burned by one too many bad New Year’s dates, of course Emma just wants to relax and stay in, but obviously Fate is going to finally give her a hand this year. I loved how you had her think to herself that she definitely hadn’t had this guy as a food deliverer before because she would have remembered him. (Really, you’d have to say that upon seeing Killian Jones, wouldn’t you?!? 😍😜)

His fall on the ice, her hurrying out to apologize and help him up, then her falling on him, all of that was priceless (reminded me of one of the best scenes in While You Were Sleeping, which I love!)

And then he comes in, they watch British Bake Show, share their tragic backstories, and really forge a connection!! It’s perfect! 😍😍😍It was so lovely how he had shared that with his mum, and he didn’t have to be alone and was able to share about her with someone who cared. It made them spending that evening before the start of a new year together seem genuinely hopeful and bringing real promise.

I’m rambling and probably not saying enough still, but I really liked this one- gobbled it right up like a last leftover holiday treat!! Thanks so much for sharing it with us!!! ❄️🩵❄️

Slipping Into Your Heart

A Captain Swan New Year's Story

Happy New Year, everyone! This one-shot was written as part of the Captain Swan Winter Bingo event and checks off the box 'slipping on the ice' on my card.

@kmomof4 pointed out that my last posted story Drummer Boys, Reindeer and Romance actually checked off TWO boxes - reindeer and cuddling by the fire. I'll take it!

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta work all year.

Story Summary: After three terrible New Year's Eve dates in a row, Emma Swan decides to spend this one at home by herself. But when the handsome, blue-eyed Grubhub driver who delivers her dinner slips and falls on her icy sidewalk, she feels compelled to take care of him.

Rating: T

Words (Ch. 1/1): 6065

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

“Don’t worry about me, Mary Margaret,” Emma Swan said into the phone, as she entered her bedroom to grab her purse. “I just ordered Grubhub. It should be here any minute.”

“I wish you had come over to eat with us tonight,” her friend responded a bit forlornly.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m looking forward to an evening all to myself,” Emma said. She was a little surprised to realize she was being completely honest. “I’m already in my comfy clothes and I plan on watching the new season of The Great British Baking Show with some hot cocoa and popcorn, later.”

“I hate to think of you being alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather be alone than with any of the guys I had as dates for the last three New Year’s Eves. Those dates were unmitigated disasters, as you well know.”

“Jefferson wasn’t so bad,” Mary Margaret commented.

“Are you kidding? He was crazy as a loon! He showed up wearing a top hat, for crying out loud.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, don’t give up on dating, Emma. One of these days, the right guy will come along.”

“That’s what you keep saying. At least one of us has hope.” Just then, the doorbell rang. “I have to go; my food is here. I hope you and David have a great time tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Enjoy your evening, Emma. Happy New Year!”

After ending the call, Emma hurried out to the living room and opened the front door. Standing on her porch was the Grubhub delivery man.

Emma had food delivered on a semi-regular basis and met many delivery people, but most she didn’t really remember after she closed the door. However, this particular delivery person she had never seen before, because if she had, she was quite certain she would have remembered him.

The man standing in front of her was attractively dressed in dark jeans, a button down shirt and black leather jacket. He was about six feet tall and obviously in very good shape. After taking all of this in, her eyes moved to his face. That’s when her breath caught in her throat, because he was, quite literally, breathtaking.

The bluest eyes she had ever seen sparkled beneath long lashes and expressive brows. Attractive sideburns faded into neatly-trimmed scruff on his strong jawline and chin, and his dark hair curled around his adorable, slightly pointed ears. His other perfectly proportioned facial features completed his handsome face.

Emma realized he was smirking and wondered how long she had been staring at him. Giving herself a mental shake, she cleared her throat. “Uh, hi, I, um…I guess you have some food for me?”

“Aye, lass. I have your order right here,” he said, holding up a large plastic bag.

An accent. He had a fucking British accent.

Once again, she had to remind herself to speak. “Thank you. I, uh…oh, hang on a second. Let me get you a tip.”

She took the bag from him and set it on the floor beside her. Digging inside her purse, she pulled out her wallet. “I should give you extra for coming out on New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s not necessary, madam.”

Riffling through her wallet, she pulled out a five dollar bill and two singles. “Then I’ll pay you extra to never call me that name again.”

He laughed as he took the offered bills. “Thanks very much. I hope you have a lovely evening, E.S.,” he said, referring to her initials from the order information.

“You, too,” she answered, picking up the food.

He gave her a grin, then turned and went down the porch steps. Instead of closing the door right away, she watched him walking down the sidewalk to his car. Just as she began to swing the door shut, she heard him let out a yelp and looked out to see his feet fly out from under him. His arms flailed as he attempted to keep his balance, but it didn’t help. He fell hard on his back, his head thankfully missing the concrete and landing in her snow-covered yard.

“Oh my gosh!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the bag of food, flying out the door, and rushing quickly but carefully to where he lay moaning. “Are you alright?”

He sat up slowly, brushing the snow out of his hair with one hand, while the other rubbed the small of his back. “I think so?” he answered unconvincingly.

“I’m so sorry! I shoveled the snow so the sidewalk would be clear for you, but didn’t notice the ice underneath.”

“It’s okay, lass,” he said, though the grimace on his face told a different story.

“Here, let me help you up.” She offered him her hand and began tugging. He had just gotten his feet under him, when she slipped and fell on top of him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned.

“I am very, very sorry,” Emma apologized, then dropped her head to his sternum and burst into laughter. She was relieved to hear his answering chuckle.

When she got herself under control, she managed to get to her feet and looked down at him. He lay there smiling up at her. “I better give you a bigger tip to help cover your medical bills,” she quipped.

He rolled over and got to his knees, then cautiously pushed himself to his feet. Standing in the snow beside the slick sidewalk, he tilted his head from side to side, both hands on his back. “That won’t be necessary, Love. I appear to be in one piece.”

“At least let me get you an ice pack to put on your back while you drive to your next delivery.”

“You don’t need to go to that trouble, either. You are my last stop of the night.”

“I hope you’re not too sore for your New Year’s plans tonight .”

He scratched behind his ear. “That’s not a problem. I don’t have any.”

“You’re kidding!” Emma blurted out before thinking.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I just…you…honestly, you don’t look like someone who would have trouble finding a date.”

“Neither do you, lass.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing a coat. “Look, I feel really bad for causing you to fall. Won’t you please come in so I can get you an ice pack and ibuprofen?”

He hesitated, his hands moving to his lower back again. “Perhaps that would be a good idea, if you truly don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t make the offer if I did. Come on in.” She turned and led the way through the snow to her house, picking up the bag of food once she was inside the door.

The delivery man entered behind her, closed the door, stomped his boots off on the mat, and stood there a bit awkwardly.

Emma set the bag on the coffee table and turned to look at him. “I haven’t even told you my name yet. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Emma said. She went into the kitchen, took an ice pack out of the freezer, and wrapped it in a tea towel. Then she got a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabbed the ibuprofen off of the counter. That’s when she had second thoughts about her decision to ask him in. Sure, he was incredibly handsome and seemed very nice, but criminals could be handsome and deceptively nice, too.

Peeking around the corner of the door frame, she saw that he was still standing on the small rug in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot. Surely, if he were inclined to commit some sort of crime, he would have taken advantage of her being out of sight.

She walked back into the living room. “You can take off your coat and sit down, if you like.”

“I don’t want to drip water across your floor.”

Emma pointed to the shoes on her feet. “If I didn’t worry about it, you shouldn’t either. But if it makes you feel better, you can take off your boots and leave them on the rug.”

He toed them off, then unzipped his coat and removed it.

She set the water bottle and ibuprofen on the table beside the sack of food and sat down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit on the other end. Once he did, he shook out a couple of pills from the bottle and took a swig of water. Then she handed him the ice, which he placed on his lower back.

After sitting in silence for several moments, she leaned forward and pulled the food towards herself. “I ordered enough food for several people because I was feeling self-indulgent. Are you hungry?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to…”

“You didn’t ask me, I offered. I’ll go get a couple of plates.”

As they ate, they made small talk about mundane subjects.

“Is the ice helping your back?” she asked.

“Aye, a bit. I think I just twisted it when I fell.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t hit your head on the concrete.”

“Me, too.”

“If the ice pack isn’t cold anymore, I’ll get you another one. I have plenty. I have to keep a lot on hand because of my job.”

“Are you a professional kickboxer or something?”

She laughed. “No, but close. I’m a bail bondsperson who doubles as a bounty hunter, when necessary.”

He whistled lowly. “You must be a tough lass. How did you get into that particular profession?”

“It’s a long story.”

“My schedule is pretty clear, but if you aren’t comfortable talking about it with a total stranger…”

“You stopped being a total stranger when you told me your name,” she pointed out.

He grinned and she felt her insides melting at how it made his already handsome face even more gorgeous.

“I’ll tell you on one condition - that you promise not to pity me.”

“Ah, so it’s a story of tragedy.”

She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“In that case, I promise not to pity you. However, if you want, I can reciprocate by sharing my own tragic story.”

“What better way to spend New Year’s Eve than depressing the person we just met?”

“Indeed,” he said, grinning again.

Emma took a deep breath and began telling her story. “I grew up without a family. I don’t know why my parents gave me up at birth, but they did. I was placed in foster care as an infant and stayed with one family for three years. Just as they were initiating adoption proceedings, they found out they were having a baby of ‘their own’.” She framed the last two words with air quotes. “So they decided they didn’t need to adopt me. I was put back into the system and by the time I was seven, I was labeled emotionally troubled.”

“It’s no wonder, after being taken from the only home you ever knew,” Killian commented.

“I know, right? Anyway, I was moved to different foster homes pretty frequently and was never considered for adoption again. I ran away from my last placement when I was sixteen and got caught shoplifting a couple of months later. They sent me to a juvenile detention center that specialized in vocational training. When I took one of those assessments that’s supposed to match your interests to a career, it said I was most suited for a job in law enforcement, which I thought was absolutely ridiculous.”

She paused to take a drink of her soda. “Then this really tough counselor named Cleo took an interest in me and told me I was wasting my potential by being angry at the world. She trained me to be a bail bondsperson and bounty hunter because I flat out refused to go to the police academy.”

“Do you like the job?” he asked.

“It pays the bills. Most of the time, it’s pretty boring, but once in a while I have to do a stakeout or set a honey trap.”

“Honey trap?”

“Set up a fake date with a skip and dress sexy. Once I gain their trust, or their lust, I cuff them and take them in.”

“Ah, I see.”

She dug her fork into the container of pork lo mein and put it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she continued. “Sometimes I wish I went to the academy, instead of being so damn stubborn.”

“It’s not too late,” Killian observed. “Perhaps you could look into it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ve been thinking about it more often lately.” After taking another swig of pop, she asked, “So what’s your tragic backstory?”

“I moved to America with my mother and brother nine years ago, when I was seventeen. Mum was battling cancer and we found a treatment center that seemed more promising than any place in England.”

“Did the treatment work?”

“In a manner of speaking. It gave us more time with her than we would have had, if we hadn’t moved. Her prognosis was less than two years in England. She outlived that by nearly seven years. We had to be sponsored by her cousin in New Hampshire, since her medical visa expired.”

“Did she pass away recently?”

“Aye. Five months ago.”

Emma reached over to place her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

He sighed, then tried to force a smile onto his face. “Thank you. My brother, Liam, stayed here for a couple of months after her passing, but then he moved back to England. I remained behind because there are still some things I need to do to settle Mum’s affairs.”

“Will you go back home after you do that?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure I think of England as home anymore. Liam is there, but he has a girlfriend, Elsa, whom he met online three years ago. They’ve visited back and forth with each other several times. They’re very serious and are discussing moving in together, so even if I move back, I’ll have to find a flat and a job. I already have a place to live here. We’ve been renting a house in the suburbs since we came over. The landlord is a very kind man who is like family now.”

“Do you have a job? Besides driving for Grubhub, I mean?”

“I work down at the docks, helping to maintain the piers.”

“Do you like it?”

“Aye. I’ve always loved being around the water.”

They both continued eating, before Emma asked another question. “You, um…you didn’t mention a father.”

“He’s not worth mentioning. I was six when he left, so I don’t remember much about him or what happened. Liam was ten and he is pretty sure Da left Mum for someone else. He never sent us any money or attempted to see us.”

“Oh, wow. So your mom had to raise you by herself?”

“Aye, she did, but she never complained or spoke even one harsh word against our father. She said she couldn’t be angry or bitter toward him because he gave her the two greatest treasures of her life.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“That she was. She deserved so much better.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, thinking about everything they just shared with each other as they finished eating.

Finally, Killian broke the silence. “So tell me, lass. How does it happen that you are home by yourself on New Year’s Eve?”

“I’ve had horrible dates the last three years and I didn’t want to increase the streak to four.”

“Do you mind me asking what made them so horrible?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Three years ago, I was with a guy I had been dating for several months. I thought things were going well all that time. Just before midnight, he proceeded to break up with me, saying he wasn’t happy and felt trapped in our relationship. So while everyone was kissing once the new year arrived, I was by myself, crying in a corner of the room.”

“What a complete arse,” Killian commented, an angry edge to his voice.

“Yeah, he really was. I didn’t date again for nearly a year, until my friend Mary Margaret set me up with the owner of a furniture store where she bought a bedroom set. New Year’s Eve was our third date. He was polite, easy to talk to, and wasn’t aggressive. He never even tried to hold my hand or give me a kiss on our dates.”

“Sounds like a perfect gentleman who was letting you set the pace.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“What happened?”

“About halfway through the night, he disappeared. We were all at our friend Regina’s house, and when I started asking people if they had seen him, everyone said they hadn’t. It was a pretty big party with close to forty people, so it took me a while to finally realize he wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs. That’s when I decided to check the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you found him with another woman.”

“Well, I did find him…but not with another woman.”

“Who was he…” Killian began, then realization set in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. That explained why he wasn’t in any hurry to show me any kind of affection.”

“Wow,” he commented simply. “I wonder why he agreed to go out with a woman in the first place, if that was his inclination.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I still haven’t let Mary Margaret hear the end of it, and if she even hints that she wants to set me up with someone…”

“I’m sure you shut that down very quickly.”

“Yep. Which brings us to last year.”

“I can’t imagine it being much worse than the previous two.”

“It wasn’t, but it was still bad. This time, my friend Ruby set me up with a guy she knew. I should have known better, because Ruby is a bit off-the-wall. I mean, I love her, but she is very quirky. Anyway, this guy shows up wearing an orange top hat.”

Killian started laughing. “Did he have the matching tuxedo? Perhaps he was a big fan of Dumb and Dumber.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “No orange tux, but he definitely would have fit right into that movie. We were at Regina’s again and he found out she had a sewing machine and a basket full of material. He spent a couple of hours sewing the scraps together to make this sort of shawl thing. Then he brought it out to the party and performed some sort of dance with it, waving it around like he was a bullfighter. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I take it you won’t let Ruby try to set you up, either?”

“You got that right.”

“I can certainly understand your reluctance to have another New Year’s date.”

“Which is why I’m home by myself, indulging in copious amounts of Chinese food and binge watching The Great British Baking Show.”

“Is the new season out?” he asked with a note of excitement.

“Yeah, it’s been out for a couple of months but I don’t like to watch it one episode at a time. I hate having to wait a whole week.”

“I can understand that.”

“You like that show, too, I take it?”

“Aye. It was one of Mum’s favorites and we always watched it together. I won’t get to see it this year, though. I’ve been canceling some subscriptions, and Netflix was one of them.”

Emma opened her mouth to tell him he could stay and watch it with her, but before the words came out, she had second thoughts. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was coming on to him.

As she watched him putting another spoonful of fried rice on his plate, she began debating with herself. The poor guy hurt his back because of her negligence, but he didn’t have any hard feelings. Having him for company was better than spending the entire evening alone, and she was truly enjoying their conversation. Plus, she told him she would be watching one of his favorite shows, so not inviting him to stay and watch it with her would be rude. Wouldn’t it?

“Swan?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, uh…I was thinking that you could, um…that is, if you want to, you could watch the show with me.”

“I wasn’t fishing for an invitation…”

“I know, and please don’t feel pressured to accept. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you, Emma, but I don’t want to infringe on your evening.”

“I was looking forward to having a relaxing evening at home instead of dressing up and going out, but I’m okay with you being here. As long as you don’t mind seeing me in my oldest, comfiest sweats.”

“You still look quite fetching,” he grinned. “In all honesty, I was dreading spending the evening by myself, especially since it’s my first New Year’s Eve without Mum. Perhaps slipping on the ice was a fortunate turn of events.”

“Your back may not agree,” she quipped. Plucking the remote from the coffee table, she powered on the television and brought up Netflix. “Make yourself comfortable. My plan was to watch the first three episodes, then make popcorn and hot chocolate. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, following her lead and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Oh, wait. Before we start, I’ll get you a fresh ice pack,” she said, hopping up and holding out her hand for the melted one.

When she came back, he took the new one from her, commenting, “You’re a very good caregiver, Swan.”

“Thanks, Jones,” she replied with a smirk.

“Apologies. I’m used to referring to my coworkers by their last names.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I have no issue with being called by my last name.”

“It fits you.”

“Thanks. I picked it myself.”

He scrutinized her with a raised brow. “Truly?”

“Yeah. After I ran away, I didn’t want to be tracked down by my last name, so I started calling myself Emma Swan. I had it changed officially once I was older and had enough money to pay for it.”

“How did you come up with Swan?”

“From the Ugly Duckling. I always liked that story and could relate to that poor little duck nobody wanted.”

 “But it transforms into a lovely swan, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy I didn’t have to keep the name CPS came up with for me. It never felt right to me.” While she was talking, she was flipping through the options on Netflix to find The Great British Baking Show. Clicking on it, she said, “I haven’t missed a single season of this show. The contestants always astound me with the stuff they bake.”

“Aye, me as well. Are you a baker yourself, Swan?”

“Pfft, far from it. I tried to make a cake once and failed miserably. And it was from a box! Apparently it’s important to read the directions. Who knew?”

Killian laughed. “Perhaps you’ll try again someday.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to watch twelve people do amazing things and then get kicked off one by one because what they spent hours baking wasn’t perfect.”

“Do you ever choose a favorite contestant?”

“Every time.”

“Is it ever the eventual champion?”

“Never.”

He laughed again. “Same with me. Mum, on the other hand, had a knack for selecting the person who either won it or at least got into the top three.”

“She must have known a lot about baking.”

“Not really. I think she was just lucky.”

Emma clicked on the episode and they settled in to watch, laughing at the co-hosts and making bets on who would be Star Baker and who would be the first to leave the tent. When Killian was right on both counts, he thrust his arms up in the air, exclaiming, “Yes!”

“You must have inherited your mother’s knack,” Emma observed.

“Perhaps she was whispering in my ear,” he said, a slightly sad smile on his face.

She reached over to pat him on the knee. “She probably was.”

Before they started the next episode, Killian asked, “Would you please direct me to your bathroom?”

“Sure.” She turned in her seat and pointed behind them. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing and stretching.

As he twisted at the waist, Emma asked, “How does your back feel?”

“Not bad. I think the ice packs and ibuprofen helped.”

“Good.”

She watched him leave the room, then took the ice pack to return it to the freezer. After that, she cleared off the coffee table, putting the leftover food in the refrigerator and the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

When she returned, Killian was once again sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone. He didn’t seem to notice that she re-entered the room, so she took a few moments to study him. Now that she had a chance to get to know him a little, she found him even more attractive, because she now knew there was more to him than just a pretty face.

Finally resuming her seat, she picked up the remote again. “Ready for the next episode?”

“Uh, give me a second. I just got a message from Liam. It’s already past midnight there and he’s wishing me a Happy New Year.”

“You can call him if you like. I don’t mind waiting.”

He turned his startling blue eyes on her. “Thanks, I think I will.”

Standing from the couch, she said, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I don’t mind if you overhear our conversation. Actually, I think I’ll Facetime him instead. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen his ugly mug.”

She giggled. “Spoken like a true brother.”

Grinning, he put the call through. While he was greeting his brother, Emma busied herself with checking her own phone, responding to messages from Mary Margaret and Ruby, received while she was watching the show.

“Say hi to my brother, Swan.”

Glancing up, she was surprised to see him holding his phone up to her. A man with similar facial features as Killian, but with lighter, curly hair was on the screen, smiling at her. “Hello, lass.”

“Oh, uh…hi. Happy New Year,” she responded.

“The same to you. I’m sorry you have to spend it with my git of a brother.”

“Hey!” Killian protested.

Emma laughed. “Inviting him to watch The Great British Baking Show with me was the least I could do after he fell on the ice on my sidewalk. He was delivering my dinner.”

“He said he fell and you took pity on him. I figured it was because of his own clumsiness.”

A female voice came through the phone. “Liam, stop teasing Killian. He was sweet enough to call and you’re being mean.”

The face of the woman speaking came into view on the screen. Emma saw she was beautiful, with almost white-blonde hair and large, expressive eyes. “Hello. You must be Elsa.”

“Yes, that’s me. Forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Emma Swan. It’s very nice meeting you, and you too, Liam.”

“The pleasure is ours, lass,” Liam said. “All kidding aside, we’re very happy Killian isn’t alone this evening. I was afraid he was sitting around the house moping.”

“He’s been very good company,” she assured him.

Killian scooted closer to her so they could both be on the screen. “We should let you get back to your party,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure Anna will come looking for us soon,” Elsa said.

“Thank you for calling, little brother,” Liam added. “We miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I do not miss being called little brother. I’m younger.”

“And two inches shorter, so technically you’re little, also.”

Before Killian could reply, Elsa cut in, “That’s enough, boys. Emma will think all the two of you ever do is argue.”

Emma laughed as Killian said, “Happy New Year, you two. I’ll talk to you again soon. Love you.”

