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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 4 months

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Witchy Woman (10/10)

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LOOK AT THIS STUNNING ARTWORK BY @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tag: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Author Note:

I confess that I struggled with this chapter far, far more than I could have predicted. Some of it was stress-induced writer's block that has started to clear as we approach the final stages of this move. Some of it was the fear of ending this in a way that leaves you disappointed.

I have pages and pages of struck material as I debated what to do with this chapter. With the conflict resolved and most of the questions of who, how, and what answered, I wrestled with what ending would make this story feel complete.

After months of writing, rewriting, stalling, scowling, and saying "I need to write this one chapter for my supernatural summer fic this weekend", I humbly set this before you and hope that it was worth the wait.

I cannot thank the CSMM Discord server enough for the encouragement and unfailing support in getting any writing done, but especially for the love and check-ins surrounding this fic. Thank you so, so much.

Finally, extra love to Marta and Krystal for having a sixth sense for when I was writing again. Your notes, check-ins, cheering, listening to my life drama, prayers, and such have meant more to me than you could ever know.

Enjoy! ---- ---- ---- ----

Sometime later...

Killian had never known nerves as he did now. He could feel his hold on his magic slipping as his emotions threatened to get the better of him as though he were a child again - rather than a mature vampire with centuries of experience successfully regulating his emotions and controlling his magic. Not knowing what to do with this abundance of jittery energy, Killian paced around the beautiful, blooming red Middlemist flowers.

When he pictured this scene in his mind, he thought the flowers would set a romantic scene. They were a favourite of Emma’s and with Ruby’s affinity for earth magic, they’d made a beautiful field of flowers where Regina’s corrupted magic had once left nothing but rot. Now, he wondered if the red was more reminiscent of blood than passion. Maybe the location of that horrible event in their past should not have been revisited for this particular moment.

He could hear her careful footsteps entering the forest, her steady heartbeat calling to him and calming him all at once. He reached into his pocket - just making sure - and waited for her to arrive at the clearing.

“Killian,” she called before he could see her, a smile clear in her voice. “You do know…” But whatever she intended to say next failed her as she stepped into sight. "Oh," Emma breathed out. Her eyes were wide as she scanned the flowers now overflowing the grove.

“I, erm,” Killian’s voice cracked. “You came into my life and filled the bleakest parts of it, of me, with hope, so I wanted to do the same for you.”

“This is beautiful. Thank you.”

Killian knelt before her and held the intricate ring between them, the sapphire and diamonds glittering in the sunlight. He smiled up at her, the shimmer of tears present in her eyes, and - instantly - all the words he rehearsed for weeks escaped him. “Please, will you share the rest of your life with me?”

Sometime a bit later...

At some point, when Emma was not paying attention, Killian had become essential. It wasn't that she needed him to survive, that fear that had kept her from giving herself over to the pull of their connection when they were younger. Rather, with him, her life was simply better.

Looking back on it, she realised this was a truth that she had always known - when they spent all those years apart, they still worked together and were friendly. Even with solid walls protecting her heart, she could not deny they made a good team. Now those walls were a distant memory. Now her heart beat in time with his, a ribbon of magic between them confirming the pull she had always felt toward him had always been more than a passing attraction. Killian had once told her they were mates. Mary Margaret had said they shared True Love and that was a powerful, but rather mysterious, magic. Emma thought of it more as two wandering, lost souls finding a home, a sanctuary, in one another.

Coming home to Killian every night had been a bit of an adjustment. Emma spent her life solving problems for other people, but she often buried her thoughts or issues away. Killian gave her space to exist without and room to…feel. At first, she would apologise for spilling out all her problems or being so needy. He’d pull her into him, ask her about her troubles and validate her feelings until her guilt faded away and just peace remained. Overtime, she realised that this was something she should have always had - space and time to be more than someone else’s problem solver.

A sharp jab beneath her ribs interrupted her musings. She rubbed her hand against the round protrusion now visible on one side of her hugely pregnant belly. Mary Margaret assured her that her baby bump was perfectly normal, but Emma worried she would never see the stairs below her or be able to pick up something she'd dropped, again. A part of Emma wondered if her little one was maybe too comfortable and would just keep growing and growing... Elsa assured her that her healthy baby boy would be here very soon. Emma had been so thrilled to tell Killian they were having a boy that she forgot to ask Elsa to define “soon.”

The tiny foot pushed into her palm. Unlike the previous movement, this was a gentle pressure against her hand. As ready as she was to meet her little one, she knew she’d miss having him to herself like this. She knew he was a creature of habit; she could tell the time down to the second based on his movements. About five minutes before her usual lunch break, he would be active except on Wednesdays. He didn’t move much on Wednesdays, probably busy growing and such. After dinner, he got the hiccups. He always played back when she pressed her hand against him. It was strange how much she felt she knew this little creature despite having never seen his face or heard his voice.

"Your smile could ignite wars," Killian said as he crossed to her. He kissed her cheek, "inspire masterpieces." He kissed her other cheek, "and revive the blackest of hearts." He met her lips with a sweet kiss, his hand cradling her jaw and his eyes closed as he savoured the kiss as though it were water and he a man lost in the desert. No matter how often they kissed or how chaste the kiss, Killian savoured them all in this way - as though he had been dying and she had given him the air he needed to survive.

Despite the flush his flowery words brought to her cheeks, she rolled her eyes at him. She wrapped her hand around his and took a small step back, pressing his hand to her pregnant belly where the foot had been moments before. "He's up."

"Hey, lad." At the gentleness and awe wrapped around those words, Emma's heart threatened to burst. She thought she could not love this vampire more, but still, more depth remained. Sometimes, she wasn't sure her heart could hold it all.

A series of kicks met his words and touch. Killian's answering smile made her eyes burn with tears - the moment too perfect, too...everything...for her to process.

"I love you," she said wishing there was another word or phrase to relay the emotions rolling through her in this moment. It was love, sure. But, it felt like so much more. It was bigger, endless and boundless, eternal and ancient. She felt a sudden warmth wrapping around her and flowing through her, Killian's emotions meeting hers and holding them together through that strange bond they shared.

Even more time later...

Emma’s head rested heavily on his chest. Killian ran his fingers through her hair, gently taming the wild locks that had reached out to tickle his chin. He listened to her heart and breathing as she slept. Despite the soothing sound of her steady heartbeat and the softness of her features as she dreamed, he felt the chill of fear creeping up his spine.

She will wake with the sun. He held firm to that thought; it was his anchor through this particular storm.

Years may have passed, but the dread he’d felt that long week, as he waited for her to wake, refused to dampen or fade. Rather, it wrapped around his heart and stole quiet moments like this one from him.

He recalled the evening before in as much detail as he could pry from his memory. The long relieved sigh that had escaped from Emma as she sank into her side of the bed, the soft sound of her voice carrying from Liam’s room as she read last night’s chapter to him and his sister as they drifted off to sleep, her green eyes sparkling with humour when Hope transformed her lamb stew into cereal when Killian refused to give into the toddler’s demand, the comfortable - almost routine - kiss she gave him when she arrived home. Hundreds of similar moments came together to paint the full picture of their life together. Recalling them had loosened the tightness in his chest until he was able to watch his wife as she slept without wondering if she would find his way back to him when morning came.

She rolled off him, taking the covers with her. Rest would be even more elusive than usual this evening. Killian considered slipping out of bed for a late-night drink, but the chill of fear threatened to return. The warmth of Emma’s back pressed against his arm kept him grounded - leaving was not an option tonight. With a sigh, Killian picked a book up from his bedside table and settled in to pass the night.

A few chapters later, a solid thud from Liam’s room pulled him back out of the story. The soft sound of blankets rustling followed shortly after, his only warning, before the air shimmered and deposited his youngest in his bed. Hope’s small toes were already digging into his side like tiny daggers as she wiggled and snuggled in what little space existed between him and his wife. He wrapped an arm around the little intruder and tucked her close to his chest, hoping not to disturb his wife. Hope turned into him- her head tucked comfortably (for her) in the crook of his arm and her eyes already closed. A soft sound between a coo and a sigh escaped from the intruder - somehow she was asleep once more. Killian watched her in wonder.

“You two are heartbreakingly beautiful together. It’s almost unfair,” Emma teased, her voice a gentle whisper in the night.

“Amazing how they fall asleep so quickly when they crawl in here at night given the battle they wage at bedtime. I am sorry we woke you, love.” He leaned toward her to press a kiss into her temple. But, pinned down as he was beneath the sleeping tot, he could not quite reach. He frowned dramatically at her - take pity on a poor vampire?

With the slightest eye roll, Emma relented and brushed the softest kiss on his cheek. When she pulled back and made to lie back down, his frown deepened into a full pout. A slight curve to her lips was all the warning he got before she leaned forward once more and nipped his bottom lip. She soothed the sting of her teeth with a few deep kisses before breaking their contact with a very self-satisfied smile.

Killian ran his tongue over his lips to capture the warmth lingering from her kisses. Her loving teasing had melted away the last of his earlier anxieties. She slipped from the bed, his shirt falling to her thighs, and disappeared down the hallway. He smiled at her disappearing form and, content with his daughter in his arms and a lightness in his heart, drifted off to sleep.

Much later…

It was Sunday, so the delicious rich scent of a roast permeated through the house. He found Emma in the kitchen with flour covering her arms and the tip of her nose as she formed a pie crust. It would be spiced apple pie since that was Artie's favourite and Emma doted upon the child. Killian was also known to spoil the young boy, but who could blame them?

Killian was fairly certain that Hope’s little boy was the most perfect creature ever to have been formed, so they took every opportunity to shower Artie with all the adoration and love they could.

Being a parent had been a journey - sometimes rewarding and sometimes endlessly frustrating. Being a grandparent, however, was an absolute delight. Not only did he get to watch his strong-willed, independent daughter grow into a compassionate and endlessly patient mother, but he also got to soak up the phases of Artie's childhood in a way he hadn't as a parent. Rather than anticipating the next developmental milestone, worrying over the best school decision, or trying to figure out the best strategy to parent finding his child on the top of the kitchen cabinets at four in the morning, he found his role as a grandparent allowed him to be able to just play again.

“Are you revealing your secret project today?”

“I believe it is ready.” Killian looked out of the window overlooking the play set he had been designing and building over the last few weeks. Since Artie was over a few times a week, hiding the mammoth from the little pup had been quite a challenge, but Killian had somehow managed.

“The pirate ship theme is a nice touch. Artie loves your high seas tales, even as unbelievable as many of them had become…” Emma said as she smiled up at him. The sight stole his breath, as it had the first time she turned the full force of her unfiltered smile on him. Would there ever be a time where this woman would fail to affect him so deeply?

“Are you accusing me of embellishing my stories?” Killian asked with mock offence.

“It has been a few hundred years. You cannot be blamed for misremembering a few details.”

“I have fabricated no details of my experiences.”

