didiwritethis

[didiwritethis]

Cupid Flies Commercial (1/7)

Emma Swan is having the worst trip of her life, only to have a sexy Irishman come along and make it worse. He's rude, he's arrogant, and Emma can't stop fighting with him. When their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for a very steamy layover, Emma just thinks it's a one-time thing. And that's all it was--until he shows up on her doorstep.

Inspired by Samantha Young's Fight or Flight.

Read on AO3 

Emma Swan was already having a terrible day before her flight was cancelled. She’d woken up late, nursing a bad hangover, and in her rush to make her (now cancelled) flight, she had to forgo a cup of coffee. She’d barely made it in time, sprinting to her gate, only to arrive just as they started to announce that the flight was cancelled, due to ‘weather conditions’ out East.

She let out a big sigh, unwilling to wait until the end of the announcement. Since the passengers would be rebooked, she figured she’d get ahead of the rest. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, and started striding over to the attendant at the gate, who was beaming her direction. The attendant, a small brunette, was overly smiley for someone who’d have to deal with over a hundred disgruntled passengers, but Emma shrugged it off.

Just as she neared the desk, she was rudely shoved by a hefty laptop bag and its owner. He was a tall, raven-haired man who took her place, and probably didn’t even realize that he had hit her.

“I need to be rebooked through to Boston, please. Upgrade me too.” He said in a gruff Irish (or so Emma thought) accent.

The brunette blushed, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Of course, sir. Let me just check…We’ll have to reroute you through Chicago, and it’s an overnighter, I’m sorry…but you’re in luck, Mr Jones. I can upgrade you to the last remaining seat in first class.”

Emma was furious. Not only did this guy shove her out of the way and not apologize, he took the last first class seat (that she was hoping to convince the attendant to upgrade her to for free).

“It’s fine.” He said, waving it off. “I’ll take it. Just so long I’m getting out of Tallahassee today.”

“What?” Emma said, shoving her way up to the counter.

The rude Irishman (the name Emma had been calling him in her head) turned to face her, and Emma had to suck in a breath.

The man was gorgeous. Model gorgeous. A thick growth of dark hair that fell artfully across his forehead, he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen- even bluer than Elsa’s, if that was possible. He had sharp cheekbones, and a hint of a handlebar moustache around his (unexpectedly) full lips. She couldn’t decide if it was more than just scruff, but it looked good. Even his outfit – tailored navy suit – screamed model. No wonder the attendant was so eager to please! Still, it would take a lot more than a pretty face to rattle Emma Swan.

“What?” he said, staring at her as if she were a crazy person.

“You,” she said, jabbing a finger at him, “shoved me out of the way and took the seat I wanted. It should have been mine.”

He blinked once and waved his hand dismissively at her. “You’re mistaken, lass. I didn’t see you. I got this seat fair and square.” He then turned back around to take his new boarding pass and his passport from the attendant. “Excuse the shrieking lady.” He told her.

Emma’s fury turned into blind rage and it took all the strength that she had not to deck the man across his stupid, attractive face.

“Excuse me?!”

He turned around and looked at her again, this time with a sneer of condescension.

“Sorry, Princess. Guess you won’t get your way this time.”

And with that, he strode off.

Emma wanted to scream. She wanted to storm off and shove the man into the nearest potted plant. Alas, her rational brain told her to get her ticket and then run off to maim and murder the man. He as bad as some of the perps she dealt with!

She’d get the last word.

“Whatever, dick!” she yelled at his rapidly retreating back. She hoped he had heard.

She then took a deep breath, and turned to the desk.

“I need to be rebooked to Boston, please.” She forced a smile at the attendant, who stared at eye with wide eyes.

“Right. Um, sorry about that. I did see you approach, but he happened to get in front.”

Happened? The attendant was acting like he had power-walked ahead of her instead of practically throwing her out of the way.

“So we’re rerouting a lot of the passengers through Chicago. And the connection leaves the next day, sorry. I’ll put you on our waiting list for first class, though. In case something opens up.”

She paused.

“We’re really sorry.” And she sounded like she meant it.

Emma smiled genuinely at the attendant, who smiled sheepishly back.

“Thank you,”-she peered at the name badge-“Aurora.”

She took her ticket and vouchers, stuffing them all haphazardly into her bag.

At least the day couldn’t get any worse.

Her flight was rerouted through O’Hare, with an overnight stay at the airport hotel. She didn’t want to spend any more time away from Boston, and it was at least a 3 hour flight, but at least it would be a nice break. And the airline was paying for it, so even better.

The one other small silver lining was that now she had a little time to go grab a coffee. Spying a coffee cart with a short line, she hurried over. The flight to O’Hare was boarding in 15 minutes, and there were only 5 people in line. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spied someone heading towards the same line.

That someone was the Rude Irishman. Suddenly Emma’s anger was back.

She sprinted to the line, just managing to make it in front of him.

“You snooze, you lose.” She shot over her shoulder.

“Real mature.” He shot back.

“Doesn’t matter. Here’s one line you can’t shove your way through.”

“You really are crazy.”

“You really are a dick!”

“You’re weirdly obsessed with my dick.”

She spun around in indication.

“Those are insults. Surely you must get a ton of those a day.”

“Perhaps, but none that are that specific.”

Without meaning to, Emma’s eyes drifted to the very subject matter they were discussing, but she caught herself quickly. She couldn’t stop the blush though.

“It hurts to be objectified like this.”

She glared at his smug face.

“Whatever. Dick.” She smirked at him. “I’m still ahead of you.”

He didn’t respond, just strode out of the line, heading towards the front.

Emma’s jaw dropped. Was he just going to cut in front? Oh hell no! She took off after him.

He reached the front of the line when Emma caught up to him. Why’d he have such a long stride?

“Excuse me, madam, my flight is departing soon. Would you mind if I cut in?” He said to the older lady in front of him, turning on the charm.

She smiled at him, clearly affected by his dumb cute smile. “Of course, dear.”

She stepped aside and let him get in front.

“I love your accent. Where’s it from?”

“Ireland.” He responded with a smile.

You can’t just cut the line like that! There are other people waiting! Emma wanted to yell. Instead, she turned to the woman with a charming (or so she hoped) smile of her own.

“I’m on the same flight as this man, would you mind letting me jump ahead as well?”

The Irishman snorted, and she glared at his back.

The older lady, frowned, and tapped his arm, and he turned around to face her.

“Do you know this woman?” she asked.

He glanced over at Emma, a blank expression on his face.

“I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”

Emma’s mouth fell open.

The older lady’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so, missy. Back to the line with you.”

Emma glared at the Irishman, wanting to scream at him, but he smirked at her.

“Better hurry, lass. There’s quite a queue forming.”

She whirled around to confirm, and somehow, ten other people had joined the line! There was no way she was getting her coffee now.

“Thanks, dick!” She yelled, as she stormed away, but not before noticing his shoulders shake from a silent laugh.

She headed to her gate, and proceeded to the counter to see if maybe, just maybe, she could snag a first class seat. She really needed a win.

She smiled at the attendant as she approached, a kindly looking man with red curls and wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hi, I’m on the waiting list for first class…and I was wondering…” she trailed off and smiled hopefully.

The man smiled back.

“Of course miss, let me check.” He gestured for her boarding pass, which she gratefully handed over.

She heard him tap away at his computer for a few minutes, his expression unreadable.

Then his head shot up and he grinned widely at her.

“You’re very lucky, miss Swan. We’ve had someone cancel, so I’m able to book you all the way through to Boston on first class.”

She could have kissed the man.

“Thank you, thank you! You don’t know how much this means!”