“We love you, too. I hope this new year will be a better one for both of us,” Liam responded.

Killian glanced at Emma. “I think it’s getting off to a pretty good start.”

She listened to them finish their goodbyes, a little surprised that his statement didn’t make her uncomfortable. In fact, she felt the exact same way.

*********

They were halfway through the sixth episode when Killian checked the time on his phone. “It’s eleven fifty seven,” he announced.

“Oh!” Emma said, pushing her empty mug and popcorn bowl out of the way to find the remote. “Would you like to watch the ball drop?”

“Sure.”

She quickly exited Netflix and searched for a channel covering the party in Times Square. As they watched the raucous scene, she commented, “I would hate to be in that crowd.”

“Aye, me too. I much prefer being in a quiet place.”

The ball began to drop. When it reached ten seconds to go, the two of them counted along with the mob of people on screen. It hit zero, lighting up the year ‘2024’, then it switched to another camera showing people in the crowd sharing kisses.

Emma glanced at Killian out of the corner of her eye. At the same time, he took his eyes off the television and looked at her. “Happy New Year, Emma,” he said quietly.

“Happy New Year, Killian.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, lingering for a second before traveling back up again. Then, without conscious thought, she leaned toward him.

The touch of his lips against hers sent a shiver of delight through her. The kiss was brief and left her wanting more, but she pulled back before she could act on that impulse.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, Killian broke the silence. “Um…perhaps we should finish the episode, then I need to be going.”

“Oh, right,” she said, bringing Netflix back up. They watched the remainder of the show without talking, both preoccupied with thoughts of the kiss they just shared.

As soon as the episode ended, Killian stood up. Emma flicked off the television and stood, too, shifting back and forth on her stockinged feet.

He cleared his throat, scratching behind his ear. “I, um…I thoroughly enjoyed this evening - except for falling on my arse, that is.”

She chuckled. “I apologize again, but I have to say I’m not sorry it led to you keeping me company tonight. It was nice having someone to watch the show with and discuss it.”

“Thank you for inviting me to join you. It brought back good memories of watching it with my mother. I needed that tonight.”

They stood looking at each other for several more moments, then he moved to put on his boots and coat. She walked to the door, ready to open it for him. “Be careful going home. There will probably be some people driving who shouldn’t be on the road.”

He zipped his coat and tugged a blue knit cap out of the pocket, pulling it on over his dark hair. Emma found the addition utterly adorable.

“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Killian…” she began, then paused. He looked at her expectantly. “I, um, I hate to think that you won’t get to see the rest of the new season. Would you like to come over sometime to watch the rest of the episodes?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “I would like that very much.”

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with Mary Margaret and David this evening, Love?” Killian called from the living room.

“I’m sure,” Emma said, coming through the doorway dressed in her oldest sweats, the same ones she wore exactly one year ago. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, she added, “I’m content staying home, doing the same thing I did last year.”

“You mean practically maiming the Grubhub delivery man on your icy sidewalk?”

“Why not? It worked out pretty well for me last year,” she teased, snuggling into his side.

“It’s unfortunate for you I salted the sidewalk, then,” he responded.

“That’s okay. One former delivery driver is more than enough for me.”

“More than enough, huh?” he smirked. “Are you saying I give you more than you can handle, Swan?”

Elbowing him lightly in the side, she said, “Keep it up and when your big brother calls, I’m going to tell him you’re being insufferable.”

“Older brother,” he automatically corrected. “And don’t you dare. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Then behave,” she said, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. “I’m gonna put in our order. Same as last year?

“Works for me, but this time, I call dibs on the pork lo mein.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Nobody messes with my pork lo mein and lives to tell about it.”

“Have they been teaching you intimidation techniques at the police academy?” he asked, trying to contain his mirth.

She glared at him a few seconds longer, then turned her attention back to her phone, saying, “I’ll put in a double order for it.”

“Grand idea, Love. I’m going to change into my own comfy clothes.”

She watched him leave the room, headed toward their bedroom, then finished placing their food order. While she was waiting for him to come back, she reflected on the past year. It was, by far, the best year of her life. She met Killian, fell in love and eventually asked him to move in with her. For their eight month anniversary, he took her on a trip to England to meet his brother and future sister-in-law. He also encouraged her to pursue her dream of enrolling in the police academy, where she was set to graduate in a little over a month.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma blinked and looked up at her love, amazed as always that he was hers.

Grabbing his hand in both of hers, she pulled him down beside her and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I was just thinking about everything that happened since last New Year’s Eve.”

He tightened his grip on her, running his nose along the slope of her throat. “A lot has happened, all of it good,” he murmured.

“Well, most of it. There was the day I got a flat tire and the time you came down with the flu.”

His low chuckle sounded in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I was able to show you how to change the tire, and you nursed me back to health, so it all turned out good in the end.”

Placing her hands on both sides of his face, she put enough distance between them to be able to look into his brilliant blue eyes. “You made it the best year ever. I love you, Killian.”

“I believe we made it the best year ever, Sweetheart,” he corrected. “I love you, Emma.”

They shared a long, languid kiss that turned into many more, until they were interrupted by the food delivery. As they ate, they began watching the brand new season of The Great British Baking Show, pausing it to call Elsa and Liam at seven o’clock, which was midnight in the UK. Five hours later, they paused it again to ring in the New Year themselves. This time, their kiss wasn’t tentative like the year before, and they continued the celebration in their bedroom.

As they lay together, sated and blissfully happy, Emma whispered, “I wonder what 2025 has in store for us? It surely can’t be better than 2024.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Killian answered, thinking about the contents of a small, black velvet box, hidden in a pair of seldom worn boots, tucked away in the back corner of the closet.

*********

Thank you for reading, leaving comments, liking and reblogging, if you're so inclined. Every one is very much appreciated!

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[snowbellewells]

@searchingwardrobes Melanie, I really can’t tell you how excited I was when you started posting new chapters of this!! I’m truly sorry it’s taken me a while to have time to sit and enjoy and review and reblog, but man were they ever worth the wait!! Your writing just really speaks to me, and I enjoy the stories you tell so very much. Like always this one wrapped me right back in and I couldn’t put it down. It was a struggle to even force myself to stop and review before rushing on to the next chapter. (I’m also so flattered and happy to know that previous comments were helpful and encouraging as you were getting going with writing this again!! You didn’t miss a beat, that much is clear even with this one update!!)

As I was reading this chapter, I was reminded again how much I enjoy the whole family unit you’ve crafted around Emma and Killian in this particular story. I love Liam and Ingrid, Elsa and Anna, how all of them support each other, each pitches in with their own fits and unique perspectives, and they all love and support each other so fiercely. It makes the love story all the richer. These two young people have seen real love in action, and therefore they know what they hope to cultivate for themselves. I adored Ingrid and Emma’s mother-daughter moment in the scene where they find her wedding dress. Really touching and truly lovely!!

And yet, even with all of that good, Emma is also thinking of her birth mother and that missing spot where she should be. I love how sympathizing and comforting Killian is when she shares this with him. How he understands what she is feeling and is able to help and encourage her as the wonderful partner he is. As he does when he finds her with the journal and tears in her eyes: “Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.” You have a wonderful way of writing their connection with such depth and purity, but also without losing the heat and chemistry either. They are certainly two sides of the same coin, and you illustrate that exceptionally well here too.

And then at the end, they’ve found her mother? Will Emma see her before the wedding? And how will that go? I’m not waiting to find out…. On to Chapter 10!!!

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Also on Ao3

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Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy. 

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education. 

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.” 

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife. 

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

*******************************************************

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies. 

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off. 

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window. 

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry. 

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak. 

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced. 

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents. 

 Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine. 

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something. 

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads. 

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it. 

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her. 

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him. 

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him. 

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands. 

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair. 

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face. 

“How?” she finally asked. 

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice. 

“We’ve found her!” she told them. 

“Who?” Emma asked. 

“Your mom!”

[snowbellewells]

@wyntereyez Oh my goodness!! Apologies for taking ridiculously too long to read and comment on this, but I continue to love this supernaturally tinged (even more so, anyway! 😜) version of Storybrooke and its denizens that you’ve created. Bat Killian and Wolf Ruby are both wonderfully engaging, and I couldn’t help chuckling at the tiff Emma walked in on with them both in their animal forms. (There’s something so adorably perfect about small fruit bat Killian that I just LOVE , that I would never have known I needed or was missing if you hadn’t written it!)

Also, I love how you’re deepening the myths and plot once again with the evil feelings and the sigils in the woods - obviously something NOT GOOD is out there and on the move! And might it have to do with the new mayor we meet at chapter’s end? (I’m betting YES!) “Rotten to the core” as Emma herself once said in on the show.

I can’t wait to see where you might take this next! Thank you for this addition!!

Wool of bat and tongue of dog

Thanks to @jrob64 for the banner! It's perfect.

Here's the first part of my @cssns contribution. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but thanks to me being a terminal procrastinator combined with a very busy two weeks at work, my brain can't word very well at the moment.

Part One

The door to the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center was unlocked.

Emma immediately went on the alert. Mary Margaret had left over an hour ago, and she’d never have forgotten to lock the door behind her. After Walsh and the events of the previous month, Emma had taken to bringing her gun with her. She could see Mary Maragaret’s frown whenever she spotted it, but Emma refused to be alone without it. 

Not when she was a potential target for the supernatural.

And now, it looked like her fears were well-founded, because there was something inside the building that definitely wasn’t a bat. Emma had inched the door open, holding her breath so she could listen. She could hear something moving in the lobby, by the reception desk.

A deep, resonating growl that made a primal part of Emma want to scream and flee. Her grip tightened on the gun, and she started to raise it.

Then an annoyed chittering followed, which was interrupted by a yip of indignation. Supernatural, all right, but familiar.

Emma holstered the pistol and stepped inside.

A massive wolf was crouched next to the desk, eyes locked on the large fruit bat perched on the edge. The bat raised his head and made delighted squeaks, and the wolf offered a wag of the tail before turning her snarling muzzle back to the bat.

“No supernatural turf wars before I’ve had my coffee,” Emma grumbled. She picked Killian up and plopped him down atop the startled Ruby’s back, then headed towards the breakroom. Ruby padded along after, Killian clinging to her shoulders for dear life.

They both waited patiently as Emma brewed a pot of coffee. While she waited, she grabbed the fruit bowl from the fridge and offered it to Killian, who daintily grabbed a slice of banana and half a strawberry. Ruby’s tongue flicked out, snatching two melon cubes and getting saliva all over the fruit, making Killian shriek in indignation. Emma sighed. “Can we use human words now, please?”

The fruit bat clumsily pulled himself to Ruby’s side, then released his grip on her fur. If he’d been a normal crippled bat, Emma would have dove to rescue him. But the bat never hit the ground; instead, a leather-clad man crouched next to the massive wolf.

Ruby licked his face, smearing melon and saliva on his cheek. Killian sputtered, and she trotted off, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“How’d you piss her off this time?” Emma asked as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

“What makes you think I’m responsible, Swan?” Killian pouted as he straightened. His hook gleamed in the fluorescent light.

“You turned into something small, helpless, and cute to argue with her,” Emma pointed out. 

“Which wasn’t enough to prevent me from being angry with you,” Ruby said as she re-entered the break room on two legs.

Now that Emma was in on her secret, Ruby had taken to leaving spare clothes at the Belfry in case of unexpected transformations. She returned shortly in human form, wearing a red T-shirt and black leggings. Her feet were bare, toes caked with dirt from her run. She made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“You’re late tonight,” Ruby commented. “Did something happen?”

“I spent all day at the Town Hall.” Emma couldn’t hold back her groan. “You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to select an interim mayor. They just need someone to hold the position until an election can be held.”

The mayor had been found dead of a heart attack in his office two days previous, throwing the city council into an uproar. It was a headache that Emma really didn’t need. Especially since there was one member of the council famous for disagreeing with everything, and he’d loudly shot down every candidate. Several of the city council members were friends of his, and tended to follow his lead, which led to deadlocked votes. “He’s going to drive me insane,” Emma sighed.

“Leroy?” Ruby hazarded.

“Yep. Had an argument for everything. By the time the meeting was called, the council still hadn’t chosen anyone, and I almost went to the Rabbit Hole instead of coming here.”

“Sounds worse than vampire politics,” Killian snorted. “Though I imagine there’s less blood.”

“You’d be surprised,” Emma slumped into a chair, her exhaustion finally getting to her. “So what were you two fighting about?” 

Killian and Ruby exchanged glances. “A deer,” they said in unison. 

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose, already sorry she asked. This was going to add to her headache. “And why was this particular deer so important? We’re surrounded by woods, there are hundreds of them around.

“I was hunting it, of course. A vampire can’t live on strawberries alone. And deer’s blood can sustain me for more than a week.”

“You didn’t have to choose my prey!” Ruby’s voice had developed a snarl not unlike her wolf’s vocalizations. “I’d been stalking that deer for more than an hour!”

“It was the only deer I’d scented for miles,” Killian defended. “And unlike you, I need live prey.”

Emma tensed, suddenly reminded that she was dealing with two supernatural predators. She reminded herself she’d seen Killian in bat form with his face buried up to his eyes in fruit, and that she’d once half-carried a drunken Ruby home. They were predators, but they had softer sides. Hell, she’d known Ruby since high school.

Ruby scowled and turned the other chair backwards, so she could sit on it with her chin resting on the headrest. She continued to glare at Killian.

“This isn’t your usual night for hunting.” Killian usually chose the nights where no one stayed overnight to go out.

“True; but that storm that’s brewing is going to hang around for a few days. I don’t fancy hunting in the rain.”

“Same reason I was out,” Ruby nodded. “I needed to get a good run in before being cooped up the next few nights. And deer are one of my favorite meals.”

Emma abruptly burst out laughing. At Killian and Ruby’s matching looks of bewilderment, she explained, “Sorry, I just thought about how it must look, seeing Killian stalk a deer when he’s dressed like a pirate.”

“He hunts as a wolf,” Ruby growled. “Which makes him a trespasser on my territory.”

“You can turn into a wolf?!” Emma asked incredulously, then wondered why she was so shocked. She’d been dealing with the existence of the supernatural for nearly a month now; she should be used to this, right?

“Aye,” Killian said, “vampires can become any creature of the night. Though we’re far more impressive than weres.” 

Emma wondered what was considered a ‘creature of the night’, especially since she knew wolves were frequently active during the day. Could he become an opossum? A raccoon? Maybe a cricket?

Vampire crickets, now there was a thought.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Vampiric wolves look like how wolves were traditionally depicted: all snaggly teeth and glowing eyes. Werewolves, on the other hand, are perfect specimens of wolf: lithe and muscular, swift as the wind.”

“So… you’re like the goths and jocks of the wolf community?” Emma took a sip of her coffee to hide her amusement as she watched Ruby sputter indignantly. Killian simply smirked, flashing that chipped fang.

“Perhaps we should continue our tale, lass, before we end up at each other’s throats, aye?” Killian said softly, and Ruby calmed.

“Yeah.” Ruby shook her head as though to dispel the last vestiges of wolf. 

The change in tone put Emma on immediate alert. “What happened out there?”

“Something spooked the deer badly enough that it turned around and fled past us,” Killian said. 

Oh. That didn’t sound good. Emma set her coffee aside, suddenly too nauseous to finish it. “Did you investigate?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “We followed the deer’s path, and soon we could smell what had frightened it. It was…wrong. It made my hackles rise, and I was growling without even knowing at what. Killian and I crept forward, and that’s when we found it.”

“An altar,” they said in unison.

Ah. Emma doubted they meant the kind you’d find in a church. “Oh?” Her coffee was getting cold, she noted as she took a lingering sip.

“A witch’s ritual altar,” Killian clarified, staring at her intensely. 

“A witch? Of course they’re real, too,” Emma sighed. “How worried about this should we be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need a better look at the altar and the sigils around it to get an idea of what sort of ritual was performed.”

“So you’re an expert in witches now?” Ruby arched a brow.

“No, but I can ask people who are, and for that, I need photos. We need to get back out there immediately and photograph the site.”

Neither would have had access to their phones’ cameras, of course. Ruby would have been a wolf, and while Killian could transform clothes along with his body, it only seemed to be the archaic black leather outfit he favored when he wasn’t pretending to be human. Objects like his phone or wallet didn’t survive the transformation.

“Swan, I’d like you to come along as well; I want to see how you react to the magic.”

When Walsh had tried to compel Emma, he’d discovered that she was immune to his vampiric powers. This intrigued Killian, because it was a very rare gift not found in pure humans. He was determined to figure out just what was in her bloodline.

Emma was less enthused about this. She didn’t have any interest in parents that had abandoned her as a baby. She only cared about David and his mother Ruth, who had taken her in when she was a feral street child and given her a home and love.

Plus, she really didn’t want to walk around the woods after dark. There might be ticks or something.

“Now? It’s almost midnight!” And the moon was only a crescent, meaning it would be dark as pitch outside.

“Aye, but there’s a storm rolling in. All the evidence will be washed away by morning. Likely by design,” Killian said.

Reluctantly, Emma grabbed her coat from the closet while Ruby went off to change back into a wolf. Despite the protection of a large wolf and a vampire, Emma felt a thrill of fear as they stepped away from The Belfry’s exterior lights and to the edge of the forest beyond.

Her flashlight did little to help.

“So… tell me about witches,” Emma said. “Just how dangerous are they?”

“Most witches are benign,” Killian corrected, surprising her. “Just women gifted with knowledge and a bit of magic. Many of them end up in positions where they can use their gifts to help others: doctors and nurses, veterinarians, financial advisors, that sort of thing. Some are hide amongst charlatans, using real magic and divination to tell futures or speak with the dead, though those are rare. Mostly, they just live among humans, leading normal - though perhaps luckier - lives.

“True practitioners of the black arts are rare. They’re hunted by their own kind, in much the same way I take care of out of control vampires. This one… the scent of her magic is rotten.”

“What can someone with that kind of magic do?”

Killian scratched his cheek with the tip of his hook as he thought. “They can create curses, give others ill luck, or even kill without touching their victim. We won’t know much more until my expert has had a look.”

There was silence for a while after that, as Emma tried to fit this into her already shaken worldview. Finally, she decided it was just too much for one night, and turned her thoughts to something else.

“Henry really enjoyed visiting your ship the other day. It’s all he’s been talking about ever since.” Henry’s class had taken a day to tour the ‘real’ pirate ship (which was, in fact, a very real pirate ship, captained by a very real pirate), and he’d come home asking for sailing lessons. Not possible so late into the season, but she’d promised him that if he was still interested next year, she’d look into it.

“He’s a fine lad,” Killian told her. “Smart, and curious about everything. I’d be delighted to teach him some sailing basics, if…”

If you give me a reason to stick around, Emma knew he was thinking. Because Emma knew it was more than the threat of a rogue vampire that kept Killian living as a bat in Storybrooke. And three nights ago, Killian had finally made his move to see if there could be anything between them.

“So, Swan, are you looking forward to tomorrow night?”

Ahead, Ruby slowed, canting back one ear. Emma thought at first something had put her on alert; then she realized her friend was eavesdropping.

Right. Tomorrow. When she and Killian had dinner reservations for Bella Notte. Their first date.

She’d never been so nervous.

She wanted to date Killian. But her violent introduction to the world of vampires had left her cautious. Even Ruby’s reassurance that vampire society worked as Killian had described, with strict laws and enforcers that carried out ruthless punishments for lawbreakers, she’d still been wary.

Walsh had been terrifying, but he’d been newly-turned. Weak. Killian was centuries old and powerful.

He also squeaked at her petulantly if she gave him banana slices when he wanted strawberries.

The rumbles of thunder that had begun when night fell were growing louder, and Emma was beginning to worry they wouldn’t make it to the altar in time. But after forty-five minutes of what felt to Emma like random stumbling around in the dark, Ruby let out a sharp bark.

“We’re here,” Killian said unnecessarily. Because Emma could feel the change in the air, something that made her hair stand on end. 

“The hell?” she asked.

“So you do feel it,” Killian sounded as if she’d just confirmed something for him.

How could anyone not feel that? It was a miasma that pressed against her, threatening to smother her.

She fought down the urge to claw at her skin, and forced herself to examine the altar.

If Emma had been walking through the woods alone, she never would have seen it - or at least not realized it wasn’t a natural formation. She ran the flashlight beam over a tree that had been split in half, probably by a lightning strike. One half had fallen to the side, the other was still attached to the stump, but bent at a ninety degree angle to form a natural table just over knee height.

The split trunk was spotted with dark stains. A fragment of bone was caught in a furrow in wood.

“I’ll hold the torch if you’ll take the photos,” Killian offered. Emma handed the flashlight over, and he directed her to photograph the altar, as well as the sigils she’d missed at first look. The were carved into the ground, or painted onto the trunks of surrounding trees with the same fluid that had stained the altar.

Killian was thorough. Emma wondered if he was like this with all investigations, because she could use someone like him in the Sheriff’s Department.

Thunder boomed, and Emma and Ruby jumped. “Storm’s almost here,” Killian observed. “We’d better leave now, before we’re caught out in it.”

They only just managed to make it back to The Belfry before the sky opened up. Emma was soaked through by the time she managed to unlock the door, and Ruby reeked of wet dog. Killian, she noted, managed to look ridiculously good even when wet.

The rain pounded away into the night, and Emma shivered. She hoped it would be enough to wash away the taint of evil in the forest.

~oOo~

The stranger stank of dark magic.

Emma had been in the back office of the sheriff’s station, taking care of paperwork, when David had called her up front.

Grateful to escape her papery hell, she’d hurried up front - only to be brought up short by the elegant woman in the immaculate business suit who was ignoring David’s attempts to be friendly. Emma, however, immediately drew her interest.