Emma cocked in eyebrow - or tried to, Killian was still the most skilled that that trick - in disbelief. “The kraken, Killian?”

“Every word of it is true.”

“Oh, yes. The kraken saw into your soul and deemed you a kindred soul and so joined your fight against the Royal Navy.” Killian’s ears turned a pink, even as he confirmed that, that was the truth of it. “It had nothing to do with your crew sneaking the fish you were feeding the monster for over a month onto their ships the night before the battle.”

“Aye...well, that might’ve played a small part,” Killian admitted sheepishly.

“Mmhmm,” Emma agreed. She was pouring the filling into the crust - cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar warmed the air around them.

Home. Both the feeling and the word filled him at present. He’d always pictured it as a building, a physical safe harbour to weather one’s life. But after decades spent with Emma, he knew it could be found in a relationship, in another person, and in the life that you create with them.

“PAPA!” The shout was the only warning he had before his grandson launched at him, propelling them down to the floor in a heap of giggles. Today, their home would be filled with the family they created and there was nothing more Killian dared to want.

Much, much later…

The legend that soul mate lifespans were entwined was proven true as decades of life faded into centuries. They shared joys beyond what either of them had dared dream. They weathered storms together, learning to turn in toward one another when they needed strength or a haven in which to be vulnerable. And through it all, they held fast to one another, secure in the love they shared and the partner with whom they shared it.

In other words, they truly lived happily ever after.

Notes:

Oh, I hope you enjoyed this. I have been really anxious about hot to end this work and I really, really hope that you enjoyed the glimpses of their ever after. I look forward to hearing from you... even if I've let you down a bit. (If so, I am very sorry. I cannot emphasise just how many rewrites and attempts I made at this - and this is the one that felt the most right to me. I would ABSOLUTE understand if it doesn't feel as such to you.)

#captain swan #once upon a time #killian jones #captain hook #killian x emma #cs fanfic #cssns23 #emma swan #ouat #cs ff #the most delayed chapter that has ever lived?

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donteattheappleshook · 8 months

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(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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myfearless-love · 1 month

Text

Too Well Tangled (Chapter 12/21 - "From Brawls to Blueballs")

Chapters: 12/21 — "From Brawls to Blueballs"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Arthur (Once Upon a Time), Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet, Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Enemies to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Emma Swan, Angst and Romance, Banter

Summary: Determined and tough-minded Emma Nolan is on a singular mission: to rescue her dim-witted brother from the clutches of Killian Jones, the infamously rakish Marquess of Hookstone. Little did she anticipate her own burgeoning desire for the audacious, unscrupulous scoundrel she intended to despise. Killian Jones, the enigmatic Marquess of Hookstone, has more than earned his sinister sobriquet, the "Prince of Darkness." His past, a stormy mosaic of rejection and rebellion, has forged a man both feared and revered. Yet, the indomitable Miss Nolan proves an unexpectedly formidable opponent for his infamous charm. But when Killian's reciprocated passion lands them in a scandalously compromising, and very public, predicament, Emma is left with no recourse but to demand satisfaction...

Previous chapters: ch. 1 II ch. 2 II ch. 3 II ch. 4 II ch. 5 II ch. 6 II ch. 7 II ch. 8 II ch. 9 II ch. 10 II ch. 11

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

HUGE thank you to my amazing beta @xarandomdreamx for always catching my mistakes and leaving me smiling with her comments!!❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

#cs #captain swan #cs ff #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #once upon a time #emma x killian #ouat #ouat ff #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #enemies to lovers #regency au #niki writes #TWT

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piinfeathers · 8 months

Text

the scars we bare

it's a mid-january miracle, i actually wrote something. after threatening to finally start writing captain swan fics, i actually did it. thank you to all my beautiful friends on discord who encouraged me and to @dykelilypage i'm so glad you liked your gift <333 this is chapter 1 of 2, second one should be up tomorrow probably maybe who knows? :)))

summary: emma swan came to the underworld with one purpose; to rescue the man she loved from hades' grip. and she would do anything, sacrifice everything in order to that happen. when hades offers her a deal, a test of their true love, she takes it. in the end though, the bargain might just take more for them than they have to give. S5B canon divergence

tw: minor moments of gore and torture, also pregnancy and child birth

✨ ao3 link ✨

***

Emma had made plenty of bad decisions in her life. Big, catastrophic decisions, she could admit that. If she were to rank them though, willingly letting herself fall under a sleeping curse to rescue the man she loved from hell, probably would have ended up pretty high on the list.

She stared at him, across the wide airy field of middlemist flowers that wasn’t actually there, but felt nearly as real as she remembered, and wondered if he would feel the same.

“Swan.” Her name sounded like a prayer, rasped from his too-dry throat.

She was running then, or maybe she had started running before, she wasn’t sure. Her arms circled him when they met, his own grip nearly crushing as he lifted her off her feet. Frantic kisses and searching hands probed each other as incomplete pleas stuttered out of each of them.

“You alright?”

“-m fine. You can’t be here-”

“-made a deal. Hades, he had a deal.”

“-have to go back. Please, you have to go back.”

“I can’t.”

The last two words dropped like a stone between them and Killian jerked back. His face was the same as it had been when she’d last seen him alive. It was no longer the swollen mess of throbbing bruises Hades had left it in, when he’d shown Emma her lover’s broken body that was being torn and burnt and flayed apart until she had screamed to make it stop. Killian’s hand, the fingers still intact and no longer snapped and broken, cupped her face. He was trembling. Or maybe that was her. It was hard to tell at this point.

“Emma,” her name came out as a whisper. “Emma, where are we?”

She smiled as something huge and terrifying in her chest threatened to burst open.

“Somewhere... Somewhere in my mind. I think? Maybe,” she glanced around again, trying to focus. “A memory. He kept saying something about memories. Our memories.”

“Love, you aren’t making any sense.”

She laughed and it sounded like a watery hiccup. “Hades. Hades and I made a deal.”

The hand on her face tensed as she watched his expression grow brittle. “Emma-” his throat bobbed. “Emma. What kind of deal? What did you promise him?”

She held up her right hand, her index finger raised. A small droplet of blood welled up in the sensitive pad of flesh at the tip where she had pricked it only moments earlier.

“Sleeping curse,” she tried to keep her voice calm as she risked another glance at him. His face was ghost white, completely drained of colour. “I think he thought he was being funny. Something about “the old Charming family tradition.””

Killian’s head was shaking, his eyes darting away from her as he scanned the edges of the tree line behind them, looking for a way out. “We have to wake you up. Emma you don’t understand, Hades he-”

She watched his gaze go unfocused, the nerve in his jaw popping.

“Hey,” she said quickly, her hand curling around his neck, pulling him back to her. “He can’t get you, not here. Not unless he feels like breaking our deal.”

His eyes were still nervy, and she could feel his pulse jumping beneath her palm, but he focused on her again. God she had missed him. Missed the way he smelled, the way his scruffed jaw felt when she held it. It suddenly seemed so hysterically unfair that they’d only had a few months together. They deserved a lifetime.

“This deal,” he rasped after a moment. “Tell me exactly what he asked of you.”

“He wanted…” she trailed off, trying to remember what he had said. “He said he wanted to test us. To see if what we shared was true love or not. That we needed to really see every part of each other before we made our decision.”

Killian was holding very, very still, his expression unreadable. “And for us to do this test, you needed to be cursed, is that right? Am I cursed as well? Is that how I’m standing here with you?” His voice sounded calm, almost reasonable, as if they were discussing the rules to a complicated board game. But Emma could still feel his panic, could see it starting to edge into the corners of his eyes, turning them glassy. Another one of her huge, catastrophically bad decisions alright.

“No. No you aren’t under a sleeping curse,” she tried to make her voice comforting, but doubted it had much effect. “He said that souls without a living body don’t need curses to be moved to the dream realm, as long as they’re tethered to someone alive they just sort of- “hitch a ride,” or something.”

A smile started to spread across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So I’m tethered to you then?”

“Seems that way,” she said, her heart feeling like a dead weight in her chest. “I’m not exactly sure about the next parts, he was talking about memory magic, about old wounds needing to be opened up. He said the dream realm made the magic more…” she waved her hand. “Potent or something. Made it easier to find old memories.”

Killian’s hand dropped to her shoulder, his hook resting against her hip. “Why does he want us to explore old memories? Which memories? What does he gain from that?”

“I have no idea, I’m pretty sure he was just talking to hear himself speak at some point.”

“I don’t like this. Hades wouldn’t make a deal unless it was to punish or to trap you here. Emma, please,” his tone was growing frantic and it was making her own nerves start to fray. “Try and remember exactly what he said. Every word. If he’s trapped you here-”

“I don’t remember all the specifics! I was a little distracted watching you get tortured. Hades didn’t exactly have my undivided attention.”

Killian’s eyes shuttered and Emma could feel the slight tremor in his hand as it fell from her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the torture. The second she had, she’d seen his face go blank. When this was over, she would kill Hades. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but she would get creative. Somehow she would figure out a way to make the god of death hurt in the same way he had made Killian hurt.

“Look,” she said, her voice thick. “All you need to know is that he can’t hurt us. I made him swear it. He can’t touch you here, and he can’t kill me. Everything that happens now is up to us.”

He looked up, staring at something far away from them, like he was remembering something he’d rather forget. “And if we fail? What then? Does he get both of us to torture for eternity?”

“We won’t fail,” she told him. They wouldn’t. She couldn’t let that happen. Even if it killed her, she would never let Hades touch Killian Jones again. “I got down here didn’t I? And I found you. The hard part’s already done.”

He huffed out a laugh that sounded wrong to her ears. “Your confidence is admirable, Swan. But you don’t know what Hades is capable of. What he does to you once he has you.”

She could feel him slipping from her, could feel the despair coming off him in waves, and it killed her. “There’s a fail safe,” she told him quickly. “I can call off the deal at any time.”

He jerked his attention back to her, suddenly alert.

“But Killian, if I call it off, if I choose to end this, you go right back where I found you. Back to Hades,” she said, a world of meaning in her words.

“But you’ll be safe?”

She looked at him. She should tell him. Tell him the entire truth. Tell him exactly what she had promised to keep him safe, to bring him back home. What she had signed away. But if she told him, if he knew everything, he would never agree to it. He would refuse and send her back and all this would be for nothing. He would go back to the endless, screaming pain that Hades had cleaved into him until there was nothing of him left. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But you won’t. Please Killian. Please just let us try this first. We have to.”

He blew a breath out of his nose, looking down when she grabbed his hand in both of hers and squeezed. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, we'll try.”

She grinned as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, holding him. His hand moved up to her hair, cradling her head, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

“So. How exactly does this trial work? What do we have to do?”

There was a quick burst of magic to the left of them, and a door twisted into existence a few feet away. The carved wood groaned slightly as it seemed to sway towards them, rocking on its frame, before coming to a stop. They both stared at it.