He laughed softly and shook his head.

“Just doing my job, miss. Have a great flight.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

She had lingered a bit before boarding, sequestering herself in a corner so that she could fire off texts to David and Elsa to update them of the situation. When she finally did board, she was faced with a nasty surprise.

Her seatmate was none other than the Irishman. What had she done to deserve this?

To his credit, he didn’t look happy to see her either.

“Are you following me?” he asked, with a quirked eyebrow.

Emma snorted in disgust.

“Hell no. I’d rather throw myself off a mountain.”

“Bit harsh, love.”

Emma scowled at him.

“I’m not your love, and my seat is the window, so move, buddy.”

He stood up and moved to let her in, wordlessly gesturing to her seat.

She made her way in, plopping down in her seat.

“Give me your bag.”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

He sighed.

“Your bag. I’ll put it in the bin for you.”

Emma deflated a bit.

“Oh. Err, thanks.”

She held her bag out to him, and he reached up to put it in the overhead bin. Somewhere along the way from stealing her coffee and boarding the plane, he’d ditched his jacket, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and also managed to untuck his shirt. A shirt that happened to rise up when he stretched, giving Emma a quick glance that confirmed what she already suspected – he had a nice body. Emma shook that thought out of her head.

He settled back down next to her.

Emma decided that she would just ignore him for the duration of the flight, but couldn’t help but get distracted by his arms. Was that a tattoo peeking out from one of his sleeves? Her eyes drifted up. Had his first two buttons always been undone? There was some chest hair that curled out at her. He was also wearing, she realised, a necklace with a skull and crossbones pendant. Who was this guy? A pirate?

He confused her – his outfit screamed business, but his necklace and tattoos screamed biker bad boy, and Emma never had a good encounter with either.

“See something you like?”

Emma’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Sure, there was a divider between them with a cup holder, but it was a lot smaller than she had assumed. There was no escaping each other’s gazes. Slightly embarrassed she was caught staring, she countered back.

“You wish.”

And then he surprised her by laughing.

“God, you’re a tough lass.”

Before Emma could respond, the flight attendant came by.

“May I offer you something to drink, Mr. Jones? Some champagne, perhaps?”

He tilted his body towards her.

“Two fingers of rum, if you’ve got it. Thanks.”

She nodded and looked over to Emma.

“And for you, Ms. Swan?”

“Coffee, please. But maybe the champagne too.”

Emma wasn’t going to turn down free champagne on her first (and probably only) first class experience.

They were each handed their drinks in turn, with the flight attendant promising to be back with Emma’s coffee.

Emma downed hers in one shot, and the Irishman shot her a bemused look.

“What?” she said defensively. “It’s been a long day.”

“Aye, that it has, love.”

“Not your love.”

His grin faded.

“Are you always ready for a fight, or are you just particularly determined to vex me?”

Emma bristled.

“I’m just not chummy with rude strangers who think it’s okay to shove people around.”

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Christ, we’ve been through this. I didn’t see you. And you have admit, you were acting a bit mental.”

“You were unbelievably rude! And you basically called me a princess who always gets her way!” she shot back.

“Oh, and your actions weren’t the actions of a woman who always gets her way? I thought you were going to throw a tantrum right there.”

“That’s rich coming from a prissy pretty boy who thinks he can flirt his way into everything.”

He snorted.

“Like you don’t bat your eyelashes and make men fawn all over you? I’m surprised you didn’t call up a sugar daddy and ask him to buy you a private plane!”

Emma was now more than enraged. No one had ever accused her of being spoiled and privileged. No one would after they found out what she’d been through. She leaned forward and across the divider to jab his arm with a finger.

“Listen buddy, I don’t have a sugar daddy, nor do I need one. I don’t need a man, full stop.”

She paused, thinking of something to throw back at him, to hurt him, but she couldn’t think of one. She was so angry and flustered by his words, she wasn’t sure what to say next. Plus, she thought, it would be an even longer fight if she kept bickering with this man.

“You don’t know me, okay? You don’t know my life.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Look, it’s been a very stressful trip and I….I don’t have to explain myself to you.” She finished, realizing that she was about to bring up the specifics of her trip, which wasn’t something she’d want to share with a stranger.

The Irishman said nothing, but continued to stare at her.

“You certainly don’t, lov-Swan.” He said finally.

And suddenly he was (kinda) nice again. What was his problem? He surprised her when he took her bag for her, and she was almost sure he was flirting with her when he caught her staring at him earlier, but his rapid switches in mood were giving her emotional whiplash. Still, better to keep things positive.

“Thanks, Jones.” She returned.

“Killian will do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And this is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Swan is fine.”

He just rolled his eyes and shook his head at that.

The flight attendant was back, handing Emma her coffee and taking her empty glass.

“We’ll be taking off soon.” She told them both.

Emma nodded, and warmed her hands with her hot cup. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled the rich smell. She took a sip and let out a happy sigh. As soon as they were in the air, she’d pop an Advil and pass out.

She’d be on her way home soon, if Killian Jones didn't give her an aneurysm first.

[didiwritethis]

Should/Should Not: Christmas Edition

A follow up to Should/Should Not: Emma's not one for office Christmas parties, but she might just use this one to show Killian Jones how she really feels.

Basically some good old holiday smut.

Also on AO3 and FFN

“What’s this about a Christmas party?”

Emma cursed internally. She could have sworn that she had thrown it out. She had certainly meant to. Once glance at Regina’s party invitation had told her everything she need to know, specifically that she did not want to go. And who sends invitations by registered mail? She looked over at Killian. He was still in his coat, standing by the door, smirking at the embossed invitation that he had unearthed from somewhere (Seriously, she was positive that she had tossed it). He glanced up at her and shot her an infuriating smirk.

“It’s nothing. Just a holiday party that the Mayor’s office is throwing. It’s stupid.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her, and then glanced down at the fancy invitation that was now in his hand.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing, Swan.”

Emma let out a frustrated sigh, and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to complain. Not tonight, when she finally had some time alone with him. It seemed to her that complaining was all that she had been doing lately, and she felt terrible. She hoped he would let it go, but Killian continued to stare at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Ever since the Sherriff’s office moved into the same building as Madam Mayor’s office, she’s been trying to win us over. She even brought us apple turnovers once, for chrissake.”

His lips turned upwards into a bemused smile.

“Since when do you turn down a sugary snack?”

Emma glared at him, his penchant for healthy foods was a point of contention with her, especially when he lectured her about her love of Pop Tarts. (“It’s not a breakfast food, Swan!”)

“Since she’s always been on our case? About everything?”

Silently, Killian strode across the room and gently prised her arms out of their defensive lock, and pulled her into a warm embrace. His hands moved to rub small circles into her back, and Emma could feel her previous anger evaporate. She shifted against him, appreciative of his warmth, and began to relax. Just at that moment, the door pushed opened, and she peered over Killian’s shoulder to see who it was.

“I wanna hug too!”

A small shape hurtled towards them, forcing Emma and Killian to part. Henry threw himself at Killian’s legs, causing the man to laugh and reach down for her son.

“How could I refuse?” he said, picking the boy up and hugging him tight. If Emma was a Christmas Grinch, this would be the part where her heart grew ten sizes.

“Ooh, sorry about that, he just took off when I put him down.”

Mary Margaret sidled into the living room, brushing snow off her hat. She looked a little harried, and still had Henry’s backpack slung across her shoulder. Emma shook her head with a grin and reached out for the bag.

“Don’t worry about it. Ever since he learnt how to walk without a wobble, he’s been trying to beat Usain Bolt’s record.”