Dark eyes ran up and down Emma, and perfect lips turned down into a frown, as if she’d found Emma lacking. “Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Regina Mills,” the woman said haughtily. “I’m the new mayor of Storybrooke.”

~tbc~

[snowbellewells]

@exhaustedpirate Oh wow! 😮 I am genuinely sorry it took me so long to read this, but was it ever worth the wait!! There’s not much that can beat a good werewolf fic for me, and this one was very, VERY good!! You started out right in the thick of an intense, action-filled moment, and it didn’t let go of me from there on out. I loved seeing Emma come to his rescue in her wolf form, and also how Killian -even despite his awful history with werewolves - couldn’t leave his savior out there vulnerable and injured, so took her back to her cabin and stayed until she woke.

I also really liked the tension of fighting their attraction that you worked into the story from the very start. You had it at a delicious simmer and then slowly turned it up bit by bit until it bubbled over and they just couldn’t resist any longer. When they each shared their painful stories, your heart just broke for them, and it made you want them to give into the chemistry and bond between them all the more. You wanted them to find that person they could trust with each other.

You wrote the volatile, flickering chemistry between them so very well. I really enjoyed this from start to finish. Thank you so much for sharing it with us!! ❤️🐺❤️

in your moon-lit eyes

here it is, my first project for the last year of CSSNS and I went for werewolves! and what are werewolf stories without sexy times? a million thanks to my beta @thejollyroger-writer and check out her awesome art to accompany this fic!

Summary: Treading through a forest at night alone is a terrible idea. Doing so during the full moon is even worse. You never know what sort of creatures you may find. Killian Jones finds that out in the worst way… or so he thinks.

Word count: 10350 words  

Rating: Explicit

read on AO3

This was a terrible idea.

He could be at home wrapped around his warm blankets and watching some random movie on Netflix. He should, actually. But, apparently, he thinks it best to traipse through the woods on the coldest night of the year while being turned around by the strong winds.

Killian Jones is going to die in these woods and all because— 

A loud snap of a twig sounds behind him, and he turns for all but a second before rushing his pace as best he can in the ankle-deep snow. If he doesn’t die of the cold, maybe some animal will jump him and kill him. He pulls on the scarf around his neck to cover more of his face.

Great, like this whole thing isn’t scary enough. He hopes they omit his stupidity in his eulogy. If his body is even found. 

That’s not helping.

A warm light acts like a beacon between the trees, did he actually make it or is that the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel? It doesn’t matter at this point, really. Whatever waits for him at the end of the light will surely laugh in his face if they find out he died trying to return a— 

A louder, more forceful, snap echoes behind him and he turns around sharply, a growl louder than the winds. He hears it before he sees it, bursting through the trees. A wolf just as tall as he is approaches him, mouth open with bared teeth, ears turned back and eyes glinting with murderous intent.

He feels his blood drain from his body and his body freeze in fear, unable to blink, to breathe. Pure panic flows through Killian’s veins even as his brain urges him to move. The animal approaches slowly, its black fur contrasting sharply with the white snow. Distantly, over the pounding beat of his heart in his ears, he hears another growl from behind him. Just his luck.

To his surprise, Killian doesn’t become dinner to two hungry wolves. 

The wolf that approached from behind him jumps just as the darker one does, but instead of sinking their teeth on him, they clash in front of him and he stumbles to the cold ground. He can see now that the new wolf has light fur, a darker shade from the surrounding white. 

They are fighting each other. The darker wolf fights in a deranged, desperate way, its eyes landing on Killian’s any chance it had. The lighter one looks more cautious, its movements calculated, practised. His life rests on that wolf’s paws.

Killian moves for the first time when the darker wolf sinks its teeth on the other wolf’s flank, reaching out at his rescuer’s loud whine, despite everything. That distracts his attacker, its eyes so full of hunger, he stops once more. It approaches slowly, its tongue licking the blood off its maw.

No more saviours, Killian Jones. This is it. Liam is waiting.

He closes his eyes, not wanting the last thing he sees to be the inside of a wolf’s mouth. 

But death doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a loud shriek and thumping paws rushing away from where he stands. He opens his eyes slowly, and sees the last thing he expected: the light furred wolf panting heavily, its eyes on Killian with an angry glint overcome by pain and tiredness.

Before he can take a breath, before he can move, the wolf’s eyes roll to the back of its head as it slumps into the ground. Killian is unable to move for moments after, his brain trying to take stock of what happened. In the last minutes he expected death, he found relief, only to repeat the cycle once more. Now, here he is, in an unknown forest with an unconscious wolf in front of him and blood splattered over the white snow. 

He should run away. Wolves are wild animals, prone to violence, and that’s what he had witnessed — wolf on wolf violence. But even if he could ignore the guilt at having been the one to initiate said encounter by his mere presence where he shouldn’t be, he knew this was no regular wolf. 

Nevermind his decade-old interest in the supernatural, Killian knows the difference between wolves and these wolves, having spent just as long studying and practising the care of animals. So he knows, more than anyone else, that the unconscious wolf in front of him wasn’t a mere wolf but a werewolf. And a werewolf who had saved his life.

With a steadying sigh, Killian looks at where the warm light is coming and hopes it belongs someplace warm, someplace safe. He slowly approaches the animal, worried that it might not actually be unconscious despite its clear stillness and slow breathing.

Crouching, he pulls the animal’s heavy paws over his shoulders, its large head lolling onto its left paw. He wraps his arms around its back and pulls experimentally. When the wolf remains unmoving, he continues to pull, slowly making his way towards the light.

He is very happy to be right. It was not a metaphor for death, it is a cabin. The warm light is brighter since the cabin’s door remains open, as if someone exited in a worry. 

“Hello?” He calls with panting breaths from the doorway. “Anyone home?” There is only silence and he sends one more little prayer to whoever has been keeping him safe that he is not entering some psycho killer’s home.

Killian pulls the wolf towards the dwindling fireplace, laying it on the warm rug. He rushes to close the door, shivering at the sharp improvement in temperature inside the cabin. As he takes his jacket off and rolls up his sleeves, he inspects the wolf’s unconscious form. The wound isn’t too deep. Deep enough to hurt, to rip the skin but he’d seen much worse. This will be a walk in the park. Ha!

The cabin consists of a single room: kitchen, living room, dining room and bedroom all in one,  so he assumes the single door at the end of the cabin to be the bathroom. There are no sentimental trinkets, no scattered picture frames of loved ones, no paintings or even a TV — that last one isn’t surprising, they are in the middle of the woods. But there are books, just as good entertainment as a TV, in his opinion.

He quickly throws a few logs to revive the fire to chase away the chill still clinging to him before turning to the animal with a professional eye. He needs some sort of disinfectant. It won’t do to let his saviour die of infection. He looks around to find a small collection of bottles. Grabbing one, he uncorks it, taking a sniff of the delicious rum inside.

He sighs in reluctance to spill such a treasure. But needs must. 

He takes care not to jostle the wolf too much before wrapping its wound with the scarf he still had around his neck. The animal is large, heavy, made even worse by its dead weight, no other bandage would have contained the wound. Once he finishes, he has worked up a sweat and the excitement of the night is taking its toll. He slumps against the couch, wolf head on his lap, keeping a sort of monitoring on its well-being with his hand on the wolf’s neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he whispers tiredly. He lets out a breath, his body slumping in exhaustion, eyes shutting on their own. Before he knows it, Killian is fast asleep.

---

Killian wakes up slowly to a warmth at his feet. The first thing he notices is the pain in his body, especially the way his ass hurts from the hard floor. He opens his eyes, taking stock of his surroundings. He is in a cabin, and he can see the bright sun high in the sky and blue skies through the slanted skylight. 

Right, last night. The cold forest, getting lost, the wolves. He sighs, then shuffles in his seat, trying to bring some relief to his body but as he moves, he hears a deep breath.

The second thing he notices is the way his hand touches bare skin, the weight of a head on his lap. Looking down, he realises why — there is a woman, a naked woman curled on the floor.

Startled, Killian scrambles away, jostling the stranger into wakefulness. He stops, a couple of feet away from her as he watches her raise her head from the floor. He knows her, it’s her.

Of course, any recognition doesn’t stop her from widening her eyes as she takes in his presence and her nakedness, shrieking in shock before she pulls a blanket down to cover herself, moving faster than he ever thought possible.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my home?!”

Killian’s mouth opens and closes, not for the first time at a loss for words in her presence. Her eyes clear as they look at each other, the panic and rough awakening washing away as she rises to her feet. Her sighed “oh” tells him she recognises him, too. 

“M-My apologies,” he stutters and clears his throat at his rough voice. “I-You—”

“You’re the dumbass who almost got himself killed by traipsing around the forest at night!” 

She winces as her arm hits her side and she wavers on her feet. He scrambles to his feet, holding out his hands to keep her standing. But she tightens her fist on the blanket around her and holds out her hand in front of him to stop him.

“You’re hurt,” he explains, keeping his distance while looking between the stained blanket and her eyes. “I cleaned up the wound and bandaged it last night but…well, you were rather bigger then.” His eyes twinkle with mirth while hers widen in surprise.

“How…Why—”

“I couldn’t leave you to die in the forest after you saved me,” he explains with a small smile and a shrug.

“I wouldn’t have had to save you if you hadn’t been so stupid as to walk through this forest alone during a full moon.” Her voice is hard and her eyes deadly, even if her hands still tremble and he can see the pain she tries to hide.

“You’re right, you’re right, I know,” he sighs, this really isn’t the best time to tell her why he was there. “But please, let me help you, it’s the least I can do.” She is quiet, her eyes focused on his face, searching his eyes. His heart is racing and his hands feel damp now. “I’m a veterinarian, I’ve treated millions of animal bites.” His smirk is half-hearted at best.

Her eyebrow rises. “I’ll be healed soon.”

“And in the meantime, you’re prone to infections.” She hums in contemplation. “It won’t take long and I’ll feel better knowing I was able to make it up to you. All I need is a first aid kit.”

She shuffles her feet, and the movement must disturb her wound because she winces and forces the blanket tighter against the wound. “Fine,” she groans.

He follows her eagerly as she opens the only door in the cabin, revealing a small bathroom, like he suspected. “I’m Killian, by the way. Killian Jones.” He curses the breathless tone of his voice.

“Emma Swan.” She says distractedly as she carefully sits on the toilet seat lid. Swan, of course. That explains why the— “The first aid kit is in that cabinet over there.” 

He quickly retrieves the small kit and is glad to find everything he needs. When he turns back to her, he notices that she’s arranged the blanket so it covers her private areas but keeps the wound area visible. The bite mark looks less angry now than it had last night, but the punctures are deep, still dark red — they go up to her stomach and down to her belly button and he is sure they have the same placement on her back. She protected him.

“Are you just going to stand and stare?” Her voice lacks the bite he expected and when he looks up at her face, he sees a pink hue to her cheeks even as her eyes remain exasperated.

“Apologies, love, I was just…analysing the situation,” he stutters. He really needs to get a grip on himself.

“Right.”

Not wanting to make her more uncomfortable, Killian places the open kit on the sink, grabbing the disinfectant and some cotton balls. “This is going to hurt, love,” he says as he holds a cotton ball close to the wound.

She scoffs. “Right.”

He holds his breath as he presses the disinfectant to her skin. Emma gasps, her hand grabbing his wrist and digging her nails in. “Son of a— Fuck!”

“I warned you,” His eyebrows furrow in concentration, feeling no delight in hurting her. “Just take some deep breaths.”

Emma does as he says, and her grip loosens a bit. Killian carries on his work, focusing on tending to her wound, knowing that the faster he gets this finished, the better it will be for her. He makes sure to disinfect every inch of the wound, not wanting to think of how soft her skin looks or how she smells like the rum from the night before and forest and a hint of cinnamon.

“Is it done?” She is panting, her chest rising and falling fast from the pain. 

“Aye,” He clears his throat and grabs the gauze from the kit. “I just, hmm, need to wrap this around the wound.” He explains looking between the wound and the blanket she holds against her naked skin.

Emma follows his gaze. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Swan, I-”

“It’s fine,” She waves her hand with a forced relaxed movement, even if she doesn’t look at him. “It’s not like you haven’t seen boobs before.”

“Well, I don’t usually expect to see a woman’s breasts after only meeting her for less than an hour,” he tries to tease, trying to keep his voice light, hoping she doesn’t notice how his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest.

Her chuckle is quiet. “Right, well…” Her hands loosen their hold on the blanket. “Here’s to another first.” The blanket falls to her lap, keeping her covered below the waist. 

Killian knows he needs to remain professional, not act like some sort of pervert. Even if they are the most perfect breasts he has ever seen. He spares her chest only a quick glance before unfurling the roll of gauze. “Can you-” He clears his throat. “Can you hold the leading edge of the gauze, love?”

Her eyes meet his and he swears they look darker than they had before. “Sure,” she breathes out.

With her pointer finger carefully in place, he unrolls the gauze around her back, making sure to cover the wound. His chest presses against hers and he hears her sharp intake of breath. As he brings the gauze to her front, Killian can’t help but notice how her nipples have gotten harder. His tongue runs along his lower lip and he hears her breath grow shallower. 

“You can let go,” he whispers. It takes her a moment to do as instructed and he wonders if she is as affected by their proximity as he is. 

Killian wraps the gauze around her body, choosing to focus on the soft feel of the bandage rather than on the way her breath shifts or how his jeans get tighter by the second. With every inch of the wound covered, he tucks the gauze behind her back, unable to keep from feeling the softness of her skin and smelling the citrus scent of her hair and hearing her harsh breathing.

“All done,” he breathes, backing away from her as fast as he allows himself to go. 

Their eyes meet and the green in hers is all but swallowed by her black pupils, her lips are parted in fast breaths and her chest rises and falls quickly. She looks like a predator looking at her prey, and Killian should be scared, should run from the cabin, but he finds himself entranced by her gaze.

“Emma—”

The sound of his voice shatters the moment and Emma’s eyes return to normal, her shoulders tensing. He steps away, acknowledging her tension to his unwanted proximity. Killian puts away the kit, giving her a break from his gaze and when he turns back he sees the blanket back over her shoulders.

“Do you, hmm…” He scratches the back of his neck, unsure where to look. “Do you need me to bring you some clothes?”

“Oh, hmm, no, I got it.” 

Emma stands up, far too fast, and he notices her swaying before she does, his hands grabbing onto her arms for support. “You should eat something,” he whispers, her green eyes capturing his gaze. “So you can get your strength back.”

She pulls back from him and he clenches his fists, stopping himself from holding her again. “I know what I’m doing.” Emma walks determinedly but carefully out of the bathroom. “You know,” she says from the closet area. “I appreciate your help and all but you should go, there’s not going to be any wolves outside during the day.”

“Right, right,” Killian runs his hand through his hair and exits the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Hmm, thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Killian nods once, grabbing his jacket — he would like to say that he tried but there had never even been a chance — and walks to the front door. The doorknob is cold but after being so close to Emma’s warmth, anything would be. There is resistance when he tries to open the door. When it does, he finds out why: a mountain of snow covers almost the entire height of the door, blocking their way out.

He closes the door in silent surprise and turns his back to it. Emma looks up, and there is relief in her face before she finds him still inside her home. Her face scrunches in confusion and surprise, her shoulders tense. “What — What are you still doing here?”

“Well, uh—”

“You’re supposed to leave!”

“Actually, it—”

She is fairly steady on her feet as she walks towards the door. “Leave.” Emma turns the doorknob and gasps when snow hits her still bare feet. 

“I was trying to tell you,” Killian says as she looks at the blockage. “It appears I’m stuck here.”

Emma groans and slams the door shut, forcing it against the snow that wanted to come in. “I can’t believe this!”

“I’m sorry, Emma but I don’t control the weather!”

She turns sharply towards him, the intensity of her gaze making his heartbeat quicken and he watches as her eyes grow dark with hunger and her breathing turns raspier. Maybe taking shelter with a werewolf, even one that saved his life, hadn’t been the best idea. Add it to the long list of them, in the last 24 hours alone.

“It’s fine,” She finally says with a rough voice, breaking their eye contact and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just… Just stay out of my way.”

“I’ll prepare us some food, it’s the least I can do.”

“Fine, fine, just—”

“Stay out of your way.” His smile is thin as she looks up at him.

“Exactly.” She looks like she’s shaking herself out of the thoughts going through her brain before she crosses the room to the dresser.

So his morning is not going as he expected. Not that he had had much of a plan apart from where to find her cabin. He had been looking for her, and considered it lucky that she had found him before he could die of hypothermia in the forest, but the circumstances were undeniably more complicated than he could have planned.

Killian focuses on… lunch, he guesses, as they must have slept later than he thought. Like he said, the least he could do. He finds the coffee machine, thanking every deity that at least she has power, and sets it to brew. He finds eggs and bread and turns on the gas stove to scramble the eggs while his mind wanders. Wanders into fanciful notions of fate.

With the plates in hand, he starts to turn. “Lunch is—” Emma is right in front of him when he faces the table, dark eyes focused on his neck. “Ready.” 

She looks sharply up at him and appears to shake herself out of some thought or other. “Good,” She takes the plate from his hand, making her way to the small table at the corner. “I was starving.”

Killian sighs and follows her to the table before coming back for the coffee mugs. They sit in silence with only the sounds of them eating and drinking. He feels it dig into the skin of his thigh and he wonders if he should just rip off the bandage as it were, just tell her why he came to find her. Maybe she’ll even find it funny that he almost became a wolf’s meal just to—

“You weren’t surprised.” 

Her voice startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up at her furrowed brow. “Pardon?”

“You weren’t expecting to wake up next to me, specifically, but you weren’t surprised about the werewolf thing.”

“Ah,” He looks away, scratching behind his ear. “I did say I’m a veterinarian.”

Her unimpressed stare would make him laugh if this was a laughing matter. “Right, I’m sure veterinary school has a major in werewolf.”

“It was an extracurricular, actually,” He lets out a breathy laugh and even her expression softens with the sudden joke. “I wanted to know everything I could about werewolves so I, hmm, so I wouldn’t be caught unprepared again.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “For all the good that did me.”

He looks up to find her looking at him, an understanding glint to her eyes. “Yeah, I think I should give you some slack for being an idiot and traipsing around the forest during a full moon.” He shares a small smile with her. “This wasn’t your first encounter with werewolves then?”

“No,” he breathes out, blinking against the memory, before grabbing their empty plates and mugs and taking them to the sink. “I was young the first time I saw one, I didn’t know what they were until I saw what normal wolves looked like.” He chuckles wryly, starting to wash the dishes, very aware of her eyes on him. “My brother Liam loved nature, we would go camping, on hikes, we helped on farms. Because of him, I could identify more than a dozen types of insects before I was in high school.” He smiles wistfully and hears her hum, clearly noting the impending unhappy turn of his story. 

Despite Liam’s actual love for nature, there had been a need for them to spend time away from home — they would camp out in nature when his father went out to drink so they wouldn’t be his targets when he came back, their hikes were well-timed for when their father hosted his weekly poker games with his horrible friends, and the farmers were generous to pay them for their helping hands, money that they hid from their father. He didn’t find out about any of that until their father died and Liam took custody of him.

“We were camping on a new spot, we’d settled down for the night, made a fire and Liam was telling these stories from his job when we heard growling. Liam sent me inside the tent so I could warn the forest rangers,” Killian takes a deep breath, turning off the tap. “They told me to stay put, that they were on their way, told us not to run, not to turn our backs.” He grabs a cloth and focuses on drying the dishes. “But they kept approaching and Liam kept trying to reassure me, it was all so loud.”

His hands stilled as he dried a plate. He could still see their glowing eyes, dark bodies, could hear his own cries, Liam’s reassuring voice, and the growls. It was all so loud.

“Liam grabbed a log from the fire, waved it in front of him to scare them, it should have worked,” Killian whispers, his eyes far away. “But there were so many of them and they surrounded him. There were so many of them,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “They jumped him, Liam screamed, I screamed, and then the rangers showed up.”

It got louder after that. Jeeps running, voices shouting, Liam’s continued screaming. 

“He was barely alive when they took him away,” Killian continues with a heavy breath, putting down the last plate and leaning against the counter. He keeps his eyes on the ground. “He died in the hospital and I didn’t say goodbye.”

“Killian—”

“The doctors didn’t tell me anything, they told everything to the social worker,” he continued. “He had to tell me that my brother had lost too much blood and that his lungs had been punctured too badly and then I couldn’t even go home because Liam was dead and I was still a minor.”

“That’s horrible.”

“And I kept wondering, you know? Why would wolves attack someone like that? Years later, I realised they weren’t wolves at all and I started obsessing over the existence of werewolves because I didn’t want to end up in that position again, and then I did, and I was still that scared lad inside the tent and—”

“Killian.” 

Her hands are on his shoulders and her eyes on his, stopping the words in his throat. He now feels the tears on his cheeks, didn’t even realise he was crying. He didn’t think he had any tears left to cry after that day, almost 15 years ago. But they were still there and he was crying in front of her. Her.

Killian looks down, shame filling his chest. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you this. Especially you.”

“Especially me?”

He sniffs, wiping away his tears. “Aye, I mean you’re a werewolf and we just met.”

“And yet, you have already seen my boobs.” He lets out a surprised laugh, looking up to see her soft eyes and kind smile. Wow. Her brow furrows and her eyes grow worried. “Are you scared of me?”

“I— I—” He wants to say no, that he could never be. But he wants to be honest. “I was.” He takes a gentle hold on her wrists, keeping the comforting weight of her hands on his shoulders, thumb slowly rubbing her skin. “I thought I was going to die in that forest either by that other wolf or by both of you but then, well, you saved me.”

Her cheeks flushed red and she slowly pulled away from his touch, arms crossed over her chest. “His name is Henry,” At Killian’s frown, she clarified. “The wolf who attacked you. He’s young, recently turned, this is his second full moon. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I assumed,” He shrugs and she looks up at him, surprised. “I read a lot about how full moons affect werewolves.”