“Well. Guess that answers that,” she said.

“Indeed,” he sighed, turning back to look at her. She saw a question, huge and all consuming in his stare that went unasked. Right, this was her deal. Her curse. He would follow her lead. Like he always did. Whatever happened, no matter how much it took from her, she would do whatever it took to make sure he got out of this.

“C’mon,” she nodded towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

He grimaced as they walked towards it, reaching down to grip the brass handle and opening it for her. “Any idea what’s awaiting us on the other side?”

She squeezed his hand, raising her brows. “Nope.”

They walked through. And the ground beneath their feet vanished.

***

She was falling. Her hair was whipping around her head while the wind rushed up and made her eyes water. Images and noise strobed past like flickering television screens as she plummeted down towards a huge, white nothingness. If she focused she thought she could make out faces, blurred and half formed, but they streaked past her, faster than her eyes could follow. She tried to reach out, tried to find something to grab a hold of, something to slow her fall, but it was like falling through light and sound and a great vast emptiness eager to swallow her whole.

Was this it? Was this what Hades had planned all along? No harm to her physical body sure, but trapping them in some fucked liminal space for eternity? Well. That was a different story.

She tried to look up, or whatever passed for up in this space and suddenly felt something grab her arm. Killian, his grip tight on her, was falling beside her. His mouth was open, mouthing something she couldn’t hear over the roar of noise and wind and her own frantic heartbeat. She tried to reach for him, her fingers outstretched-

When everything slammed to a sudden stop.

Her mind lurched, feeling like the contents of a car with its brakes hit too hard. The tunnel of noise, whatever it had been, was gone, and a blindingly blue sky stretched out in front of her. She tried to blink and turn her head, but her body was locked in place, no longer listening to her.

Only…only it wasn’t her body.

She heard someone call for her, but it wasn’t her name she heard, it was Killian’s. She twisted and when her mouth opened it wasn’t her voice that boomed forth, but a man’s, low and accented, and oh-so familiar to her.

She’d dealt with memory magic before, had stayed up long, magic-drunk nights as the dark one weaving dream catchers together in order to snare memories. She’d been expecting something closer to that, where memories played like snippets of old tv reruns. This was something completely different. She wasn’t just watching Killian's memories, she was living them. In his head.

“What news do you bring me then?” he called.

He sounded happy, and Emma could feel it then, he was excited about something. Somehow, inside his head, she could feel thoughts, could almost reach out and touch them.

He stood on the top deck, near the massive helm. Below him, near the rigging of the sails, a woman with dark hair and seafoam eyes grinned at him. Even before Emma felt the sudden rush of love and recognition, she knew exactly who she was looking at. Milah.

“No news that can safely be shared among mixed company, captain ,” Milah called with a wink. She had Henry’s smile, Emma realized distantly.

The crew around Milah laughed uproariously, and her wide grin was a twin to the one stretching across Killian’s as he swung round the deck to go meet her.

Just as Emma was greedily drinking in the image of the image of the woman who had her son’s grin and Killian's heart, the world suddenly melted and shifted around her. It was as if the memory smeared, all the unimportant bits forgotten and discarded. She moved through short, foggy glimpses of old points in time. Moments alone with Milah, the sound of her laugh, the feeling of her eyes watching him, her laugh lines fanning out from the corners. At the core of it, his love for her was like a warm, even glow in his chest. Emma was suddenly sad that she would never get to meet this woman. This woman with the sharp wit and an easy laugh. She thought she would have liked her.

She kept floating through memories until they solidified all at once into sharp focus. Killian was back on the deck. Only he couldn’t move, something tight twisted around his chest and pinned him down. In front of him, Milah was on her knees. A man stood before her. His hand was buried into her chest.

Emma recognized Rumpelstiltskin as blind, frantic panic tore through Killian, choking her. Killian had never told her explicitly how Milah had died, only that Gold had killed her. But she knew this moment. She knew what happened next.

Rumpelstiltskin's hand tore free, Milah’s beating heart in his grip. He stared at it almost hungrily. Emma heard Killian shout, felt him pull himself free from the ropes binding him and dive for Milah as she slumped back. He caught her, begging, pleading words stumbling from his lips. She felt so light in his arms, a hollow empty shell. They shared a look, Milah’s gaze full of an unspoken farewell.

She heard, rather than saw the crunch of the heart as Rumpelstiltskin crushed it. Milah gasped, dead even before the ashes crumbled and fell to the deck.

Rage built in Killian, blinding and useless. It pushed him to his feet, surged him forward. He cursed Rumpelstiltskin, his hands in fists, desperate to drive them into the scaled skin and rotting teeth of the man who took his love. Rumpelstiltskin's grin was sharp. A blade flashed. Men shouted. A horrible, exquisite pain erupted from Killian’s left wrist and drove him to his knees. Emma wanted to scream.

Everything started moving too fast. The memory grew blurry again, every part of it dulled by the all consuming pain and rage boiling in Killian. He was screaming, driving a hook into Rumpelstiltskin's chest, mocking laughter meeting his ears. Then hands were grabbing him, pulling him back. Pain. Oh god there was just so much pain. Emma felt herself being dragged down with it, Killian’s vision growing black. But even in the darkness she felt the agony, unable to escape it. All alone in his head, she ached.

The memories came and went. Bright flashes of faces crowding into his vision, frantic voices and bloody rags. Blood. There was so much blood. She could smell it, the sharp, copper tang of it. It felt like it coated his tongue, filled his nostrils and tried to drown him. He was being moved, every bump and bounce he felt sending jolts of pain through his system and forcing him back into blank unconsciousness.

Then heat. It was so sudden and sharp it brought him back to bleeding, screaming life. The world around him was thrown into abrupt focus as molten heat was pressed against the agonizing, throbbing stump of his wrist. He looked at the white hot blade being forced against his skin, watched as it melted his flesh and made it bubble around the edges, cauterizing it. He was screaming. It filled his head, an endless bellow of animalistic pain that crashed into Emma like a blow.

When the darkness came for him again, Emma welcomed it with a sob.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he started to wake again. She didn’t care. Every part of his body was one, long, endless agony. She couldn’t breathe from the force of it. Above him, it grew dark, then light, then dark again. Time moving on with or without him.

A noise woke him at some point. She blinked the grit from his burning eyes, trying to look at where Killian's hand had been severed. His wrist was an angry, mottled thing, the skin around it too pink, too tight. Thick blisters, fat and stretched taunt, seemed too shiny in the pale light below the deck of the ship where they had left him.

Her head lolled, their shared vision turning syrupy around the edges as the pain rose up again and smothered her in burning heat.

She could hear voices, pitched low, all whispering with a panicked edge.

“Fever.”

“ Infection…”

“The amount of blood he lost-”

“No one could survive that.”

Emma writhed inside the shell of the memory. Killian , she sobbed, unsure if he could hear her. Was he in here with her? Was he reliving this too and she just couldn’t feel him? Or had Hades taken him away from her again? It was so quiet now. Killian. Killian. She repeated it again and again, his fever touching her own mind, choking the air from her lungs. How could he bear this? How could anyone bear this?

Fresh pain shot from his wrist and Emma threw her head back and screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks when it was Killian’s voice, Killian’s pain she heard echoing endlessly in her head as she was pitched sidewise into another memory.

He was vomiting, heat and misery burning him, leaving him feeling feverish and delirious. He was fading in and out of consciousness, through the days, maybe weeks, he could no longer tell. Food and water had to be forcibly shoved into his mouth until he swallowed it, all the while he cursed at them for daring to try and keep him alive in his grief.

Emma watched it all, helpless inside his head. Killian had been right. Hades had found a way to torture them after all. Because this? Watching Killian break apart, unable to help, was agony. She wanted to fight, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. But she could do neither. She could only sit and witness it all.

More memories faded in and out. In his rare moments of lucidity, the image of Milah, her heart torn from her chest, burned across his brain. His heart felt empty, like a hollow burden, sinking his body down deeper. His love for her burned itself away, twisted and malformed from grief. In its place, only one thought remained. Revenge.

The word repeated itself, over and over, until it became a mantra. As his body healed, as the scar tissue on both his wrist and his heart thickened, he swore it to himself, again and again. He would have his revenge. No matter the cost.

Trapped inside his tortured mind, Emma mourned for him.

***

Killian woke in agony. Pain snaked around his spine and sank into his bones, leaving him too weary to move. For one, terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the underworld. That all this had been a ruse. Emma had never come for him, Hades had simply split open his head and planted the idea of her, giving him hope and then taking it. Yet again.

But this place didn’t feel like his hell. There were voices around him, low murmuring, distinctly human voices.

He tried to open his eyes, but they stayed stubbornly shut. Another wave of pain twisted inside him, washing over him as his back arched and a low, sobbing moan filled his head. Emma. That was Emma’s voice.

“You’re doing great Emma, just a little longer now,” a strange voice near his feet comforted.

He felt her then, Emma. She was scared and exhausted and so, so heartbreakingly sad that it nearly swallowed her.

He wasn’t here, he realized as her emotions buffeted him and surrounded him from all sides. This was Emma’s body. Her memory.

Her eyes opened and Killian looked across the room through tear blurred eyes. She was on her back, doctors and nurses standing around her, their faces hidden with masks and hair coverings. Blinding, overhead lights seemed to beat down on her, making her even more uncomfortable. She tried to move and Killian felt something tug on her wrist.

She let out a small sob of annoyance and pain, looking down at the silver cuff that chained her to the bed. They’d restrained her. She was in pain, she needed help, and they’d restrained her.

Fury raced through him, though he couldn’t tell if it was his or hers he felt, or a combination of the two. She felt so small in the bed, and so completely alone.

Another rush of pain, this one stronger than the first two, sent stars across their shared vision and Emma fell back.

“Okay Emma, you’re ready. It’s time to push, alright?”

She was shaking her head, and Killian felt her panic and his own bleed together. She was giving birth. He was about to witness her giving birth inside her own mind. For some reason the complete invasion of it flooded his brain, made him want to climb out of her head and simply hold her. This was her memory. Hers. He had no right to witness this and Hades certainly had no right to take that choice from her.

But he was here. There was no taking back what had been started. So he sat in the mind of the woman he loved and felt her body tear itself apart.

She was screaming, her body bearing down, the act of giving birth overwhelming her rational brain and simply taking over, trying to push. Sweat poured down her face as she strained, her pain now just a constant steady stream of misery. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end. She just wanted to lay back and sleep and never wake up. She’d fought so hard her whole life and now she had no fight left. She was done.

“You've got this Emma,” a nurse soothed from her left side, her gloved hand rubbing circles on her back. Emma liked her, Killian could feel it. This was a kind person, the only person who treated her like a patient and not a prisoner. A good person, a decent person. Someone who would make an amazing parent. Unlike her.

“Emma, I need you to work with us,” the doctor positioned between her legs called. “You need to keep pushing, your baby is ready to come out.”