Mary Margaret giggled.

“He certainly tries! He gave me quite the runaround tod-Hey!”

The offending invitation that now lay abandoned on the sofa caught her eye, and she reached for it, her eyes gleaming.

“Are you going to the party? I’m so excited!”

And she really did look excited, even though Emma knew that she and Regina weren’t on the best of terms. It was impossible to dispel Mary Margaret’s excitement, especially during the holidays. Not that Emma would want to – it would be like kicking a puppy. Luckily, Emma had a foolproof excuse.

“I can’t, I wouldn’t be able to get a babysitter for that night.”

“Nonsense!”

Mary Margaret’s assured declaration jolted Emma.

So much for that.

“Belle’s available-” Emma recalled the librarian who always cooed at Henry-“and I bet she’s love to look after him!”

“But…I…err, I couldn’t stay out late, and so then what’s the point of going at all-”

Mary Margaret cut her off with a dismissive wave, an aggressive move for the usually docile teacher. Emma was stunned by the effort she was putting into trying to convince her. Normally it was David who would get on her case, and Mary Margaret would accept her excuses without so much as an eye roll.

“Granny can always keep him overnight, if you’re concerned.”

Emma frowned. Mary Margaret had her there. Granny Lucas had looked after Henry on occasion, and Henry had stayed overnight with her once when a case kept Emma in the office all night.

“I’ll check with her.” Emma replied, hoping that the older woman would say no.

Mary Margaret glanced in Killian’s direction, but he was too preoccupied with Henry to notice. Satisfied by Killian’s distraction, she grabbed Emma’s hand and dragged her into the kitchen, out of earshot.

“Mary Margaret, what’s up with you?”

The shorter woman shot her a sly look.

“You haven’t slept with Killian yet, have you?”

Emma turned red and spluttered, and Mary Margaret leaned back on the countertop with a smug expression.

“I knew it.”

“We’re taking slow, okay? We’ve only been dating for a little over a month! And there’s a kid around!” Emma hissed at her.

“Which is why I suggested that Granny keep him over night.”

Emma didn’t respond, her embarrassment getting the better of her. Mary Margaret giggled and patted her shoulder.

“Just think about it.”

“There’s a theme.”

“What?”

Emma paused, Killian’s coat dangling in her hand. Surely she heard it wrong. It was late, and her brain felt sluggish. Yeah, that was it. Henry had taken much longer than Emma had anticipated to fall asleep, demanding stories from both Emma and Killian, and once the little boy had finally closed eyes, Emma couldn’t help but yawn, causing Killian to echo her actions.  Regretfully, they acknowledged it was time for him to leave.

He hadn’t mentioned the party since he first brought it up, no doubt distracted by Henry. Though Emma couldn’t be sure. Perhaps he was biding his time, waiting until she was incapacitated by exhaustion in order to catch her off guard. She squinted at him suspiciously.

He smirked at her, reaching out for his coat and purposefully brushing her hand as he did.

“There’s a theme for the party.”

“Of course there is.” Emma muttered darkly. Killian still continued to grin like he had won the lottery, clearly waiting for her to ask.

She rolled her eyes at him. “What’s the theme?” She sighed.

“Naughty & Nice.”

Emma spluttered. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that. She was expecting something tame, like an ugly sweater party. That seemed more office-appropriate. Though she doubted that Regina would ever own anything ugly.

“Wha-what? What kind of theme is that?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and stepped forward into her space. His fingers reached up to play with her curls, and his mouth dipped toward hers.

“What will you be, Swan? Naughty or nice?”

Emma’s breath hitched in her throat and she felt a low tug of desire in her belly. She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice to match his. Her fingers moved to trace a pattern on his sweater, fingering the edge where wool met skin.

“What would you prefer?”

His eyes darkened and focused on her lips, and his smirk grew more lewd.

“Both.”

Later after she had been kissed a breathless goodbye, she called Granny Lucas.

Emma eyed the dress before her apprehensively. Where on earth had Mary Margaret found it? Did she dredge it out of the dark corners of Ruby’s closet? It was dark green velvet, with thin straps that lead into a deep plunge. The dress tapered at the waist, with a mock wrap detail and then ended in a knee-length pencil skirt with a side slit. Did Mary Margaret think that the theme was Naughty & Extra Naughty? She pulled out her phone.

“I can’t wear this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“It’s barely a dress.”

“It’s sexy!”

“It’s TOO sexy.”

“It fits the theme!”

Emma sighed. There was no getting through to her. She begrudgingly hung up. She glanced back at the dress. Dropping her phone on her bed, she ran her fingers down the length of it. She then picked up it up and grimaced. The fabric felt nice, but that was about it. She held it up against her. At least green was a good colour on her.

She peeled her clothes off and stepped into the dress. Once she had zipped herself up, she blushed at her appearance. The tapered waist was doing wonders for her cleavage, forcing them to rise and almost spill out of the deep neckline. The skirt of the dress hugged her hips, and the slit was longer than she imagined, ending on her mid-thigh. It was scandalous, and she wondered how Regina would react if she saw Storybrooke’s Finest in such a dress.

Then her mind drifted towards Killian. A part of her wondered what Killian’s reaction would be. Would his eyes darken like they did every time she returned his flirtatious banter? Or would he look at her like he wanted to devour her? The thought of it made her feel a little hot, and she clenched her thighs together.

She called Mary Margaret back.

“Fine, I’ll wear it.”

As expected, Killian was punctual, turning up at her door at 8pm while she was still fussing with her hair.

“Door’s unlocked!” she yelled. She heard his muffled response about keeping doors locked at all times and shouldn’t she know better, she’s a cop before she heard the door open. She heard him enter the living room and pace outside her bedroom.

“Swan…” he sounded exasperated.

“I’m almost ready!” she called out, as she bent over her bathroom counter, to put the finishing touches on her makeup. She unscrewed the tube of lipstick, and put a coat of bright red on her lips. Smacking her lips together, she straightened up and nervously smoothed down the fabric of her dress. She took a deep breath and walked towards the door. She pushed it opened and peeked at Killian.

Of course he looked amazing.

His tailored navy suit fitted him well, the trousers snug and the shirt tight. He’d forgone a tie but he had worn a vest, something Emma would have usually teased him for, but words failed her because hot damn, he looked good.

“Come on, Swan. Let’s have a look.” He said with a smirk.

It was the moment of truth. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the room.

The response was almost instantaneous. His lips parted and his eyes widened, almost comically so. Then his gaze darkened, and he licked his lips while shooting heated glances at her. Emma couldn’t supress the shiver of delight that ran through her.

“Emma, you look…”

“I know.”

He continued to stare, unnerving her with the intensity of his gaze and causing her to nervously explain that she was afraid of moving around too much in the dress, lest she have a fashion accident.

He smirked at her, and lazily ambled over to her. He stopped a few mere inches from her, and his fingers rose to caress her cheek. His eyes roamed over her body, his smile becoming more and more lecherous. He tilted his head down, his movement almost mirroring his fingers, but his lips did not make contact with her skin, and Emma felt cheated. Instead he peered at her through his long lashes, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.” He whispered huskily into her ear, his warm breath ghosting across her cheek and causing her to shiver. He grew closer, his lips moving towards hers, descending upon them…before the moment was ruined by the blast of a car horn.

He dropped his head into her shoulder and cursed, and Emma agreed with his sentiments.

“That would be the taxi, aye?” he said, pulling away from her, frustration clear on his face and in his posture. He ran his fingers through his hair and shut his eyes for a minute, only to have them snap open when the car horn sounded again.

“We’re bloody coming!” he yelled, though they both knew that the driver would not hear.