“And yet—”

“We’ve established that I was stupid, already, Swan.”

She snorts a laugh and it makes him smile. “I found him during his first transformation and we talked, I tried to help. But this time you were there and so he lashed out.”

“I’m sorry—”

She waves away his apology. “It’s like I said, I’ll heal soon.” She shrugs.

“You weren’t affected,” he says after a minute. “You didn’t attack me.” 

She shrugs with a deep breath. “I’ve had a lot of time to control this, and with time, Henry will learn too.” 

“How long have you been like this?”

“If we’re getting into my origin story, I need to sit down. This still stings.” She waves towards her side before gesturing for him to join her on the couch.

They sit on opposite ends, even as he turns towards her. She sighs, and he watches as she closes her eyes to focus. “I was 16. I was living in the streets of Boston and I met this guy, Neal. He was older and I thought he was so cool,” She shakes her head in shame and he places his hand on top of hers on the couch cushions. She takes a deep breath, keeping her eyes on their hands. “We were together for a while, crashed at empty motel rooms, and it all looked so exciting back then. One day, he tells me he has to leave. He has to leave because someone bad is looking for him. He tells me he stole something from them and they have been trying to find him.”

Her breathing gets quicker and he holds her hand. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she interrupts, her hand tightening its grip on his. “Neal tells me he wants to give it back but he’s afraid and so I volunteered to do the drop for him. I didn’t know what to expect but I thought I was in love and that if I did this then we’d be able to be together and have a future.” She scoffs. “He tricked me, he sent me to the middle of a literal wolf’s den and they were furious when they found that the bag was empty.”

Her hand grips his painfully hard but he says nothing, simply listening.

“I must have blacked out. I woke up alone in an alley and my body felt different. Everything was so loud and hot and overwhelming. My first transformation was so painful and I was alone, I didn’t know what to do. I ran. I ran until I found myself here in Storybrooke.” Emma takes a deep breath, her grip loosening on his hand and he rubs her skin with his thumb. She pulls her hand away from his grip and he forces himself to let her go. “Granny found me and helped me. I got this cabin after the sheriff died and I work at her diner.”

“Why here?”

“Graham was a friend, he cared for me and I cared for him. He left me this place in his will and I needed a place to deal with the full moons. Granny helped me but I needed reassurance, I didn’t want to put anyone in danger.” 

“And now?” 

“I like this place,” she smiles softly as she looks around the living room.

“What about Ruby?” Emma turns to him with a frown. “I work with her. Veterinary, remember?” She rolls her eyes and he smiles. “I asked her about you but she didn’t say anything.”

“You asked her about me?” She smirks but there is a red tint to her cheeks.

“Well, aye,” he scratches the back of his ear with a matching blush. “I would see you around town and — just — does she know?” He stutters to try and change the subject.

“She does,” she nods, her smirk softening. “She’s my best friend and a big help.”

Her tone hid something. “Is she—?”

“Yup. She was born like that so yeah, big help.” She chuckles.

Killian sits back with a sharp exhale, hand in his hair. “Wow, I never thought I’d find myself in a town with so many of you.” He pauses and turns to Emma, watching as she hides her frown. “I mean, I came here for a fresh start. I went through a rough break-up and just wanted to drive until I found my place. My car broke down by the town sign and while I waited at Granny’s, I heard Ruby talk about the problems her clinic was going through. I wanted to help and I ended up staying. That was almost two months ago.”

“She talks very highly of you.” 

“Oh, well, the feeling is mutual,” He blushes and sees a spark of something in her eyes even as she tries to hide it with a smile. “She is a good friend and an even better partner. I just never thought she was a werewolf too.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I — I mean,” he stutters and lets out a groan at his inability to express his thoughts. “I thought it would be a problem. For more than a decade, I’ve feared and hated werewolves for what they did to my brother, that I forgot to consider that there were people behind the animal. I admire Ruby and care so much for her that I can’t think about being afraid of her.”

“And me?” He turns to see her watching him intensely and he is unable to look away.

“You saved me,” he breathes out. “In a short moment, you turned my world upside down. You made me reevaluate all that I thought I knew. It’s not a problem, Emma.”

Her eyes stare into his in silence, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Her hair is like gold under the late morning sun and her skin looks so soft. He can’t stop himself from running a finger down her forearm, feeling its warmth. Her breathing hitches and her eyes widen.

He wants to kiss her. The thought barrels into his mind so fast that he feels his own breath get stuck in his throat. He knew how beautiful she was, remembers thinking it during the second they had looked at each other, but that was nothing compared to the desire filling him now.

“I don’t know if you remember,” he speaks quietly, not wanting to shatter the moment. “But we’ve seen each other before.” She hums and his lips tick up in a small smile. “We, um, ran into each other a couple of days ago in the supermarket?”

“I — I remember.” 

He swallows against the lump in his throat. Rip the bandage.

“I asked Granny about you and she told me where you live.” Emma frowns. “You dropped this.” From his pocket, he takes out a small silver pendant, a swan carved on it. “I found it on the floor after you ran away.”

“Oh.” She takes the pendant from his hand, her fingers touching his.

“I, uh, I came here to give you that.”

“You went into the forest, at night, through a full moon, just to give me this?” Emma asks with an even tone, her shining eyes gazing into his.

Killian takes a deep breath. “Aye.”

“You’re such an idiot.” She breathes out, and before he can defend himself again, her lips are on his and there are other more important things he could be doing with his mouth.

Her mouth is hard against his, her hands strong on his shoulders and her tongue demanding entrance. He places his hands on her neck and waist, urges her to slow down, needs her to slow down. He has spent so much time dreaming of kissing her that he can’t have their first kiss be an impulsive mess. She lets out a breath and allows him to kiss her calmly, softly. Her hands dig into his hair and he moans against her lips. Her kisses stray to his cheek, to his jawline, small nibbles making him breathe heavier, his hand clenching on her waist. 

Her lips are soft when they get to his neck, focusing on his pulse, her tongue licking and tasting. His breathing is harsh, pleasure coursing through his veins to pool at his crotch. Her teeth sink into his skin and he gasps. She quickly pulls away, wide eyes on his neck and whatever she sees there and his face. 

“Emma—” He brings his hand up to touch her face but he barely feels the softness of her skin when she pulls away to stand. 

“No. No.” She shakes her head and he is still as he watches her run to the bathroom and lock the door behind her.

“Emma?” He follows her, calling her name from the other side of the door. “Emma, is everything okay?”

“No, no,” She answers and he can tell she is pacing on the other side. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He ignores the stab to his heart and clears his throat. “I mean, I was a willing participant.” He tries to joke but all he hears is a groan from inside. “Emma, please, open the door, let’s talk about this.”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about, it was a mistake.” Her voice is panicked and he pushes down his emotions. 

“Fine, we’ll forget about it,” he forces himself to say. “We’ll call it an act of gratitude, I returned something precious to you and you saved my life. What do you say?” There is silence from the other side. “We’re stuck in this small cabin together, Emma, don’t hide away in there.”

The silence continues for a moment longer and he holds his breath. The lock unlatches and he takes a couple of steps back. The door opens to a much calmer Emma but with a guarded expression. “Neal gave me that pendant,” she says and her voice is quiet. “I felt so special. After he abandoned me, I saw it as a reminder not to trust again.”

He presses his lips together, his hands eager to reach, to comfort, to beat this Neal to a pulp. “I’m sorry, love, I almost wish I had lost it in the snow.”

Her chuckle is weak but it’s real. She takes a deep breath. “Do you like to read?”

The question takes him by surprise and her smile widens. “Hmm, aye, I do.”

“Good,” She walks past him to the living room, stopping at the bookcase. “As you can see, there’s no TV so—”

“I am good with books,” He grins at her and surveys her collection. “The Princess Bride? I haven’t read this in years.” He takes the book off the shelf, noting its overused state, and turns to watch her looking at him with curiosity.

“It’s my favourite, actually.”

“Fan of dashing pirates?” He raises his eyebrow before sauntering to the couch, sprawling on one side. 

“Actually, yeah,” she smirks as she grabs a different book, an adventure book, he notices, and imitates his movements to settle at the other side. “Are you a fan of princesses?”

“I did dress up as Buttercup my last year in college,” he answers, focusing on opening the book. “I even found a few Westley’s to complete the ensemble.” He turns to her with a wink.

Her mouth is parted for a few seconds before it stretches into a smile. “Oh, I would have paid to see that!”

“I cut quite the figure in that dress.”

She lets out a delighted laugh that he can’t help but match. Emma leans back on the couch as her laughter dies down, watching him with interest. “You are definitely not what I thought you would be.”

“I could say the same about you.” He smiles back at her.

Her eyes are so green that even the lowering sun can’t keep them from shining. His lips still tingle from her kiss, his hands still ache for the touch of her skin and yet, he is unable to have her once more. He wants to feel her touch, her kiss. But he’ll follow her lead, he wants her to be able to trust him — he doesn’t want to take, he wants it to be given.

“We should, hmm,” Emma presses her lips together in a small smile and raises her book as a way to finish the sentence.

Killian nods, understanding the need for a reprieve. “Aye.”

They turn to their books as one, letting silence fill the small, warm cabin. He wishes he had picked up an unfamiliar book, something he’d never read before. He knew the story of Buttercup and Westley like the back of his hand, had read it as many times as his second-hand book had allowed. And while it was still easy to get absorbed in their universe of adventure and romance, he was still very aware of Emma’s presence, her breathing, her warmth. It’s not uncomfortable but he feels the tension in every hair on his body.

Night falls in the quiet and the full moon’s light joins the artificial light in the cabin. Emma inhales sharply and he turns to her for the first time in hours to watch as she looks up at the skylight. 

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, dragging her eyes from the large face of the moon. “It always catches me by surprise the way it calls to me.”

He joins her with his neck stretched on the back of the couch to watch the moon for a minute. When he turns, he finds her watching him. “Is there anything you need?”

Emma shakes her head, in more than just an answer. “No, it’s been a while since I’ve been a slave to it,” she clarifies with a small smile. “It just makes everything so much clearer and intense.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you hungry?”

He snorts in surprise. “Aye, actually.”

“Great,” she grins. “Make us something good.” She winks at him before making herself more comfortable on the couch.

“Right,” he laughs. “I have to earn my keep, don’t I?”

“Exactly.” Her smile makes his heart flutter in his chest, the brightness and beauty of it stealing his breath away. “Just a hint, I’m a big fan of grilled cheese.”

He stands up, dropping the book on his empty seat and grins. “That sounds less like a hint and more like a menu.”

“Get to it then, chef.” 

His laughter follows him into the kitchen. 

“You know, while I cook,” Killian calls from the kitchen. “You should probably check on your injury. You said you heal fast, right?”

“A chef and a doctor, maybe I should keep you around.” She grins before heading to the bathroom.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He mumbles under his breath.

Killian tries to stop himself from imagining what a life with Emma would be in this cabin, how they would spend their evenings. The smell of cheese fills the whole cabin and with it, the sound of a hungry werewolf’s feet padding to his side. 

“Something smells delicious.” He tries to keep himself from reacting to her voice so close to him. 

“Grilled cheese, just like milady ordered.” She grins up at him before taking the plate from his hands. “How did the wound look?”

“It’s scarring,” She lifts her shirt only enough to show him the barely-there bite and he nods. “Is it approved, Doctor Jones?”

He laughs delightedly at the sound of it from her lips before joining her at the table. “Aye.” 

Though the food is good, the company is better. She tells him about the book she was reading, an adventure in Egypt with a very clever librarian and a brave if arrogant adventurer. They return to their books after tidying up the kitchen. Buttercup is about to attempt to stab herself in the chest when a yawn startles him. It has been a long day.

“Maybe it’s time to sleep,” Emma suggests, closing the book. She bites her lip as she looks around the cabin, her eyes landing on the bed.

As much as he would love to share one, they had agreed to put that kiss behind them. “I’ll take the couch,” he says, dropping his book on the coffee table. 

“Oh.” He wonders if he truly hears disappointment in her voice or if it’s just wishful thinking. “Right, that��s great. I’ll bring you some blankets.”

Emma moves faster than he could, rummaging around a wooden chest. The couch is comfortable and wide enough to fit his long body, but he can’t help but wish he could share the slim bed with Emma, to feel her body close to his. Then again, that would also be a dangerous and torturous situation.

He removes his sweater and jeans, folding them neatly on top of the table. Blankets land on the couch and he turns to see Emma standing far closer to him than he expected. Her eyes are wide and her pupils almost black and he wishes he could read her mind. 

“I—”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Goodnight.” She blurts out before wrapping herself in her bed, the only thing visible is the top of her blonde head.

“Goodnight.”

Killian takes his time getting comfortable on the couch, forcing himself not to search for her silhouette in the dark. He forces his eyes closed, forces his body to relax, to find sleep so that he might forget his desires. He isn’t cold under the blankets, but there is a lack of warmth that he recognises as the one he felt from her skin. He forces himself to sleep and begs for relief.

---

This was a terrible idea.

Her skin is filled with prickles, a need to move, to run, to touch, to be touched. Her nose is buried in her pillow, hoping her own scent will distract her from the intoxicating scent of his sleeping body. His scent is delicious torture, she knows it well, not only from the day they’ve spent in each other’s company but from all the times they’d pass each other in town.

Her breathing is ragged and she feels as if she can’t take a proper breath. She clenches her hands against the sheets, hoping that it will stop her from succumbing to her nature. She wants to feel his skin against hers again, to feel his pulse against her lips. It has been hours of torture in her bed and she forces herself to endure a few more.

It doesn’t work.

She is standing next to his sleeping body before she has taken her next breath. He is on his back, one arm behind his head and the other over his stomach and his legs are crossed. The blanket that she gave him is at his waist and she can feel how warm his body is even from a distance. His lips are parted and his breathing is even and quiet. His heartbeat is calm and she can hear his blood in his veins. 

Her nose is a whisper away from the bulging vein in his neck. Just as she remembered, like the sweetest fruit, like the most powerful poison. She feels his warm breath on her fingertips, sees his eyes move underneath his eyelids and she wishes to know what he is dreaming of. She feels the soft skin of his lips on her forefinger. She wants to feel that softness on her own lips again. She wants to take, to claim him. She wants— She needs—

Emma swallows his surprised breath with her lips, with her kiss, their mouths moulded perfectly to one another once more. She forces herself to pull away, even as her hand clenches in the fabric of his t-shirt. His eyes are wide and she is sure hers are much the same. 

“Emma…”

Her name is a whisper from his lips, the most bewitching of enchantments and the most beautiful of songs. Like before, he isn’t stopping her, isn’t refusing her kiss, her touch, and she hears his heart beating fast and loud against his chest. His breathing is ragged and his warmth has risen several degrees. She wants him. She needs him.

Their lips lock in a passionate kiss, his warm hand burning the skin of her neck. She pulls her leg up to straddle him, wanting to be closer and closer. His other hand lands on her waist and she feels the stirring of his arousal beneath her, making her moan against his lips.

Killian pulls away, his thumb on her lips but she is far too gone to stop now, kissing his finger, the palm of his hand, the thumping pulse on his wrist, her tongue licking, tasting. Words pause at his throat, chest filling with a sharp inhale.

“Emma.” His voice forces itself firmly under all the passion that is surely matching hers. “I thought—”

“I know,” she interrupts, her nails running down his chest. She knows — knows that she was the one who stopped their kiss before, knows that she’s the one who ran. She was scared of her desires, scared that he would be afraid of her nature, but she feels the urge of the moon. Feels it urging her to take him, to claim him. “But I need you.” Her teeth nip against his bottom lip, her hands finding their way inside his shirt, and she swallows his moan with a kiss. “Please?”

He looks at her, searching, and she feels her skin crawl with need. His breathing is rapid, his heartbeat under her palm and echoing in her ears, she grinds her hips down against his, involuntarily. He nods, a frantic motion as his hands grip her hips, whether to stop her or to quicken her movements, she isn’t sure he knows which either.

“As you wish.”

His hand grabs her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. His mouth takes control, and she is glad for it — she feels overwhelmed by his taste, his scent, his other hand grabbing her ass and urging her to move against his growing erection. It’s too much and not enough.

His teeth nip her bottom lip as her thumbs find his nipples. She feels his chest hair on her palms and is eager to feel it against her breasts. His hand runs up her bare back and she is glad to have removed her bra before jumping him. His breath stutters as he finds nothing stopping him from feeling her skin and his hand moves back down only to run up her side, shivers making her buck in his lap. His thumb finds the underside of her breast and he inhales sharply. She pulls her lips away from his but keeps eye contact. She sighs as his hand cups her breast, his rough palm on her nipple making her moan. 

“Fuck,” he moans, his thumb flicking her nipple. It’s too much. It’s not enough. She removes her hands from under his shirt to pull her own off her body. “Fuck.” He repeats before he pulls her down to run his lips down her chest. 

His mouth finds her nipple and she digs her fingers in his hair, keeping his talented mouth right where she needs it. His hand stimulates her lonesome breast while his other hand finds its way inside her shorts and underwear. She stutters out a moan when she feels his fingers on her clit. 

“Killian,” she moans and is surprised when he raises himself into a sitting position, his mouth more firm against her breast. “Killian.”

“Say it again,” he demands as he sucks on her nipple and his fingers slide into her wet folds. “Please, say it again.”

“Killian,” she moans, tugging on his hair to bring his face up to hers. His eyes are blown-black and his breathing is heavy. “Killian.” She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Killian,” She moans as she tugs on his bottom lip when she feels his thumb circling her clit. “Killian.”

“Emma,” he moans and she can see why he wanted her to say his name again. “Emma,” It’s like a shock to her system, like a warm blanket on a cold night, like a kiss, like a bite. “Emma.” 

“Fuck,” She groans and pulls his shirt off, needing him naked, needing to see him, needing to feel him. “I need you.”

“I need you too.”

With his hands on her ass, he raises her up on her knees. He tosses the blanket to the floor before pulling off his underwear. After, he pulls her to lay on top of him and she feels his erection against the fabric of her shorts and the tingling of his chest hair on her nipples. His mouth crashes against hers and she is overwhelmed with sensations but needs more, needs it all. His hand pulls down her shorts and she takes them off the rest of the way. His body is warm when she lays back against him and she lets out a satisfied sigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers against her lips, his hand running up her bare leg while his other lays on her neck. “You’re brilliant.” His fingers skim the roundness of her ass before moving down. “You’re intoxicating.” His fingers find her wetness and she gasps.

“Please, please, please,” she mumbles as her hips grind against his fingers.

He takes her in a passionate kiss just as his fingers slide inside her. Her moan is lost in his mouth and she digs her nails in his arms. She moves her hips in time with his hand, urging him to take her faster and she gasps when he does. She wonders if this is only a very realistic fantasy, if it’s possible for someone to make her feel this way so easily. She can’t wait anymore. 

She pulls away from him, his fingers slipping from her to land on her butt cheek. His eyes are hazy with lust and hers are much the same. She sits on his lap and feels the thickness of his cock against her, teasing her, calling her to her. He inhales sharply and holds his breath, watching the stars shining up in the sky behind her, the glow of the moon illuminating her bare back, waiting for her next move.

“I need you,” she repeats and grinds against him, covering his length with her essence. He nods, his jaw tight and his hand clenching on her ass. 

Splaying one hand on his chest for balance, she takes hold of his cock, lining it up to her awaiting cunt. With locked eyes, Emma raises herself up and allows it to enter her. He is thick, hard and warm, and she takes it all in one slow drag. They both breathe out as one, embracing how full she feels, how right she feels around him. How perfect it is to be joined.

His hands run up her thighs, settling at her hips. She closes her eyes at the softness, the warmth of his touch. “Emma,” he calls quietly, his hands urging her hips to move, and she finds him watching her. “You feel amazing.”

She moves slowly, unrushed. She lets her body adjust to this amazing intrusion as she studies him, the effects of pleasure in his face, his furrowed brow, his parted lips, his tightening grip. Her fingers clench over his chest at every wave of pleasure this languid motion brings. Their eyes lock as she moves and she feels it like a caress over her body. His hands drag slowly up her torso and her back arches in expectation of his touch. She gasps as he palms one breast while thumbing the other’s nipple. 

“More,” she moans, bucking up and down faster on his lap. “More.”

Emma whimpers as he directs one hand away from her breast but grins when she feels his thumb on her clit. “That’s it, love,” he urges her, his voice tight with restraint. “I want to see you.”

Her nails dig on his chest when his feet find purchase on the couch cushions to thrust up against her. His gasp turns into a moan at the pain mixed with pleasure and dimly she wonders how far she could take it without breaking him. His thumb presses down on her clit and she throws her head back, her orgasm catching her by surprise, a loud moan spilling from her lips.

He slows down his ministrations, allowing her to ride out her climax, her body buzzing in need of more. She lets out a breath and locks eyes with him once more, a silent demand in her green eyes. Killian sits up, changing the angle of his still hard cock inside her and making them both inhale sharply. Her arms wrap around his neck, his soft hair between her fingers.

“You want more?” Emma nods, their noses bumping with one another at the movement, and she thrills at the smirk on his lips. Is this what prey feel under her stare? “I’ll give you more.”

He crashes his mouth on hers, a hard, burning, desperate kiss. His hands run up her back, and she arches against his chest, moaning against his lips at the feel of his chest hair against her hard nipples. He manoeuvres them so that she’s on her back on the couch, his hot, heavy body on top of hers making her feel safe, cared for, in a way she’d never felt before.

The new position sends him deeper inside her, shivers running down her body. He chances a slow thrust of his hips. “Give me more,” she moans, sighing when he complies. “Give me everything.” Her nails dig into his back as he starts a steady pace. “Everything.”