Her baby. Killian felt a spark of something light inside her. Emma was too scared to give the feeling a name, but Killian recognized it instantly. Love.

Oh how she loved this little baby. She adored it. She sang it songs in her head and read to it in the bed of her prison cell when everyone else was asleep. She would give anything to her baby if it asked.

So she pushed. She pushed even as she felt like she was tearing in half, when the pain grew knife-sharp and carved her open. Voices blurred around her, all speaking over each other, telling her to take deep breaths, that she was almost there, that it was almost over. She gripped the sides of the bed, shoving forward and pushed until she thought her bones would crack and she would break apart until there was nothing of her left.

“Big push now Emma! Big push!”

She screamed and it was like the ozone in the room ignited, the lights in the room glowing white hot and shattering. Killian felt a punch of raw, primal magic explode from within her and then-

A baby’s cry, small but strong, broke through the silence. Henry. He was here. Killian wanted to look at him, wanted to see the boy's face, the feeling nearly overwhelming him. But Emma didn’t turn to look. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sank into the mattress.

“It’s a boy Emma,” the doctor said, a smile in his voice.

A boy. She had a son. A beautiful, perfect son. He cried out, and Killian felt it drive into Emma's heart like a knife. Every part of her wanted to turn, wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to soothe his cries and protect him from every bad scary thing in this world like it was her only job in this life.

But…she couldn’t. She loved him more than anything. She would give him anything to make him happy, to keep him safe. And because of that she knew that meant he had to go away. As far away from her as possible. He deserved so much, he deserved the whole world. And she couldn’t afford to give it to him. All she had to give him was a chance. A chance at a better start. Without her. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be his mother. She would ruin him. Taint him somehow. She wouldn’t do that to him.

Killian felt the decision form in her mind, felt her shake her head and grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as tears spilled down her face. He heard the doctor tell her that she could change her mind, that it wasn’t too late. But he knew. He knew what happened next. He wanted to beg her to change her mind, to see that she already was a mother, he wanted to be there and tell her over and over until she believed it. But he couldn’t change the past. He could only watch it.

“No. I can't be a mother,” her voice was so small, it broke him.

He felt her heart tear itself in two. When the doctors carried her baby away from her, when Henry’s small, searching cries faded down the hall into silence, Killian felt as a piece of Emma’s heart went with him. Heartbreak didn’t come close to describing this feeling. It was as if a huge, yawning emptiness split open in her chest where her heart had once sat and consumed her.

***

Killian woke with a start, jerking up and dragging air desperately into his lungs. Beside him, Emma shot up, panting, eyes darting until she saw him. Her face was pale, her hair damp from sweat and sticking to her face. She opened her mouth, her eyes rapidly moving over his face, before flinching away from him and vomiting into the tall grass. He shot forward.

“Emma, breathe. It’s alright, it’s over. What did you-?”

“Probably a good idea to give her a minute,” a taunting voice called from behind them. “She had a hell of a ride in there.”

Killian’s head spun, white hot rage spilling into his blood. Behind them, Hades sat back in a plastic lawn chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, grinning.

“You bloody bastard,” Killian was on his feet, his hand clenched. The overwhelming urge to stomp the heel of his boot into Hades’ cold, dead smile, nearly blinded him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Hades warned, a single finger raising in the air. “We wouldn’t want to do anything rash now, would we Emma?” He leaned over, calling to her. From her kneeling position, she shoved her middle finger over her shoulder without turning and spat in the grass.

“Hades if you’ve hurt her-”

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t do anything,” he said with mock innocence. “All I did was show her your memory.”

Killian felt his blood run cold. What memory could he have shown her for her to react like that? He knelt back down when Emma moaned, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.

“Ignore him,” she rasped. “I’m alright. It was-it was just intense.”

“Emma love, call off the deal. I won’t have you in pain like this, I can’t-”

“No!” her eyes burned as she reached up to grip him. “Killian, no, I can handle it. Please. I promise.”

Killian blew a sharp breath from his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Emma,” he tried to make his voice gentle but it still carried an edge. “Love, what memory did he show you?”

Her eyes went distant for a moment, and Killian felt his stomach tighten. He had lived centuries, had done countless brutal things. Any of them were enough to have her react like this. The question was, which one had Hades chosen?

“It was Milah,” she said after a pause. “The moment Rumpelstiltskin killed her, and took your hand.”

Killian went still, staring at her. Hades had shown her that moment? Milah’s face, frozen in fear, floated in front of his eyes, there and gone in seconds. A phantom twinge of pain jolted from his wrist reflexively.

“How much-” he swallowed. “How much did he show you?”

“Oh, I showed her everything, don't worry!” Hades's cheery voice called. “No gory detail left out. Gave her the full surround sound experience, didn’t I Emma?”

Beside him, Emma's face turned pale, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. Killian remembered the pain he had felt trapped inside her memory of Henry’s birth, the agony she had gone through, and felt dread turn his skin cold. She had experienced him losing his hand. Even in his most lucid recollections of that day, Killian had never managed to remember that pain in anything other than hazy, blurred-over recollections. He had pushed it so far from his mind to protect himself from reliving that brutal torment.

And Hades had just made her experience it in full, merciless detail.

“You bastard Hades, there was no bloody need to show her-”

“Show her what? The moment you decided to dedicate your life to avenging your one true love?” Hades asked, his eyes growing wide with mock innocence. He turned to Emma and grinned. “No offense of course. No shame in being the runner up.”

Killian surged to his feet, blood pumping, hook raised. He would bloody end him. Here and now.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emma said, pushing herself up on shaky legs, to grip his arm. “He's not worth it.”

Killian spared her a glance. “He doesn't have the bloody right. He doesn’t have the right to reach into our heads and pull out our pain just to torture us with it.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure I do though. After all,” Hades steepled his hands together, his gaze locking on Emma. “We made a deal.”

“The deal was to test our true love, not whatever twisted game you’re playing at Hades,” Killian snapped.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Hades said, his tone taking on an edge of false sincerity. “True love isn’t just some cheap card trick, it’s the most powerful magic that exists. To have it you need to love so fully and completely that it’s like second nature. And you can’t have love like that when you don’t really know a person, now can you?”

The god of death gestured with both hands, like a demented talk show host. “Seriously this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here! I really wouldn’t pass this up if I were you. You,” he pointed to Killian. “Get to finally see inside the head of the saviour, finally learn what makes her tick. And you,” his hand swung to Emma. “Get to learn what kind of man Killian Jones really is.”

His words felt ominous. A promise and a curse all at once.

“Ignore him,” Emma said. “I already tried to tell him earlier that this whole test was pointless.” She turned to look at him, her mouth turning up at the corners as a fire lit behind her eyes. “I already know exactly what type of man you are.”

“Mmmm, do ya though?” Hades asked with a hiss of breath, tilting his head to the side. “See, I'm not so sure about that. I mean you two have known each other, what, a few months at most? He’s got a whole three centuries worth of history before meeting you. Entire lifetimes lived before you were even born.”

His gaze sharpened, the edge of his smile growing pointed. “Are you really sure he’s even worth it?”

“Yes.”

Killian sucked in a sharp breath at her sudden certainty. She turned and looked at him, her eyes holding promise. “Yes, I know he’s worth it.”

“Touching,” Hades said dryly. “Really. And for your sake, I hope you’re right. We’ve got a hell of show left to get through.”

Killian could feel the magic starting again, could feel the rush of it start to build, and shook his head. He still didn’t trust this, any of this. He knew how Hades made deals, and he knew there was no way he would give either of them up so easily.

“Emma said you agreed on a fail safe, a way out for her if she needs it. How do we know you’ll honor that?” He asked, stopping the god from conjuring another door.

Hades turned to give them a bored look, as if the question was barely worth his time. “Emma isn’t dead, not yet anyway. I don’t have any way of keeping her bound in the underworld with me. She has the ability to leave whenever she wants.”

“Yeah sure…one small problem though,” Emma glanced between the two of them. “I can’t exactly get up and walk out while I’m stuck in a sleeping curse, can I?”

Hades’s smile turned wolffish, his eyes lighting as if she’d finally said something interesting. “Well now, how funny you bring that up. I was wondering when you would.”

When they both only stared at him, the god’s face fell.

“Hello? Sleeping curse?” he said, gesturing to Emma with a flicking hand. “True love’s kiss? Big flashy light show? Thought this was all sort of obvious? Gods you two really are slow. Here.” he jumped to his feet, hands tucking into the pockets of his pants, and stalked towards them.

“Let me break this down for you. You have two options, one; you see my test through to the end and test the strength of your love, or two;” he held up two fingers on his left hand. “If at any point you want the trial to end, all you have to do is kiss her. She goes back home, no hard feelings, thanks for playing, and you,” he turned to Killian, his grin predatory. “Stay here with me. And we go back to our fun little games.”

They were still for a moment, Emma hand in his squeezing tight. They could. They could just end this now. He could end this now, and save her. He turned to her, caught her tortured gaze. Her head gave one, barely noticeable shake, no.

“Unless, of course,” Hades continued, taking a step towards them. “You’re worried it won’t work?”

Killian blinked. An old, nearly buried dread rising in him like ocean water in a sinking ship. That old fear that Hades was right. That it wasn’t true love at all.

Oh he loved her of course. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Emma Swan. Even the way he had loved Milah had been different. Not any worse or any less but…different. Loving Emma Swan was like loving the sun. It came as natural to him as breathing.

But in his weakest, most torturous moments of doubt he wondered. He wondered if she ever felt the same. She loved him, of course, in her own quiet way. And he had taken that love and cherished it, held it closely to his heart and lived off it, satisfied with all she gave him.

But. True love? In the depths of her heart was it really true love? The uncertainty of it killed him. And he knew that Hades was perfectly aware of that fact. He had practically split Killian’s head open, torn out chunks of him. Every fear, every doubt, every agonizing thought that Killian had ever felt, Hades knew. And now he planned to torture both of them with it.

“We’ll keep going with the trial.” Emma said, breaking Killian’s thoughts apart and scattering them. “But we need real memories this time, not whatever sadistic thing you find in our pasts that you feel like torturing us with.”

“Ugh. Fine then, since you two want to be boring, we’ll do this your way! Let’s start at the beginning.” He flicked a hand through the air and another door appeared before them. “No more skipping to all the fun bits first. Off you go!”

They stared at it for a moment. It seemed to pulse with magic, threatening and inviting all at once. In his hand, her fingers were cold, the knuckles white where they gripped him tightly. He shifted, lifting his hook and brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. Her eyes found his and locked on, a question in her eyes. He waited.

“What memory did he show you?” Emma asked finally, glancing up at him. “I’m guessing it was one of mine. Which one?”

Killian debated not telling her. Did she really need to know how Hades had stolen that moment from her? But her face was resolute, her gaze steady. There was no point withholding this from her.