Sighing dramatically, he picked up his coat from the armchair he had slung it over, and Emma headed to the closet to pull out a heavy coat, almost laughing at his petulant expression as he watched her hide herself in the thick material of the coat.

“C’mon, Jones. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”

The glint in his eye returned.

The party was in full swing when they arrived, and Emma was glad for the crowd that she could slip through without causing too much of a disturbance. She had already shocked Regina, who ran into her as she had just walked in, and whose expression told her that Regina was as scandalized by her dress as she thought she would be. Killian managed to get the first words out, introducing himself and forcing Regina’s manners to kick in and she was momentarily distracted with the introductions. However, her eyes then slid back towards Emma, her eyebrows raising and her lips parting as if to make a comment. Luckily, before Regina could say anything, she was whisked away by a husband, a lovely man named Robin who worked for the forestry department.

After that, she tried to make herself as small as she could, and she resolutely made sure not to make eye contact with any one as she pushed her way through the crowd in an effort to find her friends. Finally she spotted them near the refreshments table, and she gestured their location at Killian, who was still fighting his way from the holiday revellers.

“Emma, you look amazing!” enthused Mary Margaret when she approached them, just as David choked on his drink. Emma winced internally at her fellow deputy’s reaction, and started to feel a little self-conscious, tugging on the hem of her dress. Why did she agree to wear it? Could she get away with wearing her coat? Just then, a warm arm slipped around her waist, tugging her towards its owner, and she turned her head to see Killian grinning at her. Just the sight of him made her feel less anxious, and she leaned into him, enjoying the comfort that his presence brought.

“Doesn’t she?” he mused, his expression soft, causing Emma’s toes to curl with joy at the adoration that shone from his eyes.

“It’s…really something.” David said, clearly uncomfortable.

Emma bit her lip from trying not to laugh as Mary Margaret swatted David on the arm.

“Ignore him, Emma. You really do look wonderful.”

David cleared his throat, his desire to change the subject evident. Emma was more than happy to watch him squirm, but he managed to wriggle out of it by gesturing to the half-empty glass in his hand.

“You should try the apple cider. I’m not sure what Regina put into it, but it is delicious!”

It turned out that alcohol was what Regina put into the cider.

Emma realized this a full hour later, halfway through her fifth glass. She squinted at the reminder of the amber liquid in her glass. Judging by the buzzing in her ears, Emma would guess that alcohol was the main ingredient. Normally she would have cared about her less-than-sober state, but tonight, she felt like letting loose. Just a little. Plus Killian was making his way back to her with a familiar look in his eye, and that added to the amount of alcohol in her system was making her feel giddy. God, she wanted him. Why had she denied herself the pleasure of being with him? She bit her bottom lip as she watched him manoeuver through the crowd. As soon as her eyes met his, he grinned wolfishly. In an effort to calm herself, she drained the glass in a single gulp, and moved to leave the empty glass on a nearby table and turned back in time to greet Killian as he approached. He stopped right in front of her, faux indignation now plastered all over his face.

“You know, I haven’t gotten to see your new office.” He said with an exaggerated pout.

Emma let out an unladylike snort. David no doubt had told him all about their new offices, and how it was twice the size of their old one. It had been all he talked about for the first week after they moved in.

“It’s nothing exciting.”

“Indulge me.”

His voice dropped to a low and husky timbre, full of hints of what could be, what he could do to her and how he could make her feel. Emma felt a rush of heat head down to her belly, and the spark of desire bloomed in her chest. She smiled beguilingly at him, and crooked a finger at him.

“Follow me.”

He grinned wolfishly at her and allowed himself to be lead.

The distance from the cafeteria where the party was being held to her office was not particularly long, and for the first time, Emma was glad of that fact. She was also glad that she brought along her set of keys with her. After fumbling for a few minutes, she managed to get the door unlocked and she pushed it open with more force than was necessary.

“Ta-da!” she announced in a voice that was louder that she had expected it to be.

Killian’s grin, if impossible, grew wider. He stepped in after her, silently shutting the door behind them.

“Nice place you got here.” He said, taking in the three desks that took up most of the room. Two were in the middle of the room, and the third was off to the side, right by the windows. It was richer than the last office, with the desks crafted out of a polished wood and the chairs even had cushioning on them. Emma had to admit that it was a trade up.

“Which one’s yours?”

Emma sauntered over to the desk by the window, and leaned casually against it, her hands splayed behind her on the desk. She tapped her fingers on the desk in quick succession and Killian caught on. He made his way over to her, taking his time and testing Emma’s patience. Once he reached her, he leaned into her, placing his hands next to hers on the desk.

“So.” He said, eyelashes fluttering as he unabashedly ogled her.

“So.” She returned in a breathy tone, arching her back, forcing her lips to inch closer to his.

That was all he needed, as her surged forward to capture her lips in a fierce kiss. His hands tangled themselves momentarily in her hair, before drifting downwards, gently caressing the curves of her body.

Their kisses grew deeper and more intense, with Killian pulling Emma even closer to him, forcing her legs to part so that he could press up against her. When he did, a thrill shot through her body as she realized that he was as affected as she was. The ridge of his erection rubbed up against her heated core, and she cursed internally at the clothed barriers that separated them. Killian seemed to have the same thought, his hands toying with the straps of her dress, pulling them down slowly with his fingers. Emma wanted to tease him about it, but he distracted her by trailing a line of kisses down her neck until he found a pulse point on her neck that he sucked at and caused Emma to gasp with pleasure. He took this as an encouraging sign, and his lips trailed down further, marking a path through the valley of her breasts. Then his tongue joined his lips, flicking out and cooling her heated flesh.

His fingers now found her breasts, sneaking underneath the velvet of her dress and seeking out her taut nipples. Killian had groaned when he had discovered that there was nothing beneath her dress, just skin. That spurred him on, his thumbs dragging over her nipples, while the rest of his fingers gently massaged her breasts. Emma felt herself floating in a sea of desire, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. A moan escaped from her lips, and Killian stilled for a moment. Then his movements became hurried and sloppy, his hands moving away to push the fabric away and exposing her breasts. Before Emma could react, his lips were on her right breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. Emma’s head fell back and she sighed in delight. She was thoroughly wet now, her blood pumping downwards towards her core. She wanted more. Her hands moved up to his hair, tugging on it as he switched his attention to her left breast. His hands began to wander once more, moving south, as if they could sense the heat that was emanating from her. A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine, and she hooked a leg over his, pulling him even closer to her if that were possible. Soon his fingers were at the edge of her soaked panties, rubbing at the wet material there.

“Gods, you’re so wet for me.” He mumbled into her chest, and Emma could only groan in response as his fingers continued their journey, hooking aside her underwear and disappearing into her wet folds, eliciting moans from both of them. Emma tugged sharply on his hair, causing him to release her nipple and stare at her. He was thoroughly wrecked, she realised. His hair was a mess and his eyes were so dark with lust that she could no longer see the blue.

“Killian…” she moaned, as his fingers pumped in and out of her, “we shouldn’t…”

He smirked at her, and cupped her face with his free hand. He kissed her roughly, nipping at her bottom lip. He placed kisses along her jaw, and then leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“We probably shouldn’t…but…”

Emma wanted to stay in that room, to ride his fingers until she came, but she knew someone could walk in on them at any moment, and the longer he continued to kiss her, the less willing she would be to leave. Reluctantly she pushed him away from her, and he got the hint, his fingers leaving her. She almost whimpered at the loss of contact. He moved to rearrange her dress, and once her straps were back in place, he kissed her on top of each breast, and sighed.