Killian groans as he speeds up, setting a faster, deeper pace, their foreheads pressed against each other. The breath is stolen from her lungs every time he hits that spot inside her, the spot that demands that she take him, that she keep him, that she claim him. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him ever closer and she feels his laboured breathing on her face.

“I want you,” she whispers, nails dragging deep in his skin and she thrills at his moan. “I need you.” She kisses his cheek, his jawline, his neck, inhaling the smell of his blood, his essence. “Can I take you? Can I keep you?”

His hips falter in their rhythm as he pulls back to look into her eyes. She lets him see, opening herself up to him in more ways than the obvious one. His eyes are wide but even that couldn’t hide his desire, and he nods.

Her grin is barely stretched over her lips before they part in a gasping moan when he resumes his thrusts, pushing in deeper than before. She kisses his neck, licking the sensitive spot below his ear, following his vein. She kisses and sucks on his skin, he groans against her skin and his hand tightens on her skin before she bites down until she tastes his blood on her tongue.

“Fuck!”

She feels him spill inside her, a string of curses groaned against her skin. His orgasm triggers her — his talented ministrations joined with the taste of his delicious essence. An all-encompassing climax that makes time stand still, makes her feel like she’s flying. She pulls away from his skin, the mark of her bite on his neck filling her up with pride and satisfaction.

“Emma,” he breathes out, before groaning at the feel of her tongue cleaning up his wound. The renewed taste of his blood makes her moan and clench around him. “Emma,” he whispers.

She pulls back to look into his eyes, the starry night behind him making him look almost ethereal. He moves them to their sides, legs tangled. “I’ve been wanting to taste you for a while,” She confesses and tries to hide her blush at his tired smirk and raised eyebrow. “You smell good,” She shrugs, her fingers following the veins of his arms. “I was trying to keep in control, I didn’t want to scare you or take you against your wishes. But I’ve wanted to…”

His smile becomes more genuine and she lays her hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling his steady heartbeat. “I’ve wanted you for a while too,” he confesses, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Since I first saw you, I wanted to talk to you, to kiss you, to be with you. When I saw that pendant on the floor, I made it my chance.”

She looks down at where her hand is threading through his chest hair. “Bet you weren’t expecting all of this…” She lets sarcasm hide her worry.

“No, I wasn’t.” He tucks a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his. She finds him still smiling, his eyes open and trusting. “But I’m not complaining. This was perhaps the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, arms wrapping around him. “I’m not complaining either.” 

“Well, you complained a lot earlier.” He raises his eyebrow at her, a smile taking the accusation out of his remark.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s because I could barely control myself at a distance, much less in such close quarters.”

She expected arrogance, or pride, but he just looks worried. “Am I allowed to hope that this won’t be a one-time thing?”

She pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Is your stamina that bad? I could go for anot—” She is interrupted when Killian pushes her against her back once more, his half-hard cock pressing against her.

“Oh, I haven’t had my fill of you, you minx.” He grins, grinding against her clit to make a point and thrilling when she lets out an involuntary moan. “But I meant,” he licks his lips and looks at her with sincerity. “After today? When we’re no longer snowed in?”

Emma wraps her arms over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the marks she left on his back. She tries to find that feeling in her gut that warns her, tries to find reasons not to accept what he’s proposing. But she can’t. There is one thing she knows for certain: she can trust Killian Jones.

“When we’re no longer snowed in,” she starts slowly, feeling the tension that accumulated in his body. “I know a great restaurant for our first date.”

His smile is bright enough to put the sun to shame and she knows she made the right decision when he kisses her like he never wants to do anything else. Because neither does she.

[snowbellewells]

@kmomof4 Oh goodness, what a way to start off the @cssns event this year!! I loved the wolf 🐺 element to it (I always like those best, as you well know 😏) and that really made the drama and the fated romance part of it come together perfectly! Though I am still mourning this being the final year of the event, I was so psyched to revisit this one (I loved being a beta for it!!) and to see all the rest of the fics and art yet in store for us!!!😍😍😍

This was such an interesting and inventive setting, first of all. I have read very few fics set in this sort of time and place, and never a one shot. You swept us right into the thick of the action and grabbed me from the very first words! I did love that you used the flashback to give us some of Killian’s past and deepen the emotional impact, but most of this is visceral and intense and you can hardly catch your breath. We are feeling for Killian immediately, knowing that he has made the choice to either better his life, or for his suffering to be over - one way or another.

My favorite part though is how immediately both he and Emma know something powerful is at work - almost instantly, in fact. “…and when their eyes met, something came over Killian that he hadn’t felt in over two decades - the wolf that he’d lost when he lost his hand as a lad. An utterly unfamiliar strength flooded him, and his ears rang with the internal howl of his other half as his heart and mind were filled with images of that fateful day.”

There is so much else I adore about this one: I love that you’ve given us a glimpse of a younger Killian with his mother (I always wanted that from the show!), how finding one’s Trye Love is what restores the wolf to one who has lost it, and of course, I loved he and Emma both transforming to run together at the end. ❤️❤️❤️

Such a good fic, Krystal!! Thank you for sharing it!!

The Arena A New Fic for CSSNS24

WE FINALLY MADE IT, Y'ALL!!!!! @cssns is here for the last time!!! And I am sooooo thrilled to be kicking off our final year!!! Before we get to the fic, I have to say a few words about the team of ladies that helped get this fic here for all of you to enjoy!!

First, to the other mods of the CSSNS - @winterbaby89 @stahlop @jrob64 and @ultraluckycatnd This event wouldn't be here without all of you and I cannot thank you enough for stepping up and helping me through this last round.

To @snowbellewells my magnificent beta for this fic - Marta, I cannot thank you enough for reading, rereading, and rereading AGAIN in order to make this fic the best it could be. Love you, my dear friend!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper artist extraordinaire - Kit's artwork always leaves me with my jaw hanging open in AWE, and this one is no exception!! I could seriously stare at it for hours!!! Please give her all the love!!!! It's at the beginning of the fic under the cut.

And now to the fic! I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

Summary: The arena. 

A place of fear. Oppression. Blood. Death. 

A place of shattered hopes and dreams. 

A place, for a very lucky few, of hope. 

Words: Almost 3200

Rating: M for graphic violence

Tags: CSSNS24, Werewolves, True Love, Happy Ending

On ao3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza

@djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling

@caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite

@captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones

@mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

The arena. 

A place of fear. Oppression. Blood. Death. 

A place of shattered hopes and dreams. 

A place, for a very lucky few, of hope. 

Killian Jones stood along the wall of the arena with his fellow fighters, his eyes trained on the opposite side of the stadium where the grand prize of the wretched and despicable contest he’d willingly signed up for was being held. The wretched and despicable contest that the despot Arthur had created for the entertainment of himself and his court, promising to the victor everything they could ever dream of - more money than they could imagine, a place in the upper echelons of society, land, and a beautiful bride on his arm. A bride that, in Killian’s fondest dreams, didn’t care he was missing a hand. But all of that was for the victor alone. There was no prize for coming in second, unless you counted death as a prize. 

And Killian did. 

Either everything he’d ever hoped for - but which was so far out of reach for a street rat like him - or bringing his miserable existence to an end. That was why he’d eagerly volunteered for the contest. That last sliver of hope his mother - gone for many years now - had instilled in him that his life circumstances had to get better, because they certainly couldn’t get worse, or the sweet oblivion of forever sleep.

He cut his eyes to the left for a moment, taking in his fellow competitors. He didn’t know any of them. The mates he’d trained with for the last year were long gone - scattered to the other corners of the empire to try their own luck in the arena. There were four other men here with him. The one immediately to his left barely looked to be a man at all, but he held a cunning and evil look in his eye that warned not to underestimate him. The man next to him was the largest of all of them with long curly black hair, bulging muscles, deep set dark eyes, and a closely trimmed black beard and goatee. The other two men on the other side of the large one, he’d only seen briefly as they were released into the arena. One was tall and skinny with blonde hair and a scar on his face that gave him a dangerous look, and the other had a mop of brown hair that flopped over his almost simian-looking visage and he held himself with an air of pretension and imperiousness. He’d fit right in with Arthur’s court. He’d probably been an upper house slave looking to be a master instead. 

Now, Killian’s attention was drawn back to the other side of the arena where two slaves were needed to get the young woman into the center of the sunken pit in which they were all held. She truly was a beauty, Killian could already tell, and a hellcat to boot. She wore nothing more than a torn and ragged gown that barely covered her most private parts and was nearly the same color as her skin and a thick silver bracelet on her wrist. Her golden hair was a nest of tangles but still glinted under the midday sun as she screamed and thrashed in their hold. Her legs alternately stuck out in front of her - her heels vainly attempting to anchor themselves into the soft ground - or dragged behind her in an effort to become deadweight and too heavy for the men to carry. When that wasn’t working, she kicked at her captors, clawing and biting every inch of bare skin she could reach.

They finally reached the center of the arena where they dropped her unceremoniously in the dirt. It took her a moment to rise to her hands and knees, then she raised her head and Killian could see her face for the first time. He caught his breath at the exquisiteness of her face, made all the more evident by the dirt and tear tracks which marred her otherwise porcelain skin. The color was high on her cheeks, and her lips were full and red. She wasn’t particularly far away from him, fifteen to twenty feet at most, but he couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from this distance and under the rays of the sun, although he could clearly see the glint of more unshed tears. 

Her gaze swept over the other men beside him before landing on him, and when their eyes met, something came over Killian that he hadn’t felt in over two decades- the wolf that he’d lost when he lost his hand as a lad. An utterly unfamiliar strength flooded him, and his ears rang with the internal howl of his other half as his heart and mind were filled with images of that fateful day.

Killian ran down the crowded streets of the marketplace, a dreadfully skinny boy, one hand holding up the too-large pants around his waist, lest they fall down around his ankles as he ran. His clothes were tattered and worn and hung off his scrawny frame. A boy on the cusp of manhood, his malnourishment was evident in his height, nearly as tall as a man, and the leanness of his face with the beginnings of scruff on his chin.

His eyes darted around the street, taking in the busy vendors with their customers and trying to determine who’d be least likely to notice a pilfered meat pie or a couple of pieces of fruit for himself and his mother. Spying a likely suspect, Killian never slowed as his hand shot out toward his prize. But the shopkeeper was much more aware than Killian had given him credit for, and before he knew it, his wrist was captured in an iron strong grip and he was being pulled behind the small booth.

Without a word, the hulking shopkeeper pulled out a cutlass and brought it down on Killian’s wrist. He was too shocked to even register the pain as he watched his blood gush from the end of his arm. Too mesmerized by the gruesome injury to do anything, he realized darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision and the sound rushing in his ears was the agonized howl of his wolf - who had manifested only a scant six months ago - dying away to whimpers before everything went black.

It was nearly a week later that he’d woken, according to his mother. She hadn’t been far behind him as he ran through the market and had seen what the shopkeeper had done. She was too late to do anything about her son’s hand, but she’d made sure the shopkeeper would never be capable of such cruelty again. A small dagger coated with aconite from the Monkshood plant leaving a scratch across his wrist was all it took to sentence the man to death before the sun set that same day. She was the one who got him back to the hovel they called home, and nursed him around the clock until his fever broke and he finally awoke. He felt different - an emptiness he couldn’t define - but couldn’t put his finger on why until he looked down at his hands, now hand, and everything came rushing back. His shout of anguish brought his mother running, throwing aside the excuse of a room divider which consisted of a cord strung between two windows on either end of his straw pallet with clothes and rags hanging from it. She gathered him in her arms, whispering soothing words in his ear and rocking him back and forth like she did when he was a small child until his own cries quieted. 

Killian,” she breathed. He pulled back just enough to see her eyes and was shocked at the profound sadness he saw there. “I’m so sorry. Your wolf is gone.” She tried to gather him close again, but he pulled back in alarm instead.

“What?” he asked, confused. “Why!? Is that why I feel different? Not just my hand?”

“Losing a limb,” she imparted on a hitched breath, “kills the wolf inside of you. Until you find your True Love.”

“My True Love?” Killian’s confusion and grief were stronger than ever. “But what if I don’t have a True Love? What if…”

“You mustn’t give up hope, my son,” she said fervently. “You will find her someday, and your wolf will return.”

And today was apparently that day. Killian watched as her eyes widened slightly. He could only hope that she could somehow feel the connection between them. The hum of True Love that he didn’t have time to examine or revel in as Arthur rang the bell signaling the beginning of the contest - of which apparently his True Love was the prize. 

The other men along the wall moved toward her and then all turned to him, the depraved lust in their eyes as they looked at her turning into gleeful anticipation as their gazes settled on him. In that moment, Killian realized they’d somehow all agreed to band together to take him out first, obviously the weakest having only one hand with which to fight. Killian met each of their eyes in turn as they all drew their swords.

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” the tall, arrogant one said. “Can’t allow such an unsuitable, maimed cripple to claim my prize.”

The taunting words were all that was needed for Killian’s wolf to come to the fore. It had been twenty-two years since he’d transformed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember exactly what was happening. His own wicked but gleeful grin took over his face as the power of his wolf filled him and he fell to his hands and knees in front of them. The pain-filled howl taking over his mind ripped from his now open maw while the bones, muscles, and sinew in his arms and legs broke, tore, and mended again into their new form. The men before him were frozen in shock, and Killian became aware of an uproar above him among the spectators of the contest. Arthur rang the bell and screamed at the guards and slaves to kill the beast in the arena, but no one moved to do so.

Killian was fully focused on the men in front of him, but was also dimly aware of his True Love. She was still crouched on the ground, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. The transformation now complete, he let loose a full, ringing howl of victory as he leapt toward the largest of the men, still frozen in terror. His claws sank into the man’s chest, blood flowing like rivers down the expanse of bare skin. Killian clamped his jaws down on his head, his canines piercing bone, until with a powerful shake of his head, the skin of the man’s face and the bone underneath tore away from the skull, exposing the soft brain tissue contained within. The man’s screams were abruptly cut off when Killian swiped his claws from the gaping head wound to the top of his chest.

He then turned his attention to the two men on either side of his first victim. He quickly took care of the both of them - the first, ripping his head off with one swipe of his powerful paw, and the second, using all of his front claws to open his enemy’s chest cavity and gut, his intestines spilling to the ground in front of him - before he turned around looking for the one who’d taunted him in the first place.

The smugness was gone, but a look of grim determination had replaced it as the man, armed with only a sword, and wolf circled one another. The uproar among the audience had all but completely died away, the spectators watching in horrified fascination to see who would emerge the victor.

The man lunged and Killian backed up, well out of reach of the sword his opponent wielded. As they circled, Killian became fully aware of something that had only tickled the edge of his mind in the last several minutes as he faced off with the other men. He had both his front paws! Did that mean that his hand would also be restored when he returned to human form? He had no time to ponder the question as his adversary jabbed toward him again.

“Do you really think you can win?” he asked. His eyes gleamed, and the smugness that had disappeared after Killian killed the others was coloring his countenance once again. “You’re nothing but an animal. I’m going to kill you and skin you and hang your pelt on the wall where I can see it every single day for the rest of my life.”

Killian bared his teeth, a low and vicious growl coming from his throat before he surged forward briefly, snapping at the other man. Giving him a good look of exactly what he was up against. Fear flooded his adversary’s eyes, and the hand holding his sword in front of him began to shake uncontrollably. They continued to circle one another, but the man wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings and was nearing the bodies of two of their dead competitors. It was only a moment later when his foot came down squarely on the innards Killian had spilled earlier and flew out from under him, landing him flat on his back amid the blood and gore-covered ground.

Killian wasted no time. With a mighty leap, he landed on top of the man, his claws making ribbons of his enemy’s bare skin. He’d dropped his sword when he fell, and now reached for it as his screams filled Killian’s ears. Biting down on his upper arm, arterial blood sprayed his muzzle as he ripped it clean away from his shoulder. Killian slung the severed limb away before he turned back and tore the man’s throat out. The terror-filled and agonized screams turned to choking gurgles before they died away completely.

Killian looked up into the seats surrounding the arena. The masses were completely quiet and still, obviously not over the shock of what they’d just witnessed. When his gaze landed on Arthur’s, the despot’s eyes widened in panic, and he made haste to exit his elaborately decorated box. The rest of the audience followed the king’s lead, screaming and running for the exits. With another triumphant howl, Killian ran for the wall and cleared it with a single jump. He quickly caught up with the oppressive tyrant, leaping toward him and landing on his back, pushing him to the ground. He bit down on the exposed skin of his neck and was rewarded with another spray of blood signaling the end of the vile oppressor. 

The arena was now empty, save him and his True Love. He leapt back down to the ground and walked slowly towards her. She was crouched on the ground, her head hidden behind her arms, her golden hair shielding most of her body from view. He stopped, unwilling to terrify her even more than he already had, and changed back to his human form. He looked down and gasped when he saw his left hand completely restored.

He moved toward her again as she lifted her head and looked around at the empty arena.

“Where are your captors, milady?” he asked, gently.

“Gone, my lord,” she breathed. “Did you… what…?”

He unclasped the cloak he still wore from around his neck and spread it across her, covering her rags, though there was no one now to gawk or stare lustfully at her. She grabbed the edges and pulled it more fully around her as she rose to her feet, giving him a grateful nod.

“You’re him.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and was filled with an awe that Killian didn’t understand.

“I’m… who?” he asked, confused.

“You’re him,” she answered, a bit stronger that time. “My True Love.”

Killian couldn’t hope to hide his surprise at her words.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, excitement bubbling over into a beaming smile. “How did you know?”

“You were missing a hand before you transformed,” she explained, haltingly. She couldn’t hold his gaze for any length of time, her eyes bouncing between his and his restored hand that she gently took in her own, her other hand tracing the veins and bones there. “My parents told me before I was taken that if I ever lost a limb, I’d lose my wolf until I found my True Love.”

“You’re a wolf?” Killian almost fell to his knees in shock. He knew there had to be more out there like him, but he’d never met another. Not even his mother. Killian’s wolf came from his father, who’d died long before his own wolf manifested.

She nodded shyly and showed him her arm with the silver bracelet.

“That’s why they put this on me,” she explained. “To keep me from changing. Could you take it off? I can’t. But someone else can.”

“Of course.” He pulled the bracelet off and threw it to the other side of the arena. 

She frowned, and Killian thought he’d never seen anything more adorable in his life. “If they hadn’t forced me to wear it, I would’ve made short work of those two before they could get me two steps in here.” 

Killian smiled and gathered her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “That’s my girl.” After holding her for a moment, relishing the feel of her arms around him and the True Love between them, he released her. “My name is Killian. Killian Jones.”

“My name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan.” 

She smiled softly and finally met his gaze. “You as well, Killian Jones.” 

She looked around before meeting his eyes once again. “So what now?” she asked. 

“I have no desire to stay here,” he muttered darkly. “Shall we run?”

Her face broke into a beautiful smile. “Yes, please. I haven’t been able to change for almost a year. Since they took me from my home.”

“I have no home,” he said, a note of melancholy in his words. He looked at his True Love again, his mate, and felt a bone deep contentment that he’d never known. “You’re my home now, Emma.”

“And you’re mine, Killian.” Her smile was full of joy as she got down on all fours before him. “Let’s run.”

He joined her on the ground and transformed. When he came back to himself, he saw a pure white wolf in front of him with eyes of green. She tilted her muzzle to the sky and released a long howl before running for the wall surrounding them. He joined her, his howl mixing with hers in a haunting melody that sent chills down his spine. He followed her over the wall and they ran, ran, and ran away from their past and into their future.

Together.

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading and sharing!!! I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought!!! Please give Kit all the love as well for her gorgeous artwork!!! The Supernatural Summer will continue with more fics and art dropping about every other day through the end of August, and I so hope you enjoy this last round!!!

[snowbellewells]

@spartanguard Oh wow, I am ridiculously late in getting a chance to read and reblog this lovely little birthday fic, but it was truly sweet and touching and really a just right sort of treat to enjoy this Saturday morning!! I loved that Emma had taken the trouble to find Killian’s true birthday and went out of her way to mark it, and to show him how much his presence matters. And not only to her either, but also to his extended Charming family.

It makes me a bit teary-eyed to think that really neither he or David were exactly sure when they had been born and that both have probably not been celebrated as they should have been over the years, but that is true for Killian especially. No wonder his bro’s heartfelt words bring up the lump in his throat there towards the end.

The memory he has of his mother and at least how he knew the season of his birth was both lovely and heartbreaking as well. I do like that he at least has that little bit of memory though after so many years, and when he hadn’t really even felt it mattered. But that his True Love has now given him many more precious memories to mark his birthday is the perfect way to end this little story, even if their still many more years left to celebrate in their adventure together!

Thanks for sharing this with us!!

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook388 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich​ @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke [let me know if you do/don't want tags!]

[snowbellewells]

@booksteaandtoomuchtv Oh my goodness!! I cannot believe how terribly long it took me to get back and be able to properly read and review this. Please do not think it makes me any less enthralled with this story - in fact, you wrap me up in it more with each new addition! All that to say, this one may be short but wow does it wet the reader’s appetite for more!!! 😍😍😍

How can I not just nod along in total agreement at Emma’s assessment of Killian - her mate - in his element aboard his ship and as her rescuer? “The man before her was stunning. He was beautiful rather than barbaric.” (So perfectly well said! 😏)

And then her embarrassment as she realized she threatened him in fearful reaction, and wants him to forget it, but he says there is no way he would ever erase the sight of her storming the deck wearing his clothes?!? It is so very Killian - so smooth and adoring and teasingly romantic.

The chemistry between them here is OFF THE CHARTS!!! 🔥🧡🔥 You’ve choreographed that so well, and it is thrilling to read. I love though that he wants her to be sure, for it not to be only physical, but a lasting decision. They are meant to be, and he already wants it to be for life. It only makes him more admirable and attractive, that restraint and understanding of her needs and feelings.