“You were in the hospital,” he said, watching her face. “Giving birth to Henry.”

“Oh.” she said, so quietly he barely caught it. Pain flashed across her face, fast and sharp, before her walls went up again and her expression grew blank.

They both turned to look at the door as it swung open, the hinges squeaking slightly. He gripped her hand tighter, felt her hesitation before she squeezed back. Side by side, they walked through together.

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #there is probably a lot of spelling mistakes in this #i wrote all of this on my phone 💀 not a joke #steph writes #cs fics #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic

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laianely · 10 months

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This is the idea that I've been putting off for so long. And this is some kind of trailer for my fanfic - "Hooked Swan"! Finally made it!

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #once upon a time #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #laianely's edits #laianely’s fanfics

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the-darkdragonfly · 3 months

Text

NEW CHAPTER! A Trick of the Light

Chapter Twelve: Back Again

I know I know! But we're here now...

♥️♥️♥️♥️

The baby bag, which had begun to feel like another family member to Emma and himself ever since they had received it as a gift from Ruby, always filled to the brim with toddler approved snacks- I think those are meant to be given to Hope, Swan- which Emma had delighted in stealing- I’ve told you, toddler snacks and Emma snacks are the same thing, babe- lay toppled at Killian’s feet, having tumbled down from where he had tossed it haphazardly before they set sail from the small harbour only moments before, and when he knelt to retrieve it, Hope teary faced and reaching for him, something crinkled from the one of the outermost pockets.

At the familiar noise, Emma sat up from her place against the wall, Hope having crawled into her lap the moment she had sunk to the floor, eyes suddenly clear as she whispered exaggeratedly slowly at him- is that a fruit snack?- as if their children wouldn't be interested in what she was saying when the word ‘snack’ was involved if she said it slowly enough.

Hope cried again, her face scrunched in annoyance hands grabbing towards him- come here, little lovie, that was scary, I know, I’m sorry- whispering a broken plea for snacks against his neck, her curls tickling the skin on his throat, her speech less pronounced, softened as it had been when she was so much younger.

Emma shuffled Liam into her vacated lap, plucking the boy gently from where he’d been laying against her thigh, happily chewing on the corner of the rug- oh, baby, no, that’s yucky- and reached into the bag, eyes wide with excitement.

A veil of memory swam before Killian’s eyes, cool and refreshing, soft around the edges as the tension which had carried them away from the curse of Camelot cleared like morning fog from a lake, a memory of Emma several months earlier, pregnant in their Storybrooke kitchen, a scowl on her lovely face.

“Can you put this somewhere?” Emma had huffed in annoyance, handing him the bag of generic brand sour soothers- they’re better than the big famous ones, babe- her third that week if he’d been keeping track properly, which, he knew, he probably hadn’t been.

“Where shall I put them, then, love?”

“Somewhere I can’t get them, I’m obsessed. It has to stop.”

He privately agreed, but two pregnancies had taught him that honesty wasn’t always the best course of action, and he took the package from her outstretched hand- you’re a pirate, you have to be good at hiding treasure- raising an eyebrow.

“I might not have to hide them, Swan…”

“What do you-” she didn’t get to finish the remainder of her question as his smile widened in mischief and he dropped the package at her feet, her belly ensuring the task of retrieving the treats nearly impossible- if you can get them, then you’ve earned them, love.

“Wow.”

♥️♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here.

Read my other stuff here.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnightsuki @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic

#a trick of the light #a captain swan tale #the darkdragonfly #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs fanfic #the ripple effect #im back again

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undercaffinatednightmare · 5 months

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I went digging into my eleventy-billion ideas scattered throughout my drive to bring you a list of either last words or close to what I wrote last on the docs. I tried to make sure there wasn’t smut in the lines, but I did curse.

Hopefully this kick starts the muse. She’s been hibernating while real life goes crazy.

@captainswanwipwednesdays

Untitled 1776 fic

With a quick check of herself in the mirror, she threw a shawl around her shoulders and shut the door quietly. When she was certain Arthur wouldn’t see the fear on her face, she opened the door and stepped towards him before Arthur or his men could enter her house again.

Blackberry Summers

“I would give my entire fortune to know those thoughts.” He murmured as he leaned close enough to trail a finger down her cheek. “What was it that made you blush, Swan?”

@teamhook’s fic

“You should learn how to tie one of these things”

“Why? It gives you a sense of accomplishment”

Ice Castles

Her brow furrowed again and she pouted slightly. “What are we doing?”

“I think it’s time a certain Swan took flight.” He kissed the tip of her nose before he picked her up in his arms and stepped onto the ice.

Rear Window

How had she missed that? Emma immediately sent a text to Will before groaning into her pillow. She was completely fucked.

Fairest chapter 5

“I’ve already made an appointment at Ella’s for dress shopping!” Her aunt looked like she might pop from excitement.

Killian wrapped his arms around her waist. This wedding was going to be an explosion of tulle, but at least she wouldn’t be wearing the feather dress.

Untitled A/B/O Smut

“Probably.” He chuckled and brushed a kiss to her shoulder. “But I should probably get some clothes on?”

“In the washer.” She hummed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Untitled A/B/O

The pull to hold her was too strong to ignore this time. Emma buried her face in his chest as the tears wracked her body. When she finally calmed, she pulled back to meet his eyes. He had no idea what she was looking for, but she found it and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him closer.

Her scent gland was right beside his nose and whatever she was producing made his head swim. He was vaguely aware of her standing on his feet as she tucked herself against him. It didn't matter. She could step on him all she wanted if it meant she'd stay here.

Untitled Supernatural fic

Squeak. Squeak. Squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak SQUEAK. Squeak. SQUEAK. SqueaksqueakSQUEAKsqueaksqueak SQUEAK. Squeak. Squeak. Squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak SQUEAK.

A Charming Curse

“You do know who you’re talking to, Miss Charming?” The smooth voice was pure malice.

“You came to me for help, not the other way around.” I shouted at him. “Go find someone who wants magic.”

Captain Who - Eleventh Hour

The crack snapped shut and Olivia stared at her blank bedroom wall, “Who was that?” She asked him. “Was that Prisoner Zero?”

Captain Who - The Snowmen (for @everything-person )

“Snow that can remember? That’s silly.” Was she teasing him? Bloody hell.

“What’s wrong with silly?” He felt a smile tug his lips despite his sour mood. Bloody hell this mood had lasted longer than some of his previous regenerations.

“Nothing. I’m still talking to you.” There it was again. That smirk in her voice, the light in her eyes. A century or two ago, he would have thought she was flirting, but that wasn’t possible anymore. Was it?

“What’s your name?” His manners were a little rusty, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Emma.” Her smile grew brighter.

“That’s a nice name. Emma.” He turned to return home. “You should definitely keep it.”

How I Met Your Mother

“Didn’t my sister tell you? I was able to catch an earlier flight.” She asked and she draped her coat on the chair. “What’s going on?”

The door burst open as a red haired woman tumbled in. She was followed by a tall muscular blond man with a sandwich nearly falling from his mouth as he navigated the steps. “Liam! Elsa gets in early! Oh…hey Elsa!”

Cordially Invited

“It’s why I came looking for you, Captain. You requested my last two dances, did you not?” She smiled mischievously and handed him her dance card. K Jones was written in the last two entries.

Kaos

Granny, Ruby, and Leroy were having a heated argument when a disembodied female voice interrupted: I’m having trouble understanding you. Playing Shake it Off by Taylor Swift.”

A song filled the dining room and Leroy tugged something from deep in his pockets. “No!” He growled at the talking phone.

Only Murders in the Building

"I swear if you apologize for that, I'll make you wait 10 more years." She rasped.

He rested his forehead against her and chuckled quietly. "I would despair if you did."

Sparkling Cyanide

Six people were thinking about Regina Mills-Gold who had died nearly a year ago.

Citadel

The metal scraping of a chair on the floor made Killian’s eyes throb in pain. Bloody hell. His head was already pounding.

Archie sat across from him and leaned his trusty umbrella against his chair. “Alright, Agent Jones, care to tell me what happened?”

Killian closed his eyes and focused his glare on the inside of his eyelids. “I told you already.” He took a breath and met eyes like chips of ice. “I returned home with my wife.”

Archie drew out his tablet and a pen as he began tapping on a screen. “Right. And who would that be?”

“Olivia Rogers.” He replied.

Parabellum

In the ashes of his happiness something else took shape. If he couldn’t be a better man for her, he could become their worst nightmare.

They should have left him in peace.

Untitled Mashup

"My father loved Egypt so much, he married my mother, who was an Egyptian" Killian Jones to Emma Swan after drinking rum for the first time.

@teamhook ’s Christmas

Someone like Emma deserved better. She deserved a better man that he had been or could hope to be. Maybe, he could give her back her sibling.

I’m Wishing

He chuckled at the odd turn of phrase, but before he could inquire about the relevance of the temperature, the door opened to a stooped, wrinkled old woman with stringy gray hair looking painted. What had Ruby called it? A cartoon?

Death on the Nile

She tilted her head to look at her husband. He truly was beautiful in the sunlight. His big blue eyes sparkled at her when he smiled. She traced the tip of one elven ear with her fingertip and laughed when he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. For a few moments, she allowed herself to be swept away by the depth of love she saw reflected back in his eyes.

Code: Omega

Killian sighed when his cubicle mate, Ariel, brought him coffee and a danish from her coffee run. "Lass, if Eric doesn't propose soon, we should talk."

"Ha!" She grinned. "You'd never be able to afford me."

"A man can dream." He chuckled. "You are an angel. Thank you."

Aunt Soolie

“Natural?” West looked furious. “Well it might be natural for a sardine, but this girl’s father put me in charge of making sure she grows up to be a proper lady. Which is why tomorrow at 8 o’clock, I’ll be taking this girl to St Meissa Academy and you will only get your depraved hands on her Christmas and summer and I wish I could find a way to stop you from that!”

Blind Date

Emma pressed against him as he drove to the restaurant. She caught the tip of his ear between her teeth and he nearly drove into the other lane. “God your scruff is so sexy. I wanna know how it feels between my legs.”

Traveling Storm

Late that afternoon, they arrived at a clearing and he felt panic set in. A woman grabbed a young girl with blonde curls, but the child slipped past to run away from the house. “Papa!” she shrieked over and over before Teach picked her up and walked back inside. The woman shouted and ran for him, but he grabbed her by the throat and took them both inside.

Tag!