He straightened himself up, trying to flatten his hair and unwrinkled his suit. Emma slid off the desk, combing her hair back and tried to get composure. Finally, when they had both decided that they looked appropriate enough for company, they headed back to the party. Just as they reached the door, Emma smoothed down the hem of her dress nervously and turned to Killian.

“Do you think it’s time to head back?”

Killian lifted an inquisitive brow at her.

“Isn’t that where we’re going?” he asked, gesturing with his hand.

Emma let out a soft laugh.

“No, you idiot. I mean your place at mine?”

Killian flashed a lewd smile at her.

“Lead the way, Sherriff.”

Her heart fluttering in her chest, Emma yanked the door open with more force than necessary, and she felt a little embarrassed at her eagerness. But Killian stumbled a little as he tried to get through the doorway as fast as he could, she realized that he was as eager as she was. They power walked back to the party in silence, only nodding at each other as they sort out their friends to bid them goodnight. If they still looked dishevelled, David and Mary Margaret were kind enough not to comment on it. Or perhaps, Emma mused as she clambered into the taxi that Killian had flagged down, she had left before they could say anything.

The ride back to her apartment was the longest ride of her life. She tried not to look at Killian as she could felt the heat of his gaze upon her, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she had to face the full brunt of the looks he was clearly shooting her. She felt hot, her heart beating so fast she feared that it might give out. Could he hear it? She wondered. Could he hear the effect he had on her whenever he was around?

At long last, they arrived at her place, and both Emma and Killian fumbled to exit the car. Emma reached for her purse, but Killian’s hand on hers stopped her.

“It’s on me.”

She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and she was caught by the desire burned in them. An annoyed cough by the impatient driver broke her out of her reverie, and she turned and hurried towards the door of the building. She left it open in her excitement, clambering up the stairs as fast she could. She fumbled with the lock of the door for a few seconds before managing to let herself in. She had managed to take off her coat and kick off her shoes when Killian barrelled through the door, slamming it behind him. Without further ado, he pulled Emma toward him and kissed her fiercely. Emma pulled away to catch her breath several minutes later, and she teased him for not even pausing to take his coat off.

“Can’t wait.” He growled, leaning in to kiss her once more.

It was Emma’s turned to smirk. She let him kiss her, but she took control, turning his hurried kiss into a languid one, her tongue darting out to encourage his to join hers. All the while, she was pushing his heavy leather jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor, where it joined her own jacket and shoes. Killian did not seem to notice, but Emma then realized that his indifference to his jacket was due to his concentrated effort to lead her towards her bedroom. Grinning into the kiss, she allowed herself to be lead.

She awoke late the next day, with the sun streaming through the windows when Emma’s eyes finally opened. She slowly untangled herself from the sheets, unable to keep the grin off her face. She was sweaty and exhausted, but oh so satisfied. She had been pushed over the edge several times that night, thanks to Killian’s fingers, tongue, and cock. She closed her eyes and lay her head back down of the pillow, remembering the night before. Killian’s hands caressing her body, his tongue worshiping her nipples, his cock filling her up and dragging deliciously against her clit as he thrust himself in and out of her. How quickly his eyes turned surprise to lust when she managed to push him over and straddle him. How those very same eyes rolled back with delight as she rode him hard, his hands move to grip her thighs as her skin slapped against his.

“Good morning.”

A gruff voice murmured at her ear, before lips moved to kiss her shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open once more, and she rolled over onto her side and slid her arms around Killian, who grinned at her sleepily.

“I can’t wait for next year’s party.”

[didiwritethis]

Of Hooks & Hands

A little ficlet with feelings, Hook-centric. I guess it’s a little angsty?

For all the relationships that Killian Jones had (and he’d have to use the word relationship loosely here), the most complicated one was the one he had with his hook. Sure, he had stranger encounters, like Louisa, who’d bray like a donkey when he rode her to oblivion, or Annabeth, whose idea of playing it hot and cold was too literal for his tastes.

And still…his hook plagued him the most.

At the start, it was a stark reminder of what he’d lost: his hand, his dignity, his Milah. He was angry then, and the hook was just an extension of that anger, lashing out and causing pain while he ignored his. On the coldest and darkest of nights, it would taunt him, reminding him that he could only watch as Milah died, that he was weak, and he would wrench it from his brace and fling it across his cabin in a fit of fury. But then he’d be forced to deal with his mangled arm, a sight more wretched to him than a hook, so he’d go retrieve the implement. 

Other nights, his thoughts would be more melancholy, thinking of Liam and how he passed, he’d fiddle with it unconsciously, and it would soothe him. Then there were the nights he was consumed by revenge, and his hook brought him joy as he’d envision plunging it into the Crocodile’s chest. Those nights were the most frequent.

There were nights filled with women, both good and bad. They knew by his hook exactly who he was, the power and authority he wielded. His pretty face got him a lot, but even his face couldn’t persuade the women who shrunk back from the sight of his hook. Their looks of terror (though he could see them try to hide it and carry on) would instantly remove any lustful thoughts, turning his throat dry and his mind empty.  He’d play it off, acting nonchalant, but the sting of rejection would follow him for days. Those were the times he’d retreat to his cabin and drink himself into a stupor. He always remember the women who cowered from his hook than the ones that ignored it. 

Still, his hook hid his scars (the ones on his hand and the ones on his heart) and even the women he did bed did not get to see anything but the fierce Captain Hook, and the hook that made him what he is.

In the light of the day, his hook commanded respect. All he had to do was reveal it and others would tremble. His hook was him, and he was his hook. He once reveled in his ability to terrify with one appendage (artificial as it may be), to intimidate, to kill. That was a long time ago, though.

Now it was different. Emma would often hold his hook, much like a hand, and sometimes when she did, it really did feel like one. She softened it, somehow, and it no longer felt like an instrument of death and terror. She’d run her fingers along it sometimes to tease him, and while it did turn him on, it also caused his heart to swell with love. No one had ever been so delicate with it, so delicate with him. He used to bed her with it on, digging into her thighs as he gripped her, and she never minded. 

Sometimes she’d even request that it use it on her, to run the cool metal down the valley of her breasts or tease her heated clit (He had never been so turned on in his life). Afterwards though, she’d kiss him and his hook, and he felt a fluttering in his chest. Later on, when their fucking was less desperate and they finally had time to be themselves, she told him that he could take it off sometimes, and when he did, she’d kiss the scars that ran down his arm. Kissing the man behind the hook. She loved them both, man and pirate, and his heart was at peace, finally forgiving himself, and the hook that was him.

[didiwritethis]

Should/Should Not

A Halloween-themed one shot.

Also on Ao3 and FFN

It was a bad idea.

Of course Emma knew it was a bad idea. Lusting after of the few friends she did have could never be considered a good idea.

She didn’t know when exactly she started to have feelings for him. She was watching him play with Henry one day, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he told her son an outrageous story. Henry laughed along with the man, clapping his hands in glee. She felt herself smiling at the scene and then bam! She realized she was in love.

As soon as she realized what the warm feeling in her chest was, she tried to squash it. Love had only caused her sorrow. Sure, it gave her Henry, her adorable three-year old son, but it had left her broken-hearted and weary of letting anyone else in. It had even caused her to flee to a small town on the coast of Maine.

Enter Killian Jones, a charming and roguish man (his words, not hers) who swaggered (very literally) into her life. The boat tour operator had slowly become a shoulder to cry on (or punch, depending on how much she had to drink) and a surprisingly reliable babysitter now that Mary Margaret’s nights belonged to David Nolan.