I am both excited for them to face Pan and his wolves, to break free and make them pay for all they’ve done- and also nervous at how horribly that could go wrong.

Great update and intense way to leave me hanging (but honestly, I think(?) that’s what a like a story to do to me! 🤷🏼‍♀️)

Burn The Ships (4/?)

A HUGE THANK YOU TO @snowbellewells FOR THIS INCREDIBLE ART.

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

1 | 2 | 3 | AO3 | 5 | ???

Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert(let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

A slightly hysterical laugh slipped out before Emma could stop it. Captain Hook of "Beware the Captain" fame was her mate. He was the one predator that sent fear through the pack of twisted, cruel wolves who surrounded Pan. She had imagined him to be terrifying, more unstable and dangerous than the wolf she just escaped. Early in her captivity, she'd considered trying to contact him, but Pan's wolves were too loyal to him to allow her to slip any notes out. She had pictured a terrible, crazed monster, more menacing each time his visage crossed her mind. 

The man before her was stunning. He was beautiful rather than barbaric. The leathers he wore made her stomach clench, but not with fear. Although, she probably should not have threatened him on his ship, in front of his crew. 

“Sorry for all the…,” she gestured as trying to find a way to indicate their entire interaction up to this moment. She blew out a breath somewhere between exasperation and humour. “Could we possibly forget every moment leading up to this?”

“I could live hundreds of lifetimes and still remember in perfect clarity the sight of you storming the deck in my shirt, love. It is not a memory from which I am willing to part.”

When she didn’t seem convinced, he continued, his voice soft and encouraging. “It is a beautiful thing, Swan, to be able to fight after being a captive of that little demon.”

Emma wasn't sure how to respond to that. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and she felt exposed in a way she wasn't expecting. Hook, no, she remembered now that he'd introduced himself as Killian. Killian even seemed a bit proud of her. But, what did he see in the woman standing before him that would make him feel anything akin to pride? And, why did Emma fear she could only disappoint him?

"I didn't have a plan, I just knew I could not go back."

"I understand.” And the pain behind his eyes more than his words made it clear that he did know what it was like to be held against his will, subjected to someone else's whims. She had the strongest impulse to comfort him in that moment. But, she wasn't sure how. Or if it was something he would welcome. Did he want a mate? Even if he did want a mate, she didn't know that he wanted her to be it. Did she want a mate? What did they do next? Knowing they were mates did not make them any less of strangers.

"Would you join me back in the cabin to discuss things privately?" He gave her a shy smile and gestured toward the hatch she had previously stormed out of. "There's rum?"

"Yeah, rum would be great." Perhaps it would ease her nerves and help her wrap her mind around this new reality. 

§§§§    §§§§    §§§§

Emma sat a bit awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Killian leaned comfortably against the furthest wall, clearly granting her all the space he possibly could in such tight quarters. She noted that he’d ensured she was closer to the door and the ladder and was touched by his physical reminder that she was not being held here and could leave when she liked. Granted, her only escape would land her in the hands of a furious and unhinged wolf, but she appreciated having a choice in her circumstances all the same. 

“Why are you here?” Emma asked suddenly. 

“It’s my ship,” Killian answered with an amused smile tugging at his lips. He continued, the smile turning bitter, “I had to finish a contract I…inherited from my father.”

Emma’s heart broke for him, but he did not appear to want her to try to soften the hurt in those few words. Instead, she gave him something she knew he wanted, “My ex traded me to pay off his debt to Pan.”

Anger turned his eyes to ice in an instant and a growl rumbled through him that sent chills up her spine. The strength of his emotion loosened his control enough that she felt his wolf. The brief contact was intense. She could feel the heat of his anger and hear the violence he was planning for her self-serving ex before Killian snapped the leash back on his control. “Sorry, the telepathy bit is going to take some adjustment. I don’t want to force you into any decisions, but I want you to know that I am not planning to reject our bond unless we agree that is the right thing for us both.”

“I don’t want to make any decisions until we are out of this nightmare place and we know each other better.” 

“I look forward to getting to know you, Swan. As for the other, I have a plan.” He pulled out a vial of black liquid from his pocket, his expression serious as he crossed to her and dropped it into her palm. 

She tried to focus on the strange liquid, but their sudden nearness consumed her attention. Her gaze was on the vial in her hand, but her thoughts were of pulling him into her, falling back onto his bed, and claiming his lips with hers as his weight pinned her to the mattress. 

“Swan.” Her name was a plea and a warning. She looked up at his face- his eyes burned with desire for her and his jaw was clenched tight. She should probably feel embarrassed that she’d blasted her daydream at him, but his reaction only excited her further. She leaned toward him, eyes on his lips, and slid her hand into the pocket of his leather breeches, depositing the vial and dragging her hand out slowly, suggestively.  

“Swan?” Killian’s voice was a broken whisper. 

She grabbed his coat and kissed him greedily. Without hesitation, he kissed her back just as hungrily. His hand cradled her head reverently as his tongue licked and explored, his hook was a gentle pressure against her hip. In his kiss were the promise of safety and the hint of an unfathomable love that was, somehow, insanely, directed at her. She was sure she hadn’t earned such devotion. Hell, she’d just tried to steal his ship. But at this glimpse of him, of his love, she knew she wanted it and feared it all. She poured her desire into her kisses, devouring him as he teased and tasted her.

He broke away, his head pressed against hers, as they gasped for air. 

“Emma,” he breathed, “that was…”

“I know,” she smiled. His answering smile was a beautiful thing. He brushed his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. 

“I want to keep doing this, I do,” Killian murmured, “but, before we do, I need to be sure we aren’t rushing into this. I want this, you, but not as a one-time thing when you’ve just escaped Pan. I want to be with you when you know you want to be with me.”

“I…,” Emma started to say that she did want him. The taste she had of him was everything and she wanted more. But, it wasn’t fair for her to pretend she was doing more than reacting to physical needs. She could not promise him anything beyond this moment. She could not answer the deep well of love that she felt in him, yet. She needed time to know him, simply being his mate was not enough for her to let down her walls and let him into her heart. 

“Ah, I see,” Killian said sadly, kissing her cheek and stepping back from her reach. “Whenever you’re ready, love.” 

“I am sorry, Killian.” 

“No need, Swan.” Killian pulled the vial from his pocket and held it up, between them, “This is squid ink. It will strip Pan of his powers for long enough for me to make one strike against him. His pack of lost wolves will likely be here tomorrow to get back what he believes I have stolen from him. My crew is prepared for a fight, but Pan is mine to kill. And, this is how I do it.”

“The fight is over me. You have to let me fight with your pack.” 

Killian studied her face intently, “If you wish it, so it shall be.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No, thank you for everything.” 

“Everything I have to give is yours, mate,” Killian answered. Then, he went on deck to prepare his crew for the upcoming battle.

[snowbellewells]

@grimmswan I actually went back and read all the previous chapters, to be certain I remembered what had happened previously and didn’t forget anything. This new chapter though- whew, what a thrill ride! I was so worried for Killian, then for Emma once he was turned and no one knew, and then just knocked off my feet by the final twist.

I really liked the idea of Killian being able to resist (or not even really feel?) Drake’s control. I think we see signs in canon even of him being more resistant to control than most, but this was a wonderful surprise all the same here. I’m so curious to see what will happen now. What will this mean for Killian? For he and Emma? And how will Drake try to retaliate next?

Dracula in Storybrooke part 5

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer @cssns

Drake paced back and forth in the dark corridor. He made no sound as his feet touched the damp stones. His frustration and vampire speed making him look like a blur to the rats hiding in the walls.

He desired the Princess Swan. She was the embodiment of beauty and power. The fact that she was able to withstand his seduction only made her more desirable to him.

He thought of Emma, with her long golden hair. Running his hands through it would be like being able to touch the sun once again.

But at the moment, that filthy pirate was probably running his only hand through her hair.

Drake hissed at the thought that his bride was being contaminated by one so unworthy of her.

He needed to find a way to sever the bond between the two.

Renfield had told him it was impossible. But Renfield had chosen to change his name to Smee, so Drake didn’t think he was very intelligent or wise.

Dracula was certain that if the pirate captain was turned into a monster, the fair princess would realize she was better off with a dark prince.

Outside of Granny’s, in the warm sunlight, Killian did have one hand wrapped in Emma’s hair. His hook was pressed to the small of her back, keeping her close to him as their lips moved slowly together.

Emma let her fingertips dance along his jawline. She enjoyed the contrast of the rough stubble to the tender way he was kissing her.

She had noticed the yearning way he was looking at her and knew what he needed. But neither trust finding a dark corner for a quiet moment since the vampires had made an appearance.

So beside the overgrown hedge it was.

“I won’t survive losing you, Swan.” Killian whispered against her mouth. “Promise me that you will do everything in your power to protect yourself.”

“As long as you promise me the same thing.” She whispered back to him. “After everything we’ve been through, I don’t want to live without you, either.”

“You two are ridiculous.” Leroy’s frustrated tone broke through the couple’s intimate moment. “You’re only going to be separated for a few hours at most. We need to get back before sundown.”

Since logically the caves were the ideal place for those that needed to avoid sunlight, Emma, her parents, and Leroy would be searching the tunnels for any sign of Dracula and his vampires.

Killian, Dr. Whale, Belle, and Blue would be searching through all of the ancient tomes and scrolls they could find for a way to turn everyone human again, and defeat Dracula.

Killian had wanted to go with Emma, but since he was fluent in multiple languages, he knew it was best to help with the research. Blue also wanted him to assist in gathering chrystal she and the other fairies would create to store Emma’s white light and use them as another way to ward off the vampires.

“Besides, if the vampires do try to attack us, it would help having an expert fighter with us.” Whale had pointed out.”

Before his group headed out, David mentioned to Killian in passing, “If Whale got maimed, nobody would blame you.”

“I heard that, Charming.” Whale growled.

“Don’t care.” David shrugged as he joined his wife and daughter. The former sighed and shook her head and him. The latter grinned at his behavior.

The group made their way through the tunnels, Emma in the front with her hands aglow the entire time.

They were sure that the vampires Dracula had turned were hidden away, sleeping.

Smee had said that Dracula had the power and ability to not sleep for months or years, he also had the ability to put himself into a sleep for centuries. But other vampires needed to hide themselves and sleep when the sun was up.

But no one wanted to take any chances. The plan was to find the sleeping vampires, and then bind them using Emma’s magic, and ropes woven with silver, preventing them from causing any harm to the rest of the town.

Weapons were drawn. Eyes quickly roamed every corner and peered into every shadow.

After walking to where they were sure was the deepest the tunnel could go, they came upon a cave filled with large stones stacked to resemble coffins.

“This must be where they are sleeping.” Leroy said out loud, “Now how are we going to lift these rocks so we can bind these blood suckers?”

“Leroy” Snow admonished, “These are people who are under a curse. It may be different than the other curses we are used to, but they are still victims. And they need our help.”

“Until you can find a way to turn them back, they are monsters who won’t give a second thought to biting our necks and draining every last drop of blood from our bodies. So you’ll excuse me if I’m not feeling too sensitive about their situation right now.”

“Your neck is not one I would be eager to dine out.” A female voice hissed.

Turning in the direction of the sound, they saw a beautiful woman clad in a sheer black gown emerge from a hollow in the wall.

“But your neck,” She continued, looking at David, “I would love to have lips pressed all over it.”

“Not a chance,” Snow shouted, aiming her arrow at the woman.

 She seemed to have forgotten all about their intention to capture the vampires without harming them.

The vampire woman hissed in Snow's direction, showing off her fangs and claws. Suddenly, more vampires emerged. The dirt and rocks fell away, revealing the hiding place of the fearsome beings.

There looked to be more there than had been thought to have been turned in Storybrooke.

“I think Dracula brought over some of his vampires from the Land of Horror and the Land of Untold stories.” David observed.

Emma sent out beams of light, “There’s too many. There's no way we’ll be able to bind them. We’ll have to get out of here and search for another way.”

The group retreated, heading back to Granny’s. Emma continued to send beams of light, keeping the vampires at a distance until the group was safely inside.

Everyone was grateful that Emma had put up magic wards to keep the vampires from entering. The vampires hissed and snarled as they tried and failed to push through the invisible barrier.

Several feet behind them, Emma could make out Drake standing and watching.

They had escaped him and his minions, so why did he have a smug look on his face?

Emma’s heart was suddenly gripped by terror. Where was Killian?

They took him by surprise, using a clever ruse.

He had gotten a call on his talking phone. Emma had told him that reception in the tunnels was terrible. So when the other person on the other end of the line sounded muffled, and strange, he assumed that was the reason. Believing the woman was the Lady Snow, he believed her when she said that Emma was in danger. Without a second of thought, he raced to the tunnels.

His thoughts were too preoccupied with Emma’s safety to hear Blue or Belle calling out that it might be a trap.

And Snow hadn’t realized that the attack had been a distraction allowing a vampire to steal her phone.

Too late, he realized his mistake. He was alone in the shadow, making himself easy prey for Dracula and his vampires.

 They ambushed him. Held him down as they sank their teeth into him. Killian watched in horror as Dracula emerged from the shadows, sliced a line into his wrist and held it over his face.

Killian’s mouth was held open by the vampires, forcing him to consume the crimson liquid that dripped onto his tongue.

“Those turned by me must do as I say. You will serve me like all of the rest.” The count put the full force of his power in his voice as he gave the command. “Bring the savior, Emma Swan, to me. When you are alone with her, use your new strength and power to subdue her and carry her to me.”

The blood took over Killian’s system. The Vampire Count’s voice took over everything in his mind. His body craved to consume blood. His mind craved to obey his master.

Fear had a vice-like grip on her heart. Emma ran as fast as she could, one had glowing, the other tracking Killian’s location with her cell.

It had been safest for her to go alone. Her intense emotions made her light powerful enough to send any vampire far away and writhing in agony.

 It was only when she spotted him, walking through the forest, without a mark on him that she calmed down.

Running to him as quickly as she could, she threw her arms around him and held him tight the moment their bodies collided.

The impact triggered him to take a deep breath.

Emma’s scent was stronger than ever. Sweet and soft, everything that was good in the world. His arms tightened around her and he inhaled more of her fragrance.

Killian took a long inhale of her scent. Emma always smelled like heaven to him. But at the moment, her unique perfume was stronger and especially enticing.

“Oh, Killian,” Emma sighed. “I was so worried. I was afraid Dracula had gotten you.”

Killian was unable to explain that Dracula had gotten to him. He wanted to keep Emma safe. But could not tell her that he was now a threat to her.

Emma messaged her father, letting him know, and asking him to inform the others that she had found Killian, and that he looked unharmed.

After joining back with the others, she helped infuse the chrystals Blue and the other fairies created with her light.

“Keep these crystals around your neck and the vampires will be unable to get near you.” Blue advised.

When Killian hadn’t reached for one, he excused it by saying, “I have Emma with me most of the time. There’s really no need for me to wear one.

It may have been a fact, and the others accepted the excuse, but in the back of everyone’s mind, there was a hint of suspicion.

Though she didn’t say anything, Emma was sure there was something wrong with the man she loved. Killian was too quiet. The last time he acted differently than his full self, he had been controlled by Gold. But she still encouraged everyone to go to their respective homes. No matter what, she knew she had nothing to fear about being alone with Killian.

Dracula stood in the shadows outside of Emma Swan’s home, waiting for his newest slave to deliver her to him.

But as he looked on, he saw no sign that his orders were going to be obeyed.

In fact, the opposite of what he wanted seemed to be happening.

Drake witnessed Killian pin Emma to the wall and trail kisses down her neck. Her mouth opened in an expression of bliss and her legs spread wider, inviting Killian to press closer.

“What are you doing, you fool?” Drake hissed. “You are supposed to deliver her to me.”

But it was clear he had no power over the pirate captain.

With his body pressed to hers, his hands gripping her firmly and his mouth roaming hungrily over her, Emma could feel how much Killian wanted her.

All Killian could think about was taking Emma. Consuming her. He needed her, every part of her. He was sure that he would die if he didn’t have her.

Driven by dark desire, Killian held Emma tightly to him, and sank his fangs into her neck.

Hearing Emma’s intake of breath, Killian found the strength to pull away.

But looking into her eyes, he didn’t see fear. He saw acceptance.

And desire.

Gazing at her, Killian was overwhelmed with the thoughts and feelings he had for Emma Swan. She was truly the most remarkable woman in the world. And the most beautiful. The most tantalizing. Temptation itself.

Especially her neck, with the drops of blood on her flushed skin reminding him of rubies set on ivory satin.

Too much temptation to resist, he lowered his head to consume more of her.

Drake was taken by surprise at the sight before him.

Somehow, his spawn had escaped his influence. What was more, he was feasting on the savior’s blood.

The savior’s behavior was even more shocking. He expected her to cry out in surprise, and pain. Instead, what he heard was a moan, and he saw her eyes flutter.

Was…. Was she enjoying it?

Fingers buried deep in Killian’s hair, Emma held him in place, encouraging him to take what he wanted from her.

Drake roared with a mixture of anger and frustration. It was hard to believe, but the truth was clear; Killian Jones was able to break the hold of the curse.

But the question was, how?

Something powerful bubbled up inside of Killian. Something that had been dormant for centuries.

The blood of a dragon, though polluted and mutated through a man, combined with the blood of a product of true love, awakened an ancient bloodline inside the pirate captain.

[snowbellewells]

@jrob64 Oh goodness, as always, I apologize for taking longer than I would wish to reblog and review, but I’m so glad I got to read this one shot of yours! 🥰 This story was lovely and fun and as comforting as warm (properly made) soup when you don’t feel well. I’m sorry for the heartaches you have been through recently which you were writing to combat, but you have come up with a sweet ray of light in fiction form.

I especially loved Emma’s caring side that is shown so well here. She is a concerned and giving, kind, nurturing person, but her snark and tough outer shell often show up first and overshadow it - on the show and in. With those she cares about though, that more sensitive side of her nature is undeniable. You allowed us to glimpse that vulnerability a bit sooner here - to genuinely beautiful effect. ❤️

And poor Killian! Naturally he feels awful and doesn’t want someone he has a difficult history with bothering him while he’s weak and off-balance, but his willingness to see that he made a mistake and hurt Emma when she tried to help, and his willingness to apologize and try to write the wrong work wonderfully here. You do a great job with our fave couple in everyday modern life situations, and this is no exception. Incredibly relatable and so easily pictured from start to finish!!!

Thanks for sharing this with us!!

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:

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[snowbellewells]

@laianely Oh my goodness!! I got busy and missed out on updates to this one for a bit. I had forgotten just how much I loved the case you were building, and the interaction between Killian, Emma, and her partner Graham.

In particular, in this chapter, I loved how Killian’s story couldn’t help but affect the two detectives. They may logically know it isn’t possible for him to be a vampire, or for another vampire to be ripping hearts out of chests in their city, but both of them are clearly touched by his loss and the intensity of Killian’s feeling. They are starting to believe his belief in spite of themselves.

I also liked the in with French. It makes sense that he would be able to confirm Killian’s suspicions and that he would want to see Gold brought down as well. I want to hope Belle doesn’t have to go down with him, but otherwise it is a really nice little twist if an addition to the story.

Of course I am anxious for Killian’s safety at the ball, with his diet making him more vulnerable than Gold, but he surely will have some sort of plan when he goes. I’m anxious to go in and read chapter four!!

No Rest For The Immortals, Chapter 3

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd @qualitycoffeethings

[snowbellewells]

@searchingwardrobes This chapter was wonderful too - in completely different ways from the last one. This one had me giggling, then clutched the arm of my chair, then just completely melting. 🫠🥰 The wedding itself and the wedding night too were so warm and romantic, and steamy, yes, but also filled with genuine True Love. It struck just the right balance. Though, of course by now, I should have expected nothing less!! 😍😍😍

I really felt for Ingrid at the start of the chapter. Of course she would be so angry and concerned about being duped by Mr. Gold, and at what she might have told him about her family. I loved that both Emma and Killian were quick to reassure her, and how Emma seemed to have found new faith and encouragement from their visit somehow. Her comment about Killian basically being her hero was said lightheartedly, but we as readers know it is true.

And Liam!! I just loved him at the start of this chapter: “Ingrid, what’s with all the holy people, that’s what I’m asking!” 😂 You have written him as such a giving, loving, and yes bemused/confused Papa in this story that I am now fully convinced of it in my head. We were completely robbed of not getting to see him this way in show canon. It is absolutely irresistible! But then the gentleness and tender understanding he must have shown when Killian went to him with his fears of hurting or scaring Emma - just what a wonderful balance. I love this daddy Liam and all his many facets SO MUCH!!

(^^There are not enough useful gifs of Bernard Curry/Liam!!)

Anyway, the wedding itself was so sweet and perfect - very true to the two of them and their situation. It was horrifying how Rumplestiltskin appeared and no one else but Emma could see him! He muddled her thoughts so powerfully, but then Killian was there and their love broke through Rumple’s trance! How brilliant that he thought to wear the shirt with no seams! And I loved Emma’s “why would I be afraid?” response to him as they continue down the aisle together. 💕 It worries me though that she won’t remember, and no one else knows, that Gold was there…

And then, when they are alone together in their new home… The nerves, the sweetness, the perfect way they bare themselves bodies and souls. Just wonderful, truly!! 💕💕💕

Scarborough Fair: 11/?

I'm so excited, ya'll! This is it - the wedding chapter! And the wedding night, which means sexy times. I don't write smut, so it's super steamy and then fades to black. Buuut this may just be the steamiest thing I've ever written. So, enjoy!

And a reminder of Emma's wedding dress:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells@teamhook@kmomof4@jrob64@xhookswenchx-reads-blog@thisonesatellite@welllpthisishappening@spartanguard@ohmakemeahercules@tiganasummertree@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jamif@undercaffinatednightmare@onceratheart18@sparlecorn93@sals86@pirateprincessofpizza@xarandomdreamx@zaharadessert@huntressandlioness1@jonesfandomfanatic​ @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda

Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe I was so stupid!” Ingrid slammed her palm against the steering wheel as they drove back home.