——————-

@jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @beckettj @zaharadessert @winterbaby89 @earanemith @everything-person @elizabeethan @elfiola @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @teamhook @caught-in-the-filter @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @kmomof4 @laianely @stahlop @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @exhaustedpirate @ultraluckycatnd @xarandomdreamx @belovedcreation @shady-swan-jones @ohmakemeahercules @bdevereaux-blanche

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tags 💜

#undercaffinatednightmare fics #captain who #captain swan #cs smut #captainswanwipwednesdays #cs fanfic #cssns23 #cssns24 #cs writing challenge #WIP Wednesday #cs prologue challenge (pre-week 1)#there’s more but I think I have the tracks I need for these

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pirateswhore · 11 months

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Carve your name into my bedpost 🔞

one-shot drabbles written for cocktober 2023. most will be under 1k words. following the prompt list from @cs-c-ocktoberfest2023

Ch XVIII - Mutual Masturbation : Read on AO3

Ch XIX - Sensory Deprivation : Read on AO3

Ch XX - Toys & Lingerie : Read on AO3

Ch XXI - Threesome : Read on AO3

Ch XXII - Authority : Read on AO3

Ch XXIII - Post Partum : Read on AO3

Ch XXIV - Phone Sex : Read on AO3

Ch XXV - In Front of a Mirror : Read on AO3

Ch XXVI - Food Play : Read on AO3

Ch XXVII - Edging : Read on AO3

Ch XXVIII - Shared Dream : Read on AO3

Ch XXIX - At Work : Read on AO3

Ch XXX - Instant Attraction : Read on AO3

Ch XXXI - On a Ship : Read on AO3

well !! can't believe october is over ! came and went in a heartbeat. I had SO much fun writing all these prompts ! I hope you guys had as much fun reading them.

a HUGE thank you to the event organisers (cs-c-ocktoberfest2023), everyone that has commented consistently on every chapter & my dear friends on discord & tumblr that encouraged me to continue !

if you're interested, do check out my other works ! smut wheel will resume updating with weekly-ish chapters n prompts and I have more stuff planned ! :) if you're interested in requesting something, my tumblr ask box is open

thank you for reading & reblogging ! <3

- andjie

#killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #ouat #emma x killian #cscf23 #chantecler writing #smut #cs smut #ouat smut #cs fanfic

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hollyethecurious · 4 months

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CS AU: Pan Says... (9/?)

Summary: After waking up in a strange room with a naked stranger, Emma and Killian must endure the twisted game their kidnapper insists they play in order to gain provisions and avoid punishments.

A/N: Check it out, y'all! Another update from me! Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism / voyeurism. role play.

Part Nine

“I don’t know who you are, or what sort of game you’re playing at, but this isn’t funny!”

Emma glanced at the monitor overhead, the timer quickly counting down the minutes she had left to try and convince David that she was really Emma, that she was alive, and in need of his help.

“David Robert Nolan, shut the fuck up and listen to me!” she yelled over the receiver.

“What did you just call me?”

“I called you by your full government name,” she said. “David Robert, after your father, Nolan. Or would you prefer I call you Charming like Mary Margaret does?”

“How do you know--”

“Because it’s me, David! It’s Emma! I’m alive and I need your help!”

“Emma?” he questioned over the line, the hope she knew he wasn’t sure he should dare to feel leaking into his tone. “Is it really you? How? Where are you? Where have you been? Who did they pull out of the--”

“Just listen, okay?” she interrupted as the time rapidly dwindled. “I don’t know who that woman was or how he faked my death, but I was abducted three weeks ago by someone who calls himself Pan. I was taken from outside the police station after dropping off a skip. I was tasered. I’m here with a man named Captain Killian Jones. He has a brother named Liam, who also was led to believe that Killian was missing for reasons other than kidnapping. I need you to find him. He’ll be trying to get a hold of you, because Killian just called him, too, and let him know what’s been going on.”

She flicked her gaze to Killian, still looking shell-shocked from the emotionally charged conversation he’d had with his brother. He’d wanted to stay by her side whilst she made her call, but she’d told him to go sit and take a moment. They’d be there for one another later. It was why they’d chosen to wait and make these calls before turning in for the night. So they could just lay in bed and hold each other in the aftermath.

“What has been going on?” David demanded, bringing Emma’s focus back to her brother. “Why would this Pan person take you? What has he… are you alright? Has he hurt you? Did you escape, is that why you’re calling now? Do I need to come get--”

“No, we haven’t escaped. We… we sort of… earned a reward. Look. It’s too much to explain right now. I’m going to give you some specs of the place we’re being held in. Write them down so you can give them to the police.”

Emma waited as David searched for a pen and paper, her heart thudding wildly in her chest as the timer continued to draw closer to zero.

“Okay. Go.”

Emma rattled off the information Killian had put together for them; the estimated size of the facility, features he’d been able to make out that might make the building distinguishable, and details about the different rooms (though she hadn’t told Killian about the medical suite she’d been in, and hated that she couldn’t tell him or David about the doctor, for fear of Pan’s threat against Killian’s pound of flesh) that might aid in their search. She also mentioned that there were others here, so perhaps they could find a link between their missing person cases and others with similar details.

“Got it,” David said. “What… what else can I do?”

“Nothing,” she said, her throat tightening and tears welling in her eyes. The carefully constructed fortifications she’d put in place in order to get through the call were crumbling fast, but she couldn’t fall to pieces just yet. “Just… Just know that I’m alive and that Killian and I need you to get the police looking for us again. And…”

“And?”

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5…

“And that I love you! I love you both!”

0… dial tone.

The receiver slipped from her hand and clattered against the concrete floor. She was pretty sure Killian returned it to the base before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to the bed. Laying her down gently, he crawled onto the bed beside her and gathered her in his arms. With the last of her strength, Emma pressed closer to him, molding their chests together and tucking her head beneath his chin. Long, quiet minutes stretched out with only their unified heartbeats filling the void, neither of them capable of saying much of anything until Killian broke the silence.

“He sounded destroyed,” he murmured, his tone flat and watery from the tears he’d shed after hanging up with his brother, and again as he’d held Emma while she spent hers into the front of his shirt. “Your brother sounded as though he’d been given a noble quest, while mine…”

“You told him not to beat himself up over it,” she reminded him. “To not dwell on the fact that he’d believed the lie Pan sent him from your email address.”

“Aye,” he sighed.

She knew he was running the conversation over in his mind. The way Liam had sounded ecstatic to hear from him, asking about his travels and when he thought he might return home. The way the line had gone silent after Killian had revealed the truth. The way his brother had sounded broken and utterly ashamed that he’d fallen for the trick, too eager to believe things had turned a corner for his brother, blinding him from seeing the cracks in the story that might have caused him to be suspicious enough to follow up.

Killian had spent most of the call comforting his brother and apologizing for the things he’d said when last they spoke, breaking open old wounds they had not the time to properly dress so they might begin to heal. Their time had gone so fast. He’d barely been able to convey the necessary details to him so that further action could be taken beyond the call before time ran out. She wasn’t even sure Liam had heard Killian tell him he loved him before the line had gone dead.

While her call to David had played out almost exactly as she thought it would, she knew Killian’s had not gone the way he’d wanted it to.

“At least they know now,” she said. “The truth is out there, and they’ll be looking for us again. That’s something at least.”

“Aye,” he agreed, though a bit hollowly. “That’s better than the alternative.”

“Hey,” she said, pulling back and lifting her gaze. When he didn’t meet hers right away she reached up and scratched her fingers through the stubble at his jawline. A huff left his chest and his eyes fell to hers.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to really clear the air with him. I know there were things you had to leave unsaid in order to get our message out, but…” She swallowed hard, willing back the fresh sob working its way up her throat. “Please don’t give up hope.” His eyes softened at the sound of her words catching and he buried his hand in the back of her hair. “I need you to help me stay optimistic here. I need you to tell me that we’ll still be able to tell them everything we didn’t get a chance to say to them today, because they’ll find us and we can say those words to their faces. Okay?”

“Emma, I…”

She could see his heart breaking in his expression and she chastised herself for guilt-tripping him, but… she meant what she said. She needed him to be strong with her right now.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, holding her close to his chest once more. “Of course we’ll get that chance. We’ll have an entire lifetime to say all the things that need to be said. They’ll find us. Of that I’m certain. They’ll never stop fighting for us. And neither will I.”

“Good.”

~/~

Emma twisted and turned her torso in an attempt to find comfort, something that seemed to be an impossibility in the damned corset Pan had provided.

A corset that accompanied the wench costume she was expected to wear for tonight’s festivities. Festivities that made her stomach roll, or would have if the blasted corset hadn’t been cinched so tightly.

After a fitful night’s sleep and late morning meal, she and Killian had been escorted to different areas so they could prepare themselves as the evening’s entertainment. Per usual, her anxiety spiked when it became clear they were to be separated, and the spa-like environment where she would spend the day being pampered and prepped did little to calm her nerves.

The host of ladies who assisted in the waxing, facial, manicure, pedicure, massage, hair, and make-up services wore masks to obscure their identities and spoke in a language Emma could not identify. Although she attempted to question them individually, they either did not understand her, or had been instructed to pretend as such. The latter seemed more plausible given the furtive glances the ladies occasionally made towards the Lost One standing guard.

After a light meal, Emma was dressed in the wench costume; a more upscale version of the cheap, slutty knock-off one might find at a Halloween store. The women were dismissed and she’d been instructed to follow the Lost One, her trepidations spiking again as she padded down the corridor behind him. There were many twists and turns before they finally rounded a corner, revealing Killian standing in front of a set of double doors. Emma’s heart leapt at the sight of him and relief flooded her body.

Well, first relief, then… something else.

He was decked out in head to toe leather, his jawline manicured with an alluring amount of scruff and his eyes lined in a deep, rich kohl. His hair had been artfully tousled and his skin bronzed. Beneath the layers of black leather, he wore a smoke-like linen shirt, unbuttoned down to the v of his waistcoat, exposing a tantalizing amount of chest hair. The leather trousers were tight, but not so much as to appear painted on, leaving just a hint to the imagination of what lay beneath their laces.

“Swan?” he said, in an amused and sinfully deep tone. “See something you like, love?”

Now aware that her mouth had been hanging open, Emma closed it and swallowed hard before answering, “You look…”

“I know,” he quipped with a cheeky smirk and smugly lifted brow, earning him an eye roll before his gaze raked over her once more. “You cut quite the figure in that get up, I must say.”

“Cutting is right,” Emma groused, struggling against the tight confines of her outfit. “I can only imagine the impression this corset is leaving on my spleen.”

“Your discomfort is a cross I am more than willing to bear… especially after my earlier one.”

Emma raised her brows in response to his cryptic words and put-out tone.

Scratching behind his ear, the tip of which was becoming quite red, he confessed under his breath in a low mumble, “I’ve been manscaped.”

Her eyes widened, and although she knew better from her earlier perusal, they fell to his chest, ensuring herself that the thick blanket of hair remained untouched.

“Not there,” he said, exasperatedly. “Lower.”

Emma tucked her lips between her teeth to try and stifle her laugh. His disgruntled tone and expression were absolutely priceless, despite the circumstances.

“Well,” she said, placing her hand on his arm in commiseration. “That makes two of us.”

They shared a moment of joint amusement, until the sound of the doors opening pulled them back into reality, sobering their demeanors.