Initially the small brunette was apprehensive with Killian looking after Henry, but Emma was too tired to think of an alternative. Mary Margaret had suggested that she and David could stay in with Henry, but Emma refused to force Mary Margaret to look after a small child as a date. Especially because David, her fellow deputy, had been really looking forward to that date. Luckily for everyone involved, both the date and the babysitting went well, resulting in a permanent babysitting gig for Killian.

And now, several months later, she gets to watch her son try to teach Killian Jones, Ladies Man Extraordinaire, the words to the theme song from Paw Patrol!. Honestly, who wouldn’t swoon? Henry was too adorable for words and Killian was handsome (a fact she begrudgingly came to accept). Still, she refused to give into her feelings, hoping that the loud thumping of her traitorous heart could only be heard by her.

“We’re here! Sorry we’re late!”

Mary Margaret barrelled through the doorway into Emma’s living room, her cheeks flushed. Emma couldn’t help but smirk at her costume.

“Snow White? Really?”

Mary Margaret frowned.

“She’s my favourite Disney Princess.” She retorted defensively.

Emma continued to grin.

“Does that mean that Dav-”

Right on cue, David stumbled through the door, tripping over the edge of his sword, and Emma had to stifle a laugh. Killian did not hold back.

“Dave! What a regular Prince Charming!”

David straightened up, pushing his heavy cloak over his shoulders and scowling at Killian.

“Maggie!”

Henry toddled over to her, arms outstretched.

Mary Margaret cooed with delight.

“Oh he’s so cute!” she gushed, picking him up and cuddling him.

Emma’s smile softened, and she reached over to ruffle her son’s hair, that was slightly tamed by the pair of floppy dog ears that he sported.

“Thanks for doing this,” Emma started, but David waved her off.

“You deserve a night off.” He said, wagging a finger at her.

“Indeed she does.”

Emma nearly jumped at Killian’s nearness. When did he sneak up on her? She turned to look at him, and found him staring at her intensely. She felt the heat rise in her belly and settle in her cheeks. Then he smirked and the moment was gone.

“Come Swan. Let your night of fun begin!”

It was a bad idea and she knew it.

Spending Halloween with the man you had a crush on? Who looked damn good in his ridiculous pirate garb (hook hand and all)? Emma clutched her coat and started to have regrets about her decision to go out. (and her decision to dress up as a doctor. Sure, it was easy to throw a white coat on top of her sweater and jeans and sling a plastic stethoscope around her neck, but she missed her red leather jacket)

The bar that Killian had picked was crowded with Halloween revellers, loud and scantily clad. Even the men wore minimal clothing, Emma noted, as she hung back near the bar waiting for Killian to arrive with their drinks. Just as her thoughts drifted back to him, he emerged from the crowd with his shirt mostly unbuttoned. Emma raised an eyebrow and he shrugged sheepishly.

“A lass got a hold of me…”

That was all Emma had to hear. She took her glass from him and downed the drink in one single gulp.

Killian looked at her with concern.

“Easy there, Swan.”

She glared at him, and then reached for his drink.

When they tumbled out of the bar two hours later, Emma felt happier than she had in a while, a nice buzz settling in. Even the cold breeze of October couldn’t dampen her spirits. Suddenly she felt Killian’s hand around her waist and his mouth dropped to her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck.

“Alright there, Swan?”

His voice was low and husky, and it did terrible things to her, it really did.

“Never better!” she chirped, her voice sounding artificially bright even to her.

Seemingly satisfied by her answer, he moved away, but his arm remained around her waist.

Together they walked through the streets, laughing about a number of stupid little jokes that Emma knew she wouldn’t remember tomorrow.

Finally they were outside her apartment, and Emma felt a pang of regret. Was the night over so soon?

Killian released her waist, his hand moving to grasp hers.

“Well, this is where I leave you, m’lady.”

She let out an unladylike snort in response.

“Jeez, Jones. You’re a pirate, not an 18th century gentleman.”

He grinned at her and winked.

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan?”

She squared her shoulders and stepped toe-to-toe with him.

“Oh yeah? I seem to remember an incident with Rose…” she said teasingly.

She expected him to smirk and make a lewd comment about it, but instead he ducked his head and scratched the back of his ear.

“Ah well, that was a long time ago, Swan. I’m a changed man.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

“So no more one night stands?”

“Nope.”

“No more outrageous flirting?”

“Only with one person.”

“And who would that be?”

“Guess.”

She hadn’t realized how close she was to him until he responded, his nose almost touching hers. She didn’t move away though. Her hands rose to grasp the lapels of his jacket, and his eyes followed the movement, before moving up to stare at her lips. He moved closer, his nose now grazing hers.

“We shouldn’t,” Emma whispered as his mouth drew closer.

“We shouldn’t?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips.

Emma pressed herself closer into him, and his arms encircled her and pulled her even closer.

“Or maybe we should.”

Before Killian could respond, her lips crashed into his, pressing a fierce kiss upon them. Killian was momentarily stunned, but responded enthusiastically.

Emma’s heart soared. It was even better than she had imagined. Her body felt like it was on fire, like it was burning up to keep her warm. Her hands rose up to tangle themselves in his hair, and she sighed against his lips. She felt him smile in response, and they broke apart to take a deep breath.

Killian chuckled as he dropped a kiss to her forehead.

“God knows how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you, Emma.” He said, as he dropped his head to press a hot kiss to her neck.

Emma, distracted by the trail of kisses he was leaving on her jaw, almost missed his confession.

“You have?” she asked incredulously. When he didn’t respond, she tugged sharply in his hair, causing him to groan and pull his head back. She poked him in the chest.

“Explain, buddy.”

He smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Swan, I’ve been in love with you for a year.”

He announced this so casually that Emma momentarily thought that she misheard him.

“In love…a whole year?” she asked.

He laughed.

“Yes Swan. You were too dense to notice.”

She swatted his shoulder, and he laughed harder.

“Seriously though. I wanted to say something…but I didn’t know how you felt. And with the lad and everything else…”

He was starting to ramble, Emma realized, and she cut him off with another kiss.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she informed him, as they caught their breaths for a second time. “I can’t believe I love you.”

As soon as the words left her lips, his mouth descended on hers, and he lifted her into the air. Emma’s shrieks of laughter filled the night air.

Half an hour later they made their way inside with disheveled hair and identical grins. David looked up from his position on the couch and took in their appearances. He smirked up at them, and their grins turned into blushes.

“Looks like you both got a treat tonight.”

[didiwritethis]

Sound & Colour

AU. Based on the Alabama Shakes song of the same name.

Emma Swan passes a particular tattoo studio every day, and is entranced by the artwork in the window. Gathering her courage, she steps in and meets the owner, Killian Jones, who transforms her life.

Trigger warning: Mention of abuse!

Also on Ao3 and FFN

__________________________________________________________

She passed the Jolly Roger Tattoo Parlour every day, and it never failed to amaze her. She always thought it odd that a tattoo parlour would exist in the nice part of town. Well, it wasn’t the nice part of town so much as it was the hipster part of town. Still, she supposed, it made sense.

It was nicer than most tattoo parlours. It had a nice clean font on its windows with intricate tattoos on display, showcasing the talent of its artists. Emma found it interesting that a lot of watercolour tattoos were on display, not having seen too many tattoos with colours other than black.

She had tried peeking through the window once. It looked more like a salon than a tattoo parlour. Long leather chaise lounges, exposed brick façade, expensive looking coffee tables that were covered in binders. She had caught a glance of a man in a leather jacket carrying around some boxes while a bored brunette with vibrant red streaks in her hair leaned over the counter. The man had started to look up, and Emma jerked away, feeling embarrassed that she had almost been caught staring. Still, she continued to glance in through the window whenever she could. She never lingered for too long, but occasionally stopped for longer than was necessary, especially when they changed their displays.