“It isn’t your fault Ingrid,” Killian assured her. “I think it was that amulet he wears. When he touched it, something happened to me. My thoughts got muddied, and I was drawn towards him.”

Ingrid shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line. “You withstood him better than I did,” she looked over at Emma, “you both did.”

Emma’s brow creased. “You’re right. Maybe it has something to do with what my mom and Belle both said about true love.”

“What did they say?” Ingrid asked. 

Killian cleared his throat. “Just that the love Emma and I have for each other can be protection against Rumplestiltskin.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughed, looking back at Killian with pride sparkling in her eyes. “My mom seemed very relieved that I had Killian, and Belle said that Rumplestiltskin wasn’t counting on Killian being in the picture.”

“She said he hated me,” Killian clarified.

“Don’t listen to him,” Emma told Ingrid, “he’s basically my hero.”

Killian scoffed even as his cheeks pinked, and Emma laughed.

“Emma,” Ingrid scolded, “how can you be so flippant about this? I told that horrible man things about our family. I invited him to the wedding! He could ruin it somehow.”

Emma shook her head. “He won’t. I don’t think he even can. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”

Ingrid glanced at Killian’s reflection in the rearview mirror. He shrugged back at her. Emma was humming the tune of “Scarborough Fair,” of all things, looking contentedly out of the window. How their visit to the mental hospital could possibly have encouraged her was beyond him, but he loved her all the more for her sudden optimism. 

Ingrid’s phone started to ring, and she answered via her bluetooth.

“Hey babe,” she told Liam.

“Hello, love. I’ve got great news!”

“We can use as much of that as we can get. What is it?”

“That professor of agriculture got back to me. According to him, we can take a kernel of corn and grind it down. Then we add that corn ‘powder’ to something fine, like flaxseed, and sow that.”

“Will that count?” Emma piped up.

“He thinks so,” Liam said. “Apparently there’s some legend in . . . Wales? Scotland? I can’t remember, but anyways, in the legend a father won’t let his daughter marry the man she loves unless he can sow an entire field with just one kernel of corn. This was how he accomplished it.”

“You didn’t tell him about our situation, did you?” Ingrid asked with concern.

“Of course not! I told him I was thinking of publishing a second book about the song ‘Scarborough Fair,’ that’s all.”

“Okay, well, at least that’s one thing.”

“Elsa is doing some data analysis to figure out how fast Emma needs to plow before the tide comes in.”

“Now we just have to find this town no one knows.”

That was what worried Killian the most. None of them had any idea how to go about the second riddle. And after their visit to the mental hospital, it was more clear than ever that the future of many people, not just Emma’s, was in the balance. 

*******************************************************************

The next week and a half flew by, and before Emma knew it, she was sitting in front of Ingrid’s vanity mirror in her wedding dress. Ingrid was applying her makeup, and Anna was using a curling iron on her hair. They all yelped when the door flew open, but it was only Liam. 

“What’s with all the people downstairs?” he demanded.

Ingrid straightened up to look at him, a stick of eyeliner gripped between her fingers. “We’re having a wedding, dear, the living room is filled with guests.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that. But I counted two priests, a rabbi, a baptist minister, a Buddhist monk, and some woman waving a gourd around.”

“The gourd is part of a Cherokee ritual to ward off evil spirits,” Ingrid explained as she leaned down to apply eyeliner to Emma’s eyelids, “and there’s only one priest. The other is an Episcopalian minister.”

“Ingrid, what’s with all the holy people, that’s what I’m asking!”

Ingrid sighed as she straightened once again from her task. “I invited an evil imp to this wedding by accident, okay? So I’m trying to counter that with anything and everything I possibly can!” 

Liam sighed. “That’s sweet of you, darling. Eccentric, but sweet.”

He stepped forward and placed a kiss against his wife’s cheek as Emma and Anna laughed. He left after promising for the fifth time that day to keep Killian downstairs. 

“Do you think he noticed the crystals you lined up on the fireplace mantel?” Emma asked when he was gone.

Ingrid chuckled. “Probably not.”

Anna let out a frustrated groan as she released another limp curl from the curling iron. “I’m not good at this!”

“I told you to use hot rollers,” said Ingrid. 

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want my hair too overdone.”

Anna gave Ingrid a weighted look. “If only Elsa were here. She’s the only one who can do that loose side braid you love.”

Suddenly, Ingrid’s walk-in closet burst open. “Did someone say they needed my help?”

Emma squealed with joy at the sight of Elsa stepping out of the closet. She jumped up and threw herself into her older sister’s arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re here!”

“And I’m glad to finally get out of the closet.” Elsa looked over Emma’s shoulder and scowled at her sister and her aunt. “I thought you two would never say the code word!”

“We didn’t know Liam was going to interrupt!” Anna retorted. 

Ingrid just laughed. “Sorry we hid this from you, Emma, but we wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it, either,” Elsa explained, “so we didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Emma shook her head, dabbing carefully at tears that threatened her makeup. “I don’t care, I’m just so happy to see you! Will you be my second bridesmaid? You can wear the dress you have on - this wedding is very informal.”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elsa assured her. “Now, are we going to do something about your hair or not?”

*************************************************************

Killian stood in front of the fireplace in the Jones family living room, his brother standing at his side. He kept fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Nervous?” Liam asked him.

“No,” he answered without hesitation. He barely noticed all the people, most of whom he swore were strangers, crowded into their home. He didn’t feel he was giving up his freedom or being burdened, or any of the other cliches people used for grooms. He just wanted to see Emma descend the stairs. He wanted to pledge his life to her, slip the ring in Liam’s pocket onto her finger, kiss her, and then begin their life together. 

Liam’s friend and colleague, shoved into a tiny corner with his keyboard, began to play the processional, and Ingrid was the first to descend the stairs as Emma’s matron of honor, a tiny bouquet of white daisies clutched in her hands. Elsa, then Anna. followed Ingrid down the stairs. Killian strained his eyes for Emma. She wouldn’t be escorted. She had said it was unnecessary, and she wanted Liam to be Killian’s best man. 

Then, suddenly, there she was, and the music changed. She seemed to float down the stairs like a vision, her dress trailing the ground, her bare shoulders glowing under the lights, and her golden hair in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. Her hair was threaded with baby’s breath and Queen Anne’s lace, and she clutched a simple bouquet of white roses tied with a white satin ribbon. Her eyes were searching the crowded room, but she didn’t seem to be able to see him. 

Then, suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs, she faltered. She reached out one hand to grip the banister tightly. Her skin went suddenly pale. She seemed to be staring at something no one could see. 

What Killian couldn’t see, what no one could see, was the man at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his cane. Only Emma could see him. Her breaths became shallow, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Panic gripped her heart. 

“You want to run,” Rumplestiltskin told her, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You don’t want to get married at 17. You don’t have to. Just turn around and go back upstairs.”

Emma began to shake. What was she doing? He was right! She was too young to get married! Why was she getting married again? Who was she marrying? Something wasn’t right. This man made sense - she should just run back upstairs. 

“Emma?” 

Rumplestiltskin jerked his head towards the sound of the young man’s voice. The boy didn’t see him, of course. His spell had seen to that. But why was there such strong magic emanating from the lad? Rumple recoiled, feeling a sudden, sharp, physical pain. The shirt! The stupid boy was wearing the shirt Emma had made with no needle or seam. The wretched shirt that solved the first riddle. No one could see it; he wore it beneath his shirt and tie. The boy must be sweating in the heavy felt, too. What had possessed him to don the thing? Curse him! Rumple stumbled backwards, the magic of true love overpowering him. He turned and ran, his glamor spell starting to wane, and his skin burning. He almost fell down the steps, but when he reached the sidewalk he turned and steadied himself, smoothing down the front of his suit coat. 

“No matter,” he snarled up at the house and the people inside. “I may not be able to touch you yet, but I will, mark my words, I will, and soon!”

Inside, the sound of Killian’s voice had broken the spell that had held Emma frozen at the bottom of the stairs. She looked down into Killian’s gentle smile and sparkling blue eyes, and every doubt and bit of confusion fled. He held out his hand.

“Don’t be afraid, Emma,” he told her softly, “we’ll walk the aisle together.”

She took his hand and descended the last few steps. She tucked her arm into his and beamed up at him. 

“Why would I be afraid?” she asked him, and she would never remember the strange man at the bottom of the stairs. 

***************************************************************

Emma giggled as Killian carried her over the threshold of the house they would share, at least as long as the professor who owned it was on sabbatical. Killian set her down, brushed her lips with a kiss, then stepped forward, his arms spread wide.

“So, what do you think?”

Emma stepped slowly into the room, taking in the small foyer and the modest living room to the left. To the right was a stairwell, and down a short hall in front of her was a small eat-in kitchen. It was a narrow, two story Victorian, even older than the home she grew up in with Ingrid. Emma wrapped her arms around the post of the stairway banister and looked up at the decorative stain glass panel above the front door which was so common in Victorian homes. It cast shafts of colored light onto the flowered wallpaper. 

“It’s not very big, I know,” Killian told her, “but the man who owns it is a bachelor, after all. The upstairs is better, though. He renovated it to just one huge master suite with a really modern bathroom. It’s got a double shower!”

Emma caught his gaze at that, and a teasing smile lifted her lips. “Really?”

Killian swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He’d never heard that one word sound so laden with sensual promise. Emma bit her lower lip as she regarded him, still draped across the banister. 

“I could . . .” he stuttered, “give you a tour. Of the house, I mean.”

Emma grinned slyly, then gazed up the stairs. “I only want to see the bedroom.”

Killian swallowed again, “Oh - okay.”

Emma stepped closer and took his hand. She said nothing, just gazed at him in a way that took his breath away. He took the stairs, leading her by the hand, every nerve in his body on high alert. 

The stairs led them straight into the master suite, with no door separating the two. At the back of the room was a sitting area surrounded by built-in bookshelves. A TV was mounted on the wall so it could be seen from either the sofa, rocking chair, or bed. 

The bed. It was a queen size, four-poster bed situated in front of a beautiful round window of colored glass. It dominated the room, or at least it seemed to right now. Emma walked to it slowly, running her hands along the quilt that lay across it. When Ingrid had seen the house, she said the quilt was another sign that fate meant them to be together. The pattern of interlocking circles was called a wedding ring quilt. 

Emma wrapped her arms around one of the bedposts, just like she had the banister downstairs, and looked at him shyly. Two spots of color tinted her cheeks. Killian scratched behind his ear and gestured to the door to his left. 

“Do you, uh, want to see the bathroom?”

“Killian,” Emma said gently, “why are you so nervous?”

He was able to laugh, just a bit, at her words, but he didn’t know what to say. Emma took one step forward, took him by the hand and pulled him closer. To her and to the bed. She ran both hands up the front of his shirt and began to undo the buttons. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. 

Suddenly, Emma paused. “What’s under your shirt?”

“The one you made. To solve the first riddle.”

Emma laughed as she worked off his tie and undid the rest of his buttons. “Oh my God, you must have been burning up!”

“You have no idea!” He laughed too and peeled the scratchy, insanely hot shirt up and over his head. He sighed in relief as he tossed it aside, then ran his hand through his sweaty hair. He caught Emma staring at him, her cheeks now bright red. He wondered if she would get nervous now, but instead, she turned her back to him. 

“Unzip me?”

Her back was almost completely bare already in her halter dress. The zipper didn’t start until her lower back. He could scarcely breathe as he slid it down, revealing her lacy underwear. 

“And untie the halter?” Emma’s voice was thick, and he was thankful he wasn’t the only one obviously shaken by desire.

Killian did as she asked, letting his fingers dance along her spine after he finished. Emma sucked in a sudden breath at his touch. He stepped closer, encircling her waist and pressing his chest to her back. Still holding the front of her dress to her chest, Emma leaned back into him, and he trailed kisses along her neck. 

“Are you even wearing a bra?” he asked against her skin.

Emma turned to face him, still holding her dress up. “It’s hard to wear a bra when it’s a halter,” she said, then she let go of the dress, and it fell with a soft rustling sound at her feet. 

For a few heated moments, he took her in, glorious in nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Then he surged forward, pressing her bare breasts against him and devouring her mouth with deep kisses. Emma moaned as he maneuvered her to the bed, and her hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants. 

After kicking aside his pants, he covered Emma with his body, nothing between them but that tiny scrap of lace. His hands roamed, as he sucked on her neck, and Emma panted as she grasped his back. He pulled back for a moment, tenderly cupping her cheek. 

“You asked why I was so nervous.”

“Mhm,” Emma replied, her lips pressed together, and her eyes wide.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his hand drifting down to caress her breasts. 

“A little,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” he confessed, “because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Emma pressed her hands to his cheeks. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He ran his thumb along the waistband of her panties, and she shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes opened and held his as she lifted her hips and guided his hands.

“Do I look scared to you?”

**************************************************************

The window above the bed scattered beams of light in various shades across the quilt that covered Emma and Killian. They were both still naked, and Emma was tucked against him, running her hands through his chest hair. He ran his hands along her bare arm and kept brushing kisses to her forehead. 

Emma let out a contented sight, “That was amazing. I want to do it again and again and again.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I was so worried, I even asked Liam for advice.”

Emma twisted so she could look into his face. “You talked to Liam about us having sex?” she yelped. 

“Not like that, just . . . I wanted to be sure I was sensitive to what you’ve been through. He understood that and was really helpful. I read that some guys are really rushed and insensitive without meaning to be when it’s their first time, and I didn’t want to do anything stupid.”

Emma nodded, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Well, whatever he told you, I need to send him a thank you card, because . . . wow!”

Killian laughed. “Now, that would be awkward.”

Emma suddenly grew quiet, and her hand stilled in its exploration of his chest. 

“Emma?” he asked tentatively.

She sighed and rolled over next to him on her back. For her to lie there next to him, her breasts uncovered, made him feel so honored to receive that vulnerability. Still, something told him she was insecure about something.

“Did I disappoint you, though?” she asked.

Killian rolled closer to her as he exclaimed, “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, I doubt you imagined a woman with this kind of figure for your first time.” She ran her hand over her baby bump, which still wasn’t incredibly noticeable, to be honest. 

“Emma,” he said softly, turning her chin to face him, “you are the most beautiful, exquisite thing I have ever seen in my life. I thought I was going to internally combust for a moment when your dress hit the floor.”

Emma chuckled at that, but he could still see the insecurity in her eyes. He decided to show her instead. He gently ran his hand down the length of her body, stopping at her rounded abdomen. He caressed it gently, then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss right beside her belly button. To his surprise, he felt a small thump in response. 

Emma gasped, and Killian’s head snapped up. “Did he just -”

“Yes,” Emma laughed, “he just kicked you.”

Killian lowered his lips again to Emma’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he said, “it’s me, your daddy.”

He kissed Emma’s belly button again, and Emma dug her fingers into his hair. When he looked back up at her, tears were shining in her eyes. He pushed himself up and kissed her, gently at first, and then with more passion. Emma broke the kiss, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Didn’t you say something about a double shower?”

Before he knew it, she was out of the bed and darting to the bathroom door. With a growl, he jumped up and chased after her. 

[snowbellewells]

@wyntereyez Oh goodness! I apologize for being so late to this party, but I read this first part this morning and absolutely loved it! At first, I thought it had all the makings of a unique and charming little one shot, but then the plot thickened, and we learn that the threat to Emma and all of Storybrooke is a lot bigger and closer than it seemed. I had a definite theory of who the big bad might be, but Walsh being the minion they used, makes me think there is another possibility too… I cannot wait to find out, and to see what else Killian can tell Emma and help he in fighting back.

You really did such a brilliant job in casting this, in characterizing the characters we know in this specific version of SB and specific chain of events. I love that there was humor, sweetness, and real stakes, danger, and tension as well. I really am looking forward to where you will take this so much!!! ❤️😍❤️😍

A Little Batty

Here it is... my @cssns contribution! It's late because I've been burned out, and it was originally going to have art by @spartanguard and be betaed by @ohmakemeahercules, but because I didn't get anything done until the last minute, I didn't want to impose.

--------

A Little Batty

Emma’s nights volunteering at the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center (locally referred to as ‘The Belfry’) weren’t something she’d ever imagined herself doing. She was no Disney princess; she didn’t have a natural rapport with animals. But The Belfry was her sister-in-law’s baby, and who was Emma to resist Mary Margaret’s pleading eyes? And she had to admit, any animal that let you roll it into a little burrito was cute.

Plus, her nights fell on the nights Henry was over at Neal’s. Though she didn’t think she was one of Those Moms who missed their children whenever they weren’t around, Emma admitted to herself that she was lonely when he was gone. Their creaky old house suddenly felt big and empty, and it became too much for Emma. At least at The Belfry, she could socialize without going to the effort of getting dressed up and going out in public.

Ruby was already there when Emma arrived. Unlike Emma, she did have a way with animals (“Not all animals; just creatures of the night,” she’d joked) and was the best at handling the animals when their cages needed cleaning.

And then there was Mary Margaret, who really was a Disney Princess, and you couldn’t convince Emma otherwise. All animals loved her, and she loved all animals. 

They were gathered around Mary Margaret’s desk, discussing distribution of chores (Emma was not on cage-cleaning duty tonight, thank goodness) when they were interrupted by the arrival of William Smee, the man in charge of the local marina.

Emma thought at first he’d come specifically looking for her as sheriff, but he’d only nodded in greeting and headed straight to Mary Margaret.

He was wearing the thick gloves he used for dock work, and held what looked like a ratty old beach towel cupped in both hands. “Mrs. Nolan! I found a bat down at the docks. I didn’t know what else to do with him, so I brought him straight here.”

It was unusual for Smee to be working this late at night, especially past the tourist season, and Emma instinctively wondered why. She mentally scolded herself; she needed to stop being paranoid; not everyone did things for duplicitous reasons. Like her ex.

“Let’s see what you have,” Mary Margaret said. She opened the desk drawer and withdrew a set of the thick leather gloves they used when handling the bats. Smee pulled away the top layer of the towel, just enough to reveal his captive without releasing it.

Emma expected a large brown bat; they made up most of the local bat population, and thus most of The Belfry’s residents. She wasn’t prepared for when the towel fell away from a sharp, fox-like muzzle and huge eyes, topped with large, pointed ears.

It was a fruit bat. A rather large one, at that. It stared calmly back at them with its wide, dark eyes, and twitched its ears. It seemed completely unbothered at being a bat-burrito, suggesting it was accustomed to being handled. It yawned, exposing sharp canines, one of which had a small chip in it.

“Where did you find it?” Mary Margaret asked as she pulled on the thick leather gloves.

“He was down at the docks,” Smee said. “Nestled in a coil of rope. I almost missed him, but he squeaked at me. It’s like he wanted to get my attention.”

The bat squeaked, as though it were chiming in.

“He didn’t even put up a fight. He was easy to catch - you’ll see why,” Smee said as the last of the towel fell away, leaving the bat exposed in Mary Margaret’s hand. Annoyed, the bat spread its wings, and Emma ducked out of the way of the enormous right wing. 

It was only after she righted herself that noticed his left wing, which Mary Margaret had caught and was gently holding. It was only half the length of the right, ending with a club of scar tissue just below what would have been the wrist. Mary Margaret was examining it critically, frowning.

“It’s an old injury,” Mary Margaret said, releasing the wing. The bat gave her a sour look and tucked it to his side. “No way he’s been living wild. He’s probably someone’s pet; a sailor, maybe, since you found him at the docks. He’s definitely used to being handled.”

He was also very obviously a ‘he,’ Emma couldn’t help but notice when the bat rolled over onto his back, his rear towards Emma. He looked towards her, gave a startled squeak, and wrapped his wings around himself.

Emma needed to stop anthropomorphizing the residents, because there was no way he could be embarrassed by accidentally flashing her.

“We’ll put him in one of the isolation cages for now,” Mary Margaret decided. “Just because he seems healthy now, doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with him. Ruby, I brought a banana for a snack; it’s in the break room if you could grab it for me, please?”

“Do you have any idea where he came from?” Emma asked Smee. Fruit bats were illegal to have as pets, and while Emma didn’t think the owner would get more than a fine, they could lead to a larger illegal animal trade organization. “Anyone new around the docks?” It was the wrong time of year for it, though; most of the boats that came to Storybrooke for the summer tourist season had departed in the last few weeks. It was possible one of them had left the bat, but that meant he’d been on the docks fending for himself for at least a week. He look too healthy for a pet that had been abandoned that long.

“We have one ship that’s wintering over for repairs, but he’s not the bat’s owner,” Smee said. He seemed very certain of this, but there was something shifty in his gaze as he said it. Emma prided herself at being good at detecting lies and Smee…wasn’t lying, not exactly, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Before Emma could pursue it further, however, Mary Margaret interrupted.

“Obviously, he can’t be released into the wild,” Mary Margaret sighed. “He seems pretty docile; we can probably put him in the bat educational program, assuming he’s healthy and remains easy to handle. Thank you for bring him, Mr. Smee. We’ll take good care of him.”

Smee took this as his cue to leave, but not without an odd backward glance at the bat.

Emma told herself the bat did not nod at Smee.

Ruby returned with the banana and began to peel it. At the sight of it, the bat began squeaking and straining towards it. “Someone’s hungry,” she cooed, and held it out. The bat’s mouth opened wide, and he tore off a chunk that looked like it should have been too large for him.

They let him eat as much as he wanted while Mary Margaret held him. When he was finished, consuming almost the entire thing (How? Emma wondered. Where did he put it all?), Mary Margaret said, “I need to feed the others. Emma, could you get some gloves and put this guy in the furthest isolation cage?”