A Lost One waved them forward. This one, like the one who had stood guard over her throughout the day, was not either of the men who had been assigned to them previously. The ones who seemed to be connected to her and Killian, respectively, in some way.

With shoulders back and heads held high, they entered the theatre, hand-in-hand. The Lost One directed them to the platform and they were both caught off guard at the emptiness of the room.

“My guests will arrive in due course,” Pan’s voice echoed. “First, a few pre-performance instructions. Pan says…”

He started by pointing out the furnishings upon the platform: a leather chair, an antique writing desk, a chaise with several cushions, and a small side table with various toys, lubricants, restraints, and other items atop it, including a pair of domino masks and earbuds.

“Go ahead,” he insisted, “Pan says, each of you take a mask and an earbud. The mask will help obscure your identities and the earbud is how you’ll hear conversations and suggestions made by my guests.” After affixing their masks, they placed a bud in their ear. Pan’s voice was now, eerily, inside their heads. “You will only act on the suggestions that are accompanied by a green light that will illuminate along the back of the upper tier.”

Green light splashed against the back walls as an example before Pan continued. “Pan says you shall not speak unless instructed otherwise, and should only do so in character. I expect you to comply with the approved requests and show my guests a good time. Understood?”

“Aye,” Killian managed to utter. All Emma could do was nod, too choked with impending dread to speak.

“Good,” Pan crowed in their ear. “Pan says, get into character and have a good show.”

Before the doors could open, Killian swung Emma around to face him and pressed their foreheads together. “You and me,” he whispered, so low she barely heard him. “Just you and me, love.”

Emma closed her eyes and nodded, her forehead rubbing against his as she inhaled deeply. Opening her eyes, she connected her gaze with his, both of them silently giving the other permission to get into character and play out the charade: him, a fearsome pirate captain and her, his defiant wench captive.

Their audience finally filed in, initially paying them little attention, while greeting one another as they took their seats behind their screens. Emma took a seat of her own in the leather chair at the center of the platform as Killian casually leaned against the front of the desk with his arms and ankles crossed. It wasn’t until the stage began to spin, allowing all of the guests an opportunity to see the show from every vantage point, that the audience really took notice of them.

It was unnerving to hear their actual voices, and the comments being made as they assessed tonight’s entertainment. Emma kept her eyes squarely focused on Killian’s, attempting to block it all out, and had therefore almost missed the way his bejeweled finger was drumming against his arm, tapping out a rhythm against the leather.

You and me. You and me. You and me.

A greeting of welcome sounded out from the speakers and Pan took a moment to remind his guests to don their own earbuds and microphones, as well as set the stage for that evening’s entertainment.

As soon as the greenlight - literally - was given, a cacophony of voices flooded Emma’s ear as each of the guests threw out suggestions. Her stomach turned and tremors of dread rippled down her spine at the thought of what they would make her and Killian do, of the intimacies they’d witness, of the images they’d take away with them.

Reaching up, Emma adjusted her mask, assuring it was firmly in place. Closing her eyes, she tried to drown out the voices so she could collect herself. She wasn’t Emma Swan right now. She was a wench. A wench being held by a fearsome pirate captain. They weren’t seeing Emma. They wouldn’t be able to take anything from Emma Swan. All they would get from her tonight was a wench. A character. A fantasy. Nothing more.

The sharp tip of cold metal digging into the underside of her chin jolted her back to the here and now. Her eyes snapped open and Killian - no. Not Killian. The pirate captain - was standing before her with a dagger held to her throat. The room was flooded with green light, and Emma realized the first command had been issued. Swallowing against the pressure of the blade, Emma wet her lips, set her features, then lifted her chin in defiance.

“Seems she needs some convincing,” a guest said in her earbud. “I say we give the Captain free rein to order his wench about. Agreed?”

Others murmured their agreement and the green light illuminated once more. A wide, sinister smile lifted the corners of her Captain's lips and he twisted the dagger so the flat part of the blade rested beneath her chin.

“On your feet, wench,” he commanded, the blade prompting her to stand as he applied subtle pressure upward.

With a predatory gaze he followed the tip of the blade as it dragged across her skin, over the swell of each breast before dipping into the valley between. A shiver of desire coursed through her causing his lust-filled, darkened depths to flick up and meet her own.

He slipped the dagger beneath the laces of her corset and with several firm tugs cut her free from the restrictive garment. A relieved and rapturous exhale left her lungs, her breasts heaving from the joyous release.

“My, my,” Killian purred in his Captain’s voice. “Aren’t you a sightly bit of plunder.”

The tip of the dagger continued to tease and taunt her breasts, the tip swirling around and over each nipple until they were painfully erect and clearly visible through the thin fabric of her blouse. A few more tugs, slashes, and artfully placed cuts left her top in tatters, her breasts fully exposed to their audience and her pirate captor’s eyes. Eyes she chose to remain focused on as more suggestions were bandied about among the crowd.

A new suggestion was green lit, and the Captain stepped forward, closing what little space there had been between them. Trading their positions on the platform, he then pressed down on her shoulders and ordered, “On your knees for the Captain, wench.”

Emma lowered herself in front of him, a defiant, in-character, glare staring up at the smirk he gave her.

Sinking into the chair she had occupied a moment ago, he leaned back and crooked his finger at her. As she shuffled forward on her knees, his gaze hungrily taking her in, he commanded in a low and sultry tone, “Make good use of those hands and undo me laces.”

Her core clenched and she tried to remain in character as she reached up and loosened the laces of his leather trousers as though it were the last thing she wished to do.

“Good girl,” he praised. Slipping his hand into his trousers he pulled out his cock, not quite fully engorged yet, and began stroking it in her face.

“Now then.” She flinched when he tapped her lips with the head of his cock, hard. Taken aback momentarily by the action because she’d been distracted by her earbud, trying to decipher what the crowd was telling them to do next… not that it was a big leap. Reaching down he placed his thumb against her chin and applied a bit of downward force as he told her, “Open that whore’s mouth of yours and take my cock, wench. Let’s see how deft you are at shivering me timber.”

Her eyes watered and she choked against the assault of his member being forcibly shoved down her throat. Flicking her gaze upward, she saw the concern and apology in his eyes before he shut them tight and let his head fall back, an expression of arrogant dominance and self-satisfaction gloating from his features.

The laughter and jeers of the crowd filled her ears, as did the vulgar chant of suck his dick, applied in a rhythm that her Captain made her keep pace with from where he had her hair gripped in his hand at the back of her head.

“That’s it, love,” he praised, tapping out another rhythm behind her ear with his finger as she bobbed against his length. You and me, you and me, you and me.

She’d almost managed to tune out the mob when a woman’s voice grated in her ear.

“Well, hello there, sailor.”

Looking up, Emma saw a woman, decked out ostentatiously in hues of green, arriving late and making her way down the steps. In her hand was the microphone attached to the ear piece she wore. She paused, giving Killian a once over before slinking behind her screen and taking her seat.

Before she disappeared behind the thin veil of fabric, Emma recognized her by the mask she wore. It was the woman who had paused by the two-way mirror the night before to check her flaming red tresses.

“Do us a favor and flick those kohl-lined eyes this way,” she cat-called into her microphone.

The green light signaled from above and another light shone down over her screen. Emma stared up Killian’s body to look at his face and saw the muscle in his jaw clench and spasm before he flicked his eyes away from her and towards the screen, then held his gaze there as the platform continued to turn.

“Mmmm,” the woman hummed provocatively. “Yes, I think I’m going to enjoy tonight’s entertainment very much indeed.”

When the platform circled round again, Emma glanced over at the woman’s screen and could see the silhouette of her reclined back with her legs splayed wide, clearly pleasuring herself under the Captain’s gaze. A jolt of jealous anger ignited down Emma’s spine. Relaxing her jaw, she let Killian slip further down her throat until she could brush the tip of her nose against his torso. A cursing moan slipped over his lips and his hips bucked from the unexpected action.

“Nice!” a guest praised. “Make her take all of it, Captain!”

“No, you fool,” another guest chastised. “We don’t want him blowing his load too soon. Not when the wench has other holes for him to use.”

“I wanna see the wench take control. Let her have the reins for a bit.”

“Maybe next time,” someone countered. “I’m enjoying this too much.”

Next time!? Emma responded internally in a near panic. What the hell do they mean, next time?

“I think her breasts need some attention, too,” another chimed in. “Look how those nipples are just begging for attention.”

“I wanna see her cunny. I bet it is just dripping. Would love to see our Captain’s face glistening from her juices, wouldn’t you?”

All during their debate Emma continued to work her Captain over. She delighted in the way his chest hitched and heaved, the way the chords of his neck tightened, the rosy blush that developed high on his cheeks, the micro spasms twitching through his torso and down his legs, and the sounds… dear god, the sounds this man made.

Green flashed again and Emma was astounded at the way Killian managed to keep track of what was expected of them, given the distraction she’d been providing. Pulling himself from her mouth with a pained sounding grunt, he hauled her onto her feet then shoved her back onto the nearby chaise. She’d barely registered what was happening when he lifted her skirts up over her legs and grabbed her hips, pulling her body towards the edge of the cushion and lining her sex up with his eager mouth.

The exquisite torment lasted for what felt like hours. Time and again he brought her to the brink with his tongue, teeth, and hands, deftly assaulting her clit as he probed, scissored, and thrust his fingers into her holes. When his mouth tired he switched to one of the many toys, holding her on edge until tears streamed down her face and pathetic whimpers escaped her lips. Her back ached from the repeated arch his actions provoked and her legs quivered uncontrollably. A few times, he gave her cunt a rest, turning his attention to her breasts and laving them with his tongue while his slick-coated fingers rolled her nipples into taut peaks that he then sucked clean with his mouth.

The sound of their joint moans were echoed by those from the crowd. A symphony of zippers being undone, fabric being moved, skin being slapped, and groans being uttered filled her ears, making the torture all the more erotic. When she was finally given leave to speak, it was only so she could beg. Beg for mercy. Beg for release. Beg for him to fuck her.

And beg she did.

“Please, Captain,” she whimpered, choking on a sob that had caught in her throat from the fresh assault he was applying to her clit.

“Please what, wench?” he commanded in a strained gruff. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Please let me come,” she pleaded. “Please, please, plea--!”

She didn’t get the third please out before a scream tore past her lips, her body convulsing from the pleasure the vibrating toy at her clit was finally granting her. Wave after wave of release crashed over her until she was so spent she wasn’t certain she hadn’t blacked out. The next thing she knew, she was being hoisted off the chaise and bent over the desk, facing out towards the crowd.

The Captain’s body molded against her back, his breath hot against her ear as he growled, “I’d find something to hold on to if I were you, wench. Because I’m gonna fuck you hard. I’m gonna fuck you deep.”