“You should go in.”

Mary Margaret had been on her case when she found out about Emma’s interest in the studio. Emma would always scoff at the idea.

“A tattoo? Me? Yeah right.”

It’s not that Emma had never toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo. She thought about it once, when she was eighteen. But that was a long time ago, and a lot had changed since then.

*

She started to consider it again, after an awful one nightstand with an asshole. The asshole in question, Walsh, saw her scars and recoiled in disgust. She felt his reaction first, felt him move away from her. She turned her head to look at him, and she caught a glimpse of his revulsion before he tried to hide it with a queasy smile. She kicked him out five minutes later. He wasn’t the only one to be repulsed by it, but he was the most recent, and his rejection of her stung.

It was David who suggested a tattoo for her. They had just finished their annual watch of the Princess Bride when he turned to her.

“How about a buttercup?”

At first, she had no idea what he was talking about, and then it sunk in.

“Mary Margaret told you, huh?”

He had the decency to look sheepish.

“I think it’s a good idea though. A couple of buttercups, maybe some vines to make it big enough to-”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. David was one of the few people who knew about her past, and he also knew she hated talking about it. He shot her an apologetic look

She sighed.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Maybe it could be a watercolour tattoo! You need more colour in your life.”

She laughed out loud.

“Well, we can’t all walk around in bright Hawaiian shirts, David.”

He flushed with embarrassment.

“That was one time!”

Truth be told, she probably did need brightening up. Her small apartment had three colours: black, white, and beige. It had looked like that when she had moved in, and she felt no need to change it. Over the years, that colour scheme seemed to have manifested itself into her wardrobe. 80% of the items she owned were black, with the rest being split evenly between brown and gray. It suited her, in some perverse way.

Long after David left, she pulled out a sheet of paper from her desk. A quick doodle of a buttercup and several Google searches later, she had made up her mind.

*

She paused outside the Jolly Roger, her nerves getting the better of her. Snowflakes drifted down lazily, and Emma was annoyed with herself for not tucking her long hair into her beanie. Winter had come early, but had only manifested itself with cold winds and light flurries every now and then. Today though, the snow was sticking. Emma brushed some snow of her shoulder and pushed the door open.

It was warm inside, almost stiflingly so. It was such a contrast that Emma wondered if she was in the same town any more. She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into her pocket. There was a strong scent of cinnamon and pine, which Emma thought was an odd combination, but was not displeased by the scent. The doorbell had rung as soon as she entered, and a man emerged from a backroom shortly thereafter.

Emma sucked in a breath. He was a good looking man, almost too good looking. He was dressed simply in a black T-shirt that he had thrown a red plaid shirt over, and paired it with a pair of fitted jeans. A tuft of hair peeked out of the top of the low v-neck of his tee. Emma licked her lips involuntary. He strolled out towards her, settled behind the counter, and raised an inquisitive brow.

“Alright, lass? What can I do you for?”

And of course he had an accent. Emma made her way over to the counter to where he stood. He pushed out a lock of his long dark hair away from his eyebrows, but it didn’t do any good. His hair was too short to be corralled by a hair tie, but it was too long to be pushed back permanently. He smiled at her and gave her a little nod of encouragement.

“I…err…need to set up an appointment?”

“What for?”

“A tattoo.”

“Ah. Is this your first?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her cheekily, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“You never forget your first.”

He placed his hands on the counter and surprised her by jumping over it effortlessly. He is too close, she thought hysterically, and immediately her guard went up. He was taller than she anticipated, and much better-looking closer up. As if he sensed her trepidation, he stepped away from her.

“It’s customary to have a consult first, love.”

He gestured towards the lounge chairs. Emma shuffled over to them slowly.

“May I take your coat?”

“I’d rather keep it on.”

“If the lady wishes.”

If he found it odd that she wanted to keep her wool jacket on in the heated room, he did not mention it. He sat down next to her and pulled some of the binders towards them. He explained that each binder contained art samples from the artists who worked there.

“I’ll give you some time to look through them, eh? Tell me if you like something.”

Emma nodded, and pulled the first one towards her. He made a movement as if to get up, but then settled in his seat instead, and chose to roll up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. In doing so, he revealed a series of tattoos on his arms. Emma had imagined that the employees of the Jolly Roger would be tatted up, so she was not surprised.

“Who’s Milah?” She asked, pointing at one tattoo on his arm that consisted of a name, a heart, and a dagger.

He did not find her abruptness and curiosity rude, and if he did, he did not chastise her for it. He studied her seriously for a second, his bright blue eyes biting into her. He moved to scratch the scruff around his jaw.

“Someone from my past.”

“Ah.”

That one sentence had told Emma enough, and it was oddly comforting. Which is why, against her better judgment, she continued the conversation.

“The past has a way of sticking with you, doesn’t it?”

As soon as she said it, she regretted it, but the man smiled kindly at her.

“Indeed it does.”

She silently went back to perusing through the binders. Finally she settled on one binder. The artwork in it was simple, but gorgeously executed, full of colour, and Emma could feel the love that the artist had for their work. In particular, there was a beautiful calligraphic tattoo of the phrase “A Man Unwilling to Fight Deserves What He Gets” that had been wrapped around a blue-toned anchor that she admired.

“This one.”

He smirked at her.

“You have good taste.”

He turned it over and tapped at the name at the back of it. Killian Jones. He continued to smirk at her, and she realized that Killian Jones must be him.

“Your artwork is beautiful.” She told him.

“Thank you, lass.”

He cleared his throat.

“Did you have a design in mind, or-?”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with her design on it and handed it over. He glanced at it and nodded thoughtfully.

“Where were you thinking of having it?”

She hesitated for a second.

“Upper back. Just below my shoulder blades.”

He winced.

“Ooh, that might be painful for a first-timer.”

She stared at him defiantly, his words only spurring her on.

“I can handle it.”

He smiled flirtatiously at her, and shot her a wink that she rolled her eyes at.

“I have no doubt you can.”

He stood up and gestured her to follow him to the front desk. He pulled out a calendar and advised her of his availabilities. They settled on a date, and he pencilled her in.

“Name?”

“Emma Swan.”

“Swan.” Her name rolled off his lips as he savoured it. “That’s an apt name for you.”

She avoided his heady gaze and instead chose to fish her gloves out and pull them on. He seemed to get the hint.

“Right then, Miss Swan. See you soon.”

He stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she was momentarily flustered. Should she take her gloves off to shake his hand? She decided against it, and shook his hand quickly and briefly. He stared at her and shook his head with a smile. Emma, now embarrassed about her actions, turned on her heel and hurried out of the door.

*

She turned up early for her appointment, and did not hesitate this time when she entered. She had chosen a later start time, one that she could work into her hectic schedule. In fact, Killian had told her that it would be technically afterhours, but he would do it for her (that statement had been followed by a wink). The shop was not dark, but was dimmer than she anticipated. Killian had been sitting on a chaise lounge, but stood up when she walked in.

He greeted her with a smile that she returned. While she was bundled head to toe, Killian just wore a fitted tank top along with an equally fitted pair of jeans. His tattoos were more visible, a medley of vaguely nautical-themed items ran up and down both arms. Very muscular arms at that, she noted, and immediately chided herself.

He took her things and hung them up on the coat rack near the door, and then went to lock it.

“If you’d follow me, Miss Swan.”