Emma grabbed another set of gloves. “Isn’t he too big?” The cages were designed for much smaller brown bats; he’d be cramped.

“He should be okay for a few days. And since he can’t fly, we don’t have to worry about too little space. He should have enough room to spread his wings, at least.”

The bat chittered, and licked banana mush off its muzzle. “We’ll have more fruit for you tomorrow,” Mary Margaret promised. “A variety. How do you feel about strawberries?” She chattered on as she transferred him to Emma.

The bat squeaked excitedly.

Which was a valid reaction to strawberries, but couldn’t be in response to Mary Margaret’s words. Right? 

Could bats pick up words, like dogs? Maybe he did understand ‘strawberries.’

Emma carried the bat to the back area, past the large, open enclosures that housed the permanent populations, as well as the wild ones that would be released as soon as they were ready. The isolation cages were smaller, designed to make it easy to catch a bat that would need constant care and observation.

She opened the door of the last cage, the largest, and gently lowered her hands. It took some prodding to move him off her palms, and at last he moved with great reluctance. He crawled across the floor of the cage to the bars, and immediately began to climb them to the top, unhindered by the missing finger bones of his wing, then crawled around the top until he found the perfect spot. He anchored his feet in place and dropped his body until he was hanging upside down, eye to eye with Emma. Then, with a great yawn, he pulled his wings around himself until only the tips of his ears were visible.

“Stay out of trouble,” she told him.

Emma could have sworn he’d winked at her.

~oOo~

Emma stopped by the marina at the end of her shift, curious if the bat’s owner had returned. Her attention was drawn to a ship she hadn’t seen before, a massive wooden ship that looked like it would be more at home in the Caribbean than in Maine. It was moored at the largest dock, and Emma saw it had no sails, nor any rigging. It must have been the ship Smee said was staying over for the winter, since that was the only reason to derig it. She hadn’t expected anything so… spectacular. The ship was gorgeous. She studied it curiously for several minutes, wondering who would own such a vessel, then shrugged and headed towards the main office. The door was locked, however; Smee had already left, and there was no one else on the docks.

She shrugged and headed to The Belfry.

Mary Margaret was already there, feeding the residents. It alway icked Emma out, to see her gentle sister-in-law feeding the ecstatic bats their mealworms.

“How’s our newest resident?” Emma asked.

“He was just waking up when I checked on him,” Mary Margaret said. “He looks alert, with no obvious signs of illness. The vet stopped by earlier to take some samples, so we should know soon if there’s any diseases we should worry about.” She frowned. “There was a bit of blood in his cage, but the vet couldn’t find any injuries. Did you cut yourself when you put him in the cage last night?”

“No,” she said, but examined her hands anyway.

“Huh. Well, if you’d like to feed him, there’s a bowl of fresh fruit in the fridge for him.” Mary Margaret grinned. “At least you’ll be able to feed this one without screaming,” she teased.

Emma scowled, because her revulsion to mealworms was totally valid, thank you very much.

Ruby had thrown a mealworm at her.

It had gone down her cleavage.

Emma was never going to touch a damn worm again.

Emma found the bowl of fruit, snagging a chunk of melon for herself before picking up the bowl and carrying it to the quarantine cage.

He was clinging to the bars of the cage when she arrived, his nose pressed to the fine mesh between the bars as though he’d been waiting for her. When he saw her - or, more likely, the bowl of fruit - he began to squeak excitedly.

Emma was charmed.

The name ‘Killian’ had been written on the paper taped to his cage, in fancy penmanship that Emma didn’t recognize.

“Killian, huh?” Emma asked.

The bat squeaked.

“Okay, if you say so.”

She snagged another piece of fruit - a strawberry this time, much to the bat’s indignation - then placed the bowl at the bottom of the cage. Killian quickly climbed down and hopped into the bowl, quickly losing himself in fruity bliss.

Emma laughed, then went to help Mary Margaret finish up.

“Who named him Killian?” she asked.

Mary Margaret frowned. “I thought you did. The name was there when I got here, and you were the last one to see him.”

“If I’d named him, it would be something like ‘Batty,’” Emma pointed out. “Or possibly ‘Dracula.’” She shrugged. “He seems to like it, so we may as well keep it.”

Mary Margaret gave her a strange look. “I’m sure he doesn’t care,” was all she said.

~oOo~

Killian’s test results came back clean. As long as his phlegmatic temperament continued, he’d be introduced to the other bats, though he’d be kept in a cage alone to accommodate his disability. He seemed fine with this; the smaller cage was beside the bigger one, so he could watch and communicate with the other bats if he chose. It also had bars that were easier to grip and climb. For a fruit bat with full, functional wings, it wouldn’t be ideal, but since Killian couldn’t fly, all he needed was enough room to stretch his wings to the fullest without touching the bars.

When he continued to be easy to handle, they decided it was safe to hold him without gloves. He seemed to like this, settling into Emma’s hands contentedly.

That was how she found out that bats <i>purred.</i>

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. “He really likes you! Guess you’re his official caretaker from now on.”

Killian continued to purr in her hands. Emma decided maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Because he was so comfortable with people, even seeming to prefer their company, Emma took to carrying him around the sanctuary. Sometimes he’d be burritoed in a blanket, other times he’d drape over her shoulder, that incredibly long intact wing lazily hanging down. He seemed very curious about the computer whenever she played around with it at the desk (officially ‘doing paperwork’ for the sanctuary, but actually looking at memes) and she’d see his wide, dark eyes staring at the images.

He seemed especially interested in the staffing schedule.

Emma was also the only one he allowed to ‘fly’ him. It was something they did with elderly bats, holding them and carrying them around the sanctuary, wings spread, as if they were flying. Killian seemed bemused by the whole process, but allowed himself to be carried around. 

Especially since the reward was always a bowl of fresh fruit - and gentle ear scritches from Emma.

~oOo~

Emma hadn’t intended to start dating again. Her divorce from Neal had been messy; he hadn’t been willing to let her go, despite his affair with his now-girlfriend Tamara. She thought she was done with men.

And then her sister-in-law introduced her to Walsh. They’d met when Mary Margaret had gone to the new furniture store in town, and she’d been charmed by his politeness. 

Emma had tried to refuse Mary Margaret’s efforts to set them up, but then David had joined in. Her brother had thus far sided with Emma, and had talked Mary Margaret out of multiple attempts at a set-up. For him to approve of Walsh? That meant something. So Emma had reluctantly agreed to the date.

Walsh felt… safe. He was polite, respectful. Not particularly adventurous, which would have been a big turn-off once, but now it had appeal. Best of all, he didn’t argue with her every decision. She’d forgotten what it was like to be in a relationship with no drama.

One date became two, and plans were made for a third.

~oOo~

Emma arrived late to the sanctuary on the night of her second date. She hadn’t wanted to be out so late, but Walsh had admitted to being something of a night owl, and didn’t really eat until around nine in the evening. Emma had had to have a pre-dinner before dinner, because she knew she’d starve to death if she waited that long.

But she’d had more fun than expected. And eating later in the evening meant fewer diners, which had made the restaurant more intimate. 

She’d liked it.

And the dim interior made it harder to maintain eye contact with Walsh. She’d noticed that he had a really intense gaze, and tried to meet hers as often as he could. It was… uncomfortable, for reasons Emma couldn’t really explain.

Emma put it out of her mind as she turned her attention on the anxious fruit bat, who was perched with his muzzle sticking out of the cage. At the sight of her, he gave several ear-piercing shrieks.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Killian gave her a sour look.

“Hey! Don’t give me that! It’s not like you can tell time!”

He continued to glower.

“Okay, sorry!”

He tilted his head, considering. Then, with a sound that was almost a purr, he extended his right wing towards her thumb, snagging it with his clever little finger, and pulling her hand closer. He was about to pull himself onto her hand when he suddenly froze.

His nose twitched, wrinkled, and he bared his sharp little teeth. And then he did something he’d never done before.

He hissed.

Emma jerked her hands back. “Whoa! What’s with you today?”

He continued to stare at her as though she smelled rancid, and he wouldn’t come near her. Rather than stress him out further, Emma let him be. It wouldn’t hurt him to miss a night of flying.

~oOo~

A bat’s rejection shouldn’t have stung.

Killian continued to be edgy the rest of the night, so she left him alone.

After her shift, Emma realized she was too restless to sleep. Maybe it was a lingering excitement over the date, or maybe Emma really had taken Killian’s tantrum personally, but she didn’t want to go home. It was Neal’s weekend with Henry, and she couldn’t face being cooped up in that empty house.

So she went to The Rabbit Hole, Storybrooke’s only nightlife scene. She drew a few glances as she walked in, but they lost interest as soon as they saw she was off duty. She went straight to the bar and ordered a strawberry daiquiri, because apparently hanging around a fruit bat made you crave fruity things.

She’d been there maybe ten minutes when someone sat beside her. A richly accented voice that definitely did not send a shiver down Emma’s spine asked for a rum. 

Emma waited until he’d been served his drink before turning to him and asking, “New in town?” 

He turned, and Emma’s breath hitched when she met those blue, blue eyes. “What gave it away, Love?” he asked, amused.

English accents turned her into putty. Especially when combined with a smoldering gaze.

Mistakes had been made.

“I know everyone in this town,” she said. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh? And who might you be?”

“I’m the sheriff,” she warned him. 

“And you don’t take kindly to strangers ‘round these parts?” he mocked, adapting a twang.

“We’re fine with strangers - so long as they don’t bring trouble.”

He grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “And I look like trouble?”

Emma arched an eyebrow. 

His smile widened. Oh, he knew exactly how he looked.

“Killian Jones,” he said, offering his hand. Emma lifted a brow when, instead of shaking, he brushed his lips across the back of her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She hmmphed, refusing to be charmed by his old world manners.

Emma’s eyes fell on his left wrist, where a thick leather brace supported a rather alarming looking metal hook. His gaze followed hers. “Forgive the hardware,” he said. “Crude, I know, but it’s far more useful sailing than a more delicate prosthesis or a false hand.” He pulled his arm closer to his chest, not quite hiding it, but at least making it look less threatening.

His name wasn’t the only thing he had in common with their fruit bat.

“Are you a sailor, Mr. Jones?”

“Killian,” he reminded her. “Or Captain Jones, if you prefer to be formal. And I’m actually a pirate.”

Emma scoffed, then realized, “That old-fashioned ship in the marina! It’s yours!”

Killian nodded. “Aye, the Jolly Roger,” he said. That seemed a bit too on point. “I do charter sails for history buffs, as well as doing movie and television appearances. You’d be surprised what people will pay for a two-week Caribbean cruise with a dashing rapscallion like meself.” He grinned, and once again Emma had the unsettling thought that his teeth were very, very sharp.

“And what brings you here, Captain?”

“My ship is in need of repair, so I’m going to winter over in your lovely town,” he said. 

“Odd; Granny Lucas didn’t mention taking in any lodgers,” Emma noted.

“I’ve made other arrangements,” Killian shrugged.

Maybe he’d leased a place, then. The cottages were usually only available to lease to summer tourists, but she wouldn’t be surprised if one of the owners made an exception.

“You don’t happen to own a bat, do you?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked rapidly, blindsided.

He had beautiful eyelashes.

“Like…a baseball bat?” he asked slowly.

“Never mind,” Emma muttered. She pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of her pocket and set them on the bar. She stood up. “Nice to meet you Mr. - Captain Jones. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I didn’t get your name,” he said. It wasn’t a demand; rather, a polite inquiry. He was allowing her to be mysterious if she chose. Not that it would be hard to find out her name, since she was the sheriff. Still, she appreciated it.

“Emma Swan,” she said.

“See you around, Swan,” he said, low and throaty, and she totally did not shiver.

She left before she could embarrass herself.

~oOo~

Emma’s third date with Walsh led to a fourth.

After each date, Killian-the-bat would give her that angry hiss, and Emma wondered if he were somehow jealous that someone else was taking her time.

But he’d eventually get over it.

Which was probably a good thing, because they had their first school visit of the semester, and if he’d been cranky, he’d have missed out on having dozens of adoring children who cooed at him and gave him all the fruit he could ever want.

Though he wasn’t too crazy about being touched by their sticky fingers. But he allowed it, showing more patience than Emma had ever had.

She saw Killian-the-human several times over the next week; usually at the bar, once, coming out of the hardware store with items she assumed were for ship repair. Each time, he gave her a significant Look that she couldn’t read.

And then it happened, on a night when Emma was walking out of Granny’s diner with a bag full of carryout containers and a couple of donuts in preparation for an overnight shift at The Belfry. 

After three weeks of casual conversation, Killian asked her out for a drink. 

And Emma…she wanted to go.

Even though she barely knew him, she felt a spark with him, something that was more than just the thrill of his smoldering gaze.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” she said.

She hadn’t meant to sound regretful. She shouldn’t feel bad about dating Walsh, right?

“You don’t sound so certain,” Killian observed.

Dammit. “No, I am,” she said firmly. “He’s…nice.”

“All right,” Killian said. “I’ll see you around then, Swan.”

Emma released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That had been harder than she’d expected. And a little part of her had feared he wouldn’t respond well to being ‘friendzoned.’

She watched him walk away, swaggering, then turned and stepped forward - into something very solid.

Walsh.

A deep frown was etched into his features. Emma wondered how long he’d been standing there in the dark, and if he’d heard everything.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Emma didn’t like his tone. Clearly, he had been eavesdropping.

“Just someone wintering over,” Emma said. “We talk occasionally.”

“He seemed to want to do more than talk,” Walsh said. His jaw was clenched, and Emma frowned. Oh, no. They were not going to do this.

“It doesn’t matter what he wanted,” Emma said coolly.

“Come to dinner with me,” Walsh said. It wasn’t a question.

Oh, hell no. She was not going to put up with this possessive bullshit. 

“I have other plans,” she said.

“Like what?” he demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

Something flickered across Walsh’s face, then he abruptly deflated. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I have nothing to worry about. I just don’t want to lose you, Emma.”

Emma studied him, all senses on alert. But he seemed sincere enough. Still… “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” she told him wearily. “Right now, I have to get going.”

She made it to The Belfry just as Ruby was leaving for the day. “I left some bags of popcorn for you for later,” she told Emma as she pulled on her coat. “There’s some Milk Duds, too.”

Emma grinned. “You’re the best, Ruby.”

“I know,” the other woman grinned toothily.

Nights at The Belfry tended to be long. Emma only over-nighted once a week, and she used the time to binge watch shows. The last time she’d done it, Killian-the-bat had sat on her shoulder and squeaked at the screen.

She’d just checked the bats and was about to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave when she heard the front door open.

Emma froze. She could have sworn she locked it.

And then a familiar voice called, “Emma?” and she relaxed. Marginally. Why was Walsh here?

“Walsh, hey,” Emma said cautiously. “We don’t really allow guests this late at night.”

“I’m not a guest, I’m your boyfriend,” he reminded her. 

Emma went over to the front desk, sitting on the edge. Her hand crept over to the lamp on the corner.

“That doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? Is he here?”

Nope. Not doing this.

“Walsh… If you’re going to do this, then I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I’m not going to put up with someone who doesn’t trust me and stalks me at work.”

Walsh leaned back, staring down at her. But he made no move to leave. Emma braced herself for the inevitable meltdown.

Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.

At her shocked look, he said, “Did you think that would hurt me? It’s a relief, actually,” Walsh said. “Having to pretend to be interested in you is draining. You’re too abrasive, and you don’t trust anyone. Which, admittedly, was the right choice here. But it’s over now, and my master will reward me well.”

His eyes were red. Not bloodshot, but glowing a baleful crimson. “What the fu-”

Then their eyes locked, and Emma felt…something. It writhed around in her mind, clawing into her, leaving her feeling dirty. He was inside her head somehow, and she wanted him out, out, OUT!

Emma jerked her gaze away, and Walsh snarled.

“Why isn’t this working?” Walsh fumed. “You should be mine!” Then he smirked, showing off far too sharp teeth. “Guess we’ll have to do this the fun way, then.”

Emma reacted. Her hand flew to the heavy lamp on the desk corner, and she flung it at Walsh’s head. He didn’t react in time, and it hit him squarely in the forehead.

He didn’t even flinch.

It should have taken him down, or at least disoriented him long enough to continue attacking or escape. No man should have taken a direct hit to the head and just shaken it off.

He wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t human.

So Emma ran.

Her lunge to the side caught Walsh by surprise, and he didn’t immediately react. It bought her a few precious seconds to dart through the door leading towards the cage room.

There was an emergency exit in the back of the sanctuary. Emma sprinted towards it.

Walsh stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

<i>How?!</i> How had he gotten in front of her? It wasn’t possible!

“I’m not here to kill you, Emma,” Walsh said in exasperation. “I’m just going to take you to my master.”

Killian shrieked, beating his wings against the bars of his cage. Walsh ignored him.

“But…nobody said I couldn’t rough you up a bit.” His hands extended towards her, tipped in razor sharp claws.

Killian fell silent.

Emma dropped to the floor and kicked her leg out, hitting Walsh in the knee with bone-breaking force. It didn’t do more than stagger him, however, and he quickly recovered. Emma rolled away, but misjudged her direction and slammed into one of the cages. The bats inside fluttered their wings in agitation.

Walsh lunged towards her.

And then Walsh crashed to the floor. Something bumped and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop before Emma. Walsh’s head, the red fading from his eyes as they slowly dimmed. 

Standing over the body was Killian, the human Killian, dressed in black leather and wielding what looked like a pirate’s cutlass. “Are you all right, Love?” he asked.

His eyes had the same red glow as Walsh’s.

“What the fuck?” Emma shrieked.

Killian gave her a crooked smile.

A fang poked out from behind his lips.

“Apologies, Love,” Killian Jones said. The red was fading from his eyes, though the sharp fangs remained. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Emma just stared at his teeth.

One of them was chipped. Just like Killian-the-bat’s.

“You’re…you’re…” 

“A vampire, yes,” Killian said. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. But Emma supposed that made more sense than what she’d been about to say: You’re my bat! “As was your…boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Emma muttered. “It was just a couple of dates.”

“Mmph.” He crouched down, examining Walsh’s body. Then, to her horror, he dragged his finger through the small pool of blood and put it in his mouth.

“He’s a neophyte; probably not more than a year since he was changed. Which means his master has to be close by, because a vampire this young seldom strays far from his master.” Killian studied her closely. “Which means he was specifically sent to seduce you. I wonder why?”

Emma didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t know, she wasn’t special. 

“You somehow resisted his attempt to control you,” Killian continued. “That’s a rare gift.”

”You should be mine,” Walsh had said. 

“How can you be a vampire?” There was a shrill edge of panic to her voice. This was too much, far too much.

“It’s a long story,”  he said. “I won’t get into that tonight. All you need to know is that I hunt vampires like him, those who break our laws and hunt humans.”

“But… I’ve seen you during the day.” Walsh, on the other hand, she’d never before sunset. She’d just assumed he was a night owl, not a freaking <i>vampire</i>

“I’m over 300 years old. I’ve developed an immunity to sunlight. I don’t like it, but I can go out in it.”

“Three hun-” Her brain stuttered to a halt. “Are you actually a pirate?”

Killian chuckled. “I have been called such, yes. I prefer ‘dashing rapscallion.’”

“You would,” she scoffed. 

“There’s that spirit,” he said approvingly. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

She tried to back away, forgetting in her panic that the cage was behind her.

“I’ve been here over a month, and you haven’t had any mysterious deaths or illnesses related to blood loss, aye?”

There hadn’t been, actually. The town had been as calm as it always was after the tourist season ended. That didn’t mean Killian didn’t do his hunting elsewhere, but she hadn’t heard anything from the nearest towns, either.

“So…you’ve been living in town as a bat and a human for a month, and no one even noticed?”

“The werewolf knows, but she and I reached an understanding.”

“The…the werewolf…” Emma repeated faintly.

“The lovely Miss Lucas,” Killian said. “She figured out what I was fairly quickly, but we came to an agreement.”

“Ruby…is a werewolf…”

“Aye. She’ll probably be furious that I told you, but she will vouch for me. She knows our laws, and how strictly we enforce them.”

This was all too much. Emma had snapped. She blurted out the next thing that came to mind. “Shouldn’t you be a <i>vampire bat</i>?”

Killian looked pained. “I don’t have the most fearsome bat form, I admit.” And then his expression became lascivious. “But I’m certainly one of the biggest.”

Of course you are, Emma thought. 

Emma’s hands were still shaking. She clenched her fists, hoping to hide the trembling.

He noticed, however, and his face softened.

“I mean you no harm, Swan,” Killian said softly. “I rarely need to partake in human blood, and then only with willing donors. This town is safe from me.” His gaze went to Walsh’s corpse. “His master, however, seems to have no such qualms. It appears we were right about his intentions.”

“Is…is that why you’re here?” Emma asked. 

“To find his master, yes,” Killian said. “We suspected that a powerful old vampire was no longer keeping to our laws, and I was dispatched to track them. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for some time. Though I suppose you’ll want me to find other accommodations,” he added regretfully. “Pity; you have some lovely fruit.” 

Emma assumed that was supposed to be an entendre, but when she looked at his expression, she realized that, no, he actually meant fruit. What kind of vampire fed on fruit? “You can stay for now, until you find something better,” Emma offered. “Although, you will have to put up with the Bat Education Program,” she finished apologetically. “Mary Margaret wants to make you the star. But somehow, I don’t think you mind being the center of attention.”

Killian grimaced. “I’ll tolerate it. But only if the children wash their hands,” he growled

“She’s calling you the ‘am-bat-sador,’” Emma warned.

”Bloody hell,” Killian groaned. “But it will help me guard the children. They’re preferred victims of rogue vampires,” he concluded grimly.

A shiver went down her spine, and this time it wasn’t because of his accent.

Something evil was coming to Storybrooke.

~fin~