Emma barely had time to latch on to the corners of the desk when the entire thing tipped forward from the force of his entering thrust. Relentlessly, he pounded into her, egged on by the jeers, cheers, and taunts of the crowd.

“Keep your eyes open, wench,” a voice demanded from the masses. “We wanna see you watching us take pleasure in your degradation.”

The green light commanded that she do just that, the silhouettes from behind the thinly veiled screens leaving little to the imagination of how much the audience was enjoying the show.

“She can keep her eyes on the lot of you,” the irritating woman’s voice said. “I want the Captain’s eyes back on me.” When the green light agreed, Emma could practically hear the woman’s gloating expression in her words. “Cast those come fuck me eyes this way, Captain.”

He must have complied, prompting her to purr, “Oooo, you are a wicked one, aren’t you. Would you like to have your wicked way with me? Tell me all the wicked things you’d like to do to me.”

With effort, given the pounding he was giving her, Emma managed to look back over her shoulder in time to see him flash the woman a wide, yet sinister smile before grunting, “I’d like to shove a gag in your mouth to shut you the fuck up.”

Applause rang out, as did a round of laughter, and Killian turned his attention back to Emma and the brutal pace he was setting.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he panted on a half groan. “So wet and so tight.”

“That’s it, Captain,” the crowd encouraged over the barrage of their own moans and sounds of satisfaction. “Take her. Use her. Breed her.”

“Yes!” someone cried out. “Breed her! Fill her for us, Captain. I wanna see your cum leak out of her afterward.”

The Captain roared from his release moments later, his fingers digging into her sides to the point of bruising as his hips moved erratically against her ass. Once every last drop had been coaxed from him, he collapsed and fell forward, sprawling across her back as his chest fought for each breath. Around them the sounds and smells of others reaching their own climax filled the air, then for a brief yet glorious moment, things went quiet.

One final swath of green filled her vision, and Killian murmured into her ear, “Stay there, love. One last task, I’m afraid.”

He removed himself from her and she immediately felt the warmth of his release slip from her depths and trickle down her thighs. He gave her ass a quick, firm slap, then spread her cheeks, allowing everyone to see the proof of his conquest as the platform turned one last time.

When the platform came to a stop, a curtain dropped, surrounding the stage and separating them from the audience's view. Killian assisted Emma off the desk and swept her up into his arms before taking them over to the chaise where he could sit and cradle her in his lap. They held each other as their skin cooled, their heartbeats regulated, and their breathing calmed.

“You were wonderful, Swan,” he praised, his fingers gliding across her back and down her side. “I’m so proud of you, love.”

“You, too,” she murmured against his chest, barely able to keep her eyes open, the exhaustion created from both their exertions and the stress of the situation starting to take hold.

“Here. Have her put this on.” A voice caused them both to jump and Emma’s head snapped to where a Lost One stood a few feet away with a robe offered in his outstretched hand.

Killian took it from him and draped it around her shoulders, then helped her to stand so she could secure it around herself.

“Follow me,” the Lost One commanded, setting off towards the door they had entered hours before.

“Are you okay to walk?” Killian asked, his tone full of concern and laced with guilt.

“I’m good,” she assured him. Tucking herself into his side, she added, “But I might need to lean on you a bit.”

“Lean on me all you need,” he told her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “But I don’t mind carrying you.” She flicked her eyes up at him and smiled when his Captain’s persona took hold once more. A surprised yelp squeaked past her lips when he bent down and swept her feet out from under her. Straightening, he adjusted her weight in his arms and cheeked, “I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than the likes of you, wench. So, I’ll have no argument.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

~/~

Killian gazed up at the ceiling, his arm wrapped around Emma as she lay curled into his side, the smell of her floral shampoo and conditioner tickling his sinuses. After they’d finished entertaining Pan’s guests, the Lost One had led them to the showers so they could clean up. They’d both been almost too spent and exhausted to wash, much less talk, and little had been said on the way back to their room, while dressing, or even after they’d crawled into bed.

While Emma had drifted off within moments of her head hitting the pillow, Killian had been unable to do so. Too many thoughts were competing in his mind. Thoughts of Emma playing her part as the defiant wench, the memory of her on her knees, splayed out on the chaise, and bent over the desk threatening to make him hard again. Thoughts of the crowd and how he hadn’t expected the proprietary feelings of satisfaction that had coursed through him as he took his wench in their full view, claiming her for his own. Thoughts of what those actions would mean for them now, knowing he had finished inside her without protection. Thoughts of everything the two of them had been through since they had awoken, naked, in bed together all those weeks ago, and… thoughts of what Pan might have in store for them next.

It was these thoughts that were keeping him awake the most.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Emma said groggily, her fingers twirling through the hair on his chest as she sleepily looked up at him.

Furtively, he glanced down at her then back up, unwilling to voice his thoughts to her just yet. Despite everything they’d been through, she seemed so content. In this moment she was safe and happy and hopeful.

He did not wish to deprive her of that.

“Hey,” she said, concern coloring her tone. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek and pulled his face back down, forcing him to look at her. “Tell me. What’s eating you up?” Propping herself up on her elbow, her brows pulled together and a slightly panicked expression crossed her face. “Please tell me you’re not beating yourself up about tonight. You know I would never hold any of that against you, right?”

“Aye, I know,” he responded quickly, not wishing for her to believe for a moment that his trepidations had anything to do with her. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I just… I wonder whether we,” he paused, taking a moment to swallow and fortify his resolve before confessing, “Whether we made the right decision.”

Confusion rooted deeper in her expression. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you… don’t you wonder why he let us call them?” he said, his fingers gently stroking her arm as a way to ground himself and hopefully keep her feeling connected to him as he attempted to voice his concerns. “Why he made it seem like agreeing to do what we did was the only choice we could make?”

“It was the only choice,” Emma countered emphatically. “Being separated from one another isn’t an option I--”

“But that’s just it,” he argued. “Maybe that’s the choice we should have made.”

Emma pulled back as though he’d just slapped her, and his heart broke at the vulnerability and hurt he saw displayed upon her face and in the tremor of her next words. “Are you… Have I done something to make you not want to…”

Sitting up, he took her face in his hands, leveled his gaze with hers, and assured her, “No. No, please don’t misunderstand me. Being separated from you is the last thing I would ever wish for. I just think that…”

Emma reached up and took his hands into her own, cradling them in her lap as she spoke. “Alright. Talk me through what you’re thinking, then. Why do you think it was a mistake to agree with his demands and stay together?”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he drew in a deep breath, not wishing to voice his concerns for fear of making them real. He’d rather them both be prepared for the possibility, though. Everything they’d faced, they’d faced together. Choosing together. He didn’t want this to be any different.

“Each round of Pan’s demented game has escalated things between us,” he began. “First, it was stripping away our vulnerability. Forcing us to reveal things about ourselves that we would never normally reveal.”

Emma nodded and squeezed his hands. “Go on.”

Wetting his lips, he continued. “The second round was all about taking advantage of our attraction towards each other and getting us comfortable with sharing physical intimacy. This third round challenged and exploited the lines of physical intimacy we were willing to explore with one another.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Each round has ratched up the stakes of our experience here, making us more and more compliant.”

“And each round’s rewards and penalties have reflected that.” He held her gaze with an intensity he hoped would lead her into understanding where he was going without him having to say it explicitly.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite getting it.

“I still don’t understand why you think it might have been best if we’d chosen to be separated.”

“What if the next escalation, or the one after that, is…” He swallowed past the bile working its way up his throat, “...actual harm to each other. Violence.”

Emma balked and her mouth dropped open with a gasp. Clearly, such a thought had not occurred to her until now.

“What if Pan makes us hurt each other? What then?” he continued on, pulling her into his arms and whispering the rest into her hair in a tone of apology. “Maybe he tricked us into staying together? Maybe we would be better off separated, because… Now we have to face what it would mean to have hurt someone we… how are we supposed to respond when faced with the command to injure the other? What would you have me do if Pan orders me to…”

Thoughts of the unthinkable made it impossible for him to continue, but after a few moments Emma pulled back and ran her fingers down the side of his face.

“We’ve already made our choice to stay together. There’s no point in wondering whether or not it was the right one.”

Killian nuzzled his face into her hand then turned his head to place a kiss on her palm.

“Besides,” she said, his tough lass straightening her shoulders and setting her resolve. “If Pan commands that one of us is to be harmed, then the harm will happen regardless.”

Killian cocked his head to one side, not completely sure what she meant by that statement.

Fortunately, she clarified, saying, “Either one of us will administer the injury, or he’ll have one of his Lost Ones do it. Either way… the injury will occur. There’s nothing either of us can do to stop it from happening.”

“Aye. You’re right,” Killian replied. “I suppose the thing we must ask ourselves is whether we can endure the guilt, and every other emotion that might come with it, should we be the one to inflict such pain on the other.”

Several silent beats of his heart went by before she softly, yet hesitantly asked, “Could you?”

Killian took another beat to truly consider the question. The question he’d been considering for most of the night. If Pan commanded it, could he hurt the woman he loved?

“No,” he stated definitively. “It’s one thing to administer a spanking to you, and quite another to…” He balled his hand into a fist and stared down at it, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. “The thought of putting my fist to you… I can’t. I won’t.” Gazing back up at her, he added, “And I won’t fault you for having a Lost One mete out Pan’s orders on me either. Especially if it will save you from having to carry that guilt, love.”

Emma nodded her understanding and acceptance, then prompted him to lie back down beside her. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she whispered softly, though there was very little hope in her tone.

“Aye, love. Let’s hope so.”

Part Ten

#csff #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan #csfic #cs fic #cs smut #pan says...#words by hollye

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shady-swan-jones · 5 months

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Untie Me (4/7) - A CS architects fic

“It’s a 3 AM drunk on the side of the road girl-talk, but I can give you the highlights. Or the opposite of that.” “I’ll have you know, Swan I’m proficient in girl-talk.”

Read on Ao3

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan #killian jones #ouat #emma swan #my fics #cs modern au #cs au

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rueitae · 6 months

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For @playerappreciationweek 2024, alt prompt 3: Hacker

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: The day started out normal for Player. He hacked into the security cameras in a museum in Vancouver at 2AM EST (11PM Vancouver time) so that Carmen could sneak in and steal an artifact before VILE could (they're a global criminal organization, this is important for later), and deleted the footage so that no one would ever know Carmen was there.

It ends abnormally, with Player having dinner with his parents, about to confess everything about his secret vigilante life to them.

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #player bouchard #cs fanfic #Rueitae #csplayerweek2024

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 1 year

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Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

Oh, Nonny... This is so difficult!!! There are so many incredible fics out there. So here is a list of the first five that came to mind because I rarely stumble on one that I don't love...

(1) @kmomof4 has a host of incredible fics. (It is kind of fun reading her backlog because her first few fics include author notes along the line of 'I am not a writer, but I had this idea. I will probably never write again' but she has 39 strong CS fics. I say all that to say... her recent