Without any preamble, he led the way and pushed open the door that led to his studio. He showed her a curtain that she could change behind and told her she could leave her shirt on the stool.

“Once you’re ready, please go lie down over there.” He said, pointing to something that resembled a massage table that lay next to what looked like a variety of dentistry tools. They’re just needles, she told herself.

He left the room, and she walked behind the curtain. She unbuttoned her shirt slowly, her fingers trembling. Now was the moment of truth. She took a deep breath. She walked over to the table and lay face down, thanking the stars that she would not be able to see his expression while he tattooed her.

“I’m ready.” She said in a muffled tone.

She heard him enter, and felt him walk over to her. She could hear him get his tools ready, and then there was silence. Suddenly, she felt his fingers on her back, tracing the lines of her scars. They were curious and kind in their exploration, but yet Emma shivered from the unexpected intimacy. Then all of sudden, they moved away, and she heard the snap of plastic gloves.

He was right when he said it would hurt, but Emma gritted her teeth and managed to stop from crying out loud. However, she was unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. After today, her past would no longer mar her skin. Finally Killian announced that he was finished, Emma’s throbbing skin was grateful. He gently patted her shoulders, before mumbling that he would be out of the room soon and she heard him move away from her. Slowly, she lifted herself off the table and placed her feet in the ground. She pulled her bra straps back into place and surveyed the area.

He had not left the room, but instead stood near the door that he pulled open. She cleared her throat, causing him to turn around and face her. His face was unreadable, but his eyes held a fire in them. She felt drawn to him, and unabashedly she walked over to him. When she reached him, she let out the breath she was holding in, and searched his eyes for a response. He reached out and touched her cheek gently.

“Who hurt you?” he whispered urgently, stroking her face.

She moved to hold his hand. She was not shocked at how easily he managed to guess. She could tell from his eyes that he was a perceptive man. Moreover, she knew a fellow survivor when she saw one. She felt that she could trust him. After all, he had just covered up her biggest secret.

“Foster father. He was abusive. When I was seven, he beat me with a hot poker. Pressed it into my back until I passed out. Burnt the skin right off. I had numerous skin grafts, but they couldn’t really cover it.”

What she didn’t say was that she thought her scars made her look like Frankenstein’s Monster. That she looked like she was patched together. Like she was a freak, underserving of love. She didn’t tell him about how every man in her life recoiled when they saw it.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. He hugged her fiercely, putting his feelings that he couldn’t express into the embrace. It was a move so comforting that she almost choked on a lump of sadness that formed in her throat. He stoked her hair, and Emma couldn’t stop the small sobs that escaped. They stood like that for a while, until Emma finished sobbing. She slowly pulled away, and turned away from him, moving back towards the curtain. When she finished buttoning up her shirt and pushed the curtain aside, she found that he had left the room. She strode over to the door, feeling more calm than she had in years, as if she had cried away the tensions and stress that had resided in her body for years.

He was standing by the desk once more, his hands curled into fists that bore down on the desk. Silently Emma gathered her belongings and dressed herself to avoid feeling the cold of the winter that howled outside. After putting on her gloves, she walked over to pay. He wordlessly slipped a pamphlet about aftercare towards her.

“Emma.” He said, his voice strained.

She looked up into his eyes, and she could see the sadness, the understanding, and (maybe she was imagining it) just a little bit of love.

“I want you to know that I’m here. If you need to talk. Believe me, if there’s anyone who could understand what it’s like-” He trailed off and exhaled, running his fingers through his unruly hair. He stepped away from the desk, moving over to her side. He didn’t have to finish his sentence. She understood.

She pulled off her glove and extended her hand. He stared at it for a second, and then his fingers closed over her wrist. Rather than shake it however, he pulled her towards him. His eyes darted to her lips, and then back to her eyes, as if asking for permission. She did not pull away, and that was all he needed. His lips descended onto hers, placing a gentle kiss upon them. He paused and then placed another, a more desperate kiss that she returned wholeheartedly. They broke apart and he slowly moved away.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I-” he said hoarsely, his head ducked down. She reached out and tilted his chin up so that she could look him in the eye.

“Thank you, Killian.”

She left that night feeling lighter and more loved than she had in years.

*

She meant to call him, she did. His number was on his business card, and she looked at it every day. Even after her skin healed, she thought of him. She considered mentioning him to David and Mary Margaret, especially after she showed them her tattoo and they complimented his work, but decided against it. She thought about that kiss and the emotions that he conveyed with it. That she was loved. That she was beautiful. That was enough for her.

Until it wasn’t.

*

It was spring time, and Emma was glad for the change in the weather because that meant she could finally wear the dresses she had let Mary Margaret buy for her. Sundresses with colourful prints, cotton dresses in bright hues. Dresses that displayed her shoulders to the world. She felt like a brand new woman. She left her apartment in a spaghetti strapped midi dress that was covered in cherries. She made her way over to the Jolly Roger and peered through the window. Killian was there, manning the front desk. He looked as gorgeous as she remembered, his jaw still covered in a stubble that suited him so well, his wardrobe still fitted. She appreciated the white Henley he had chosen to wear that day, hinting at the toned muscles that lay below. He had cut his hair, it was no longer as unruly, but still almost met his eyebrows. She rapped on the glass with her knuckles.

He looked up surprised, but that surprise gave way to a smile of pure joy. He rushed out to meet her.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a brief silence as she worked out what she wanted to say, and Killian looked like he was having a similar struggle. They both spoke at the same time.

“I wanted to call you but-”

“I didn’t know if I should call-”

They stopped and laughed at each other. Slowly they looked each other in the eye.

“I was planning on heading to the park. Do you want to join me?”

Emma held up the picnic basket in her hand, hoping to entice him with the thought of food.

His smile could have split his face in half.

“There’s nothing else I’d rather do. Let me get Ruby to cover for me.”

*

Killian wandered down the hall, stifling a yawn. The coffee should be ready by now. He glanced at the pot. Indeed it was. He pulled out a mug, a bright blue one from a sea of black and white ones. He placed it on the countertop and poured some coffee in, inhaling its aromatic scent. He looked back into the cupboard and pulled out a generic looking mug and reminded himself to pick up some more mugs that had more of a personality to them. Grabbing the two cups, he left the kitchen.

He shuffled back, pausing only to catch sight of himself in the hallway mirror. His hair was a mess, but he grinned at the sight of it. He looked down. Perhaps he should have put a shirt on before he left the bed, but he had the sense to pull on a pair of red boxer briefs, so that was good enough. His eyes fell to the framed picture on the countertop, the one he had bought her when they went to the zoo together. It had images of mongooses running down the side, and he smiled at the memories it brought up.

He continued on, knowing she’d grumble if he took any longer. As he pushed the door open with his elbow, he found that she had fallen asleep again, she had rolled over and tangled herself up with the sheets. He smiled at the sight. Her golden hair fanned over the pillow, shining brightly whenever sunlight slipped through the crack in the curtains. He tiptoed over to the bed and placed the mugs down lightly. He slowly lowered himself onto the bed, and reached out towards her. The sheet had slipped when she turned to her side, and he inched towards her and placed a kiss on her edge of her tattoo, where scar was barely visible. His fingers joined his lips, tracing the outline of the tattoo. His actions caused her to shift, and she sluggishly turned over to face him.

“Hi.” Her voice was slurred from sleep, and it warmed his heart to see her so relaxed.

“Good morning, darling.”

He pressed himself and ran his fingers through her hair, and she smiled sleepy at him.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

She smirked, her eyes still closed.

“Not since last night.”

He clicked his tongue.

“That won’t do.”

He moved to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Emma Swan.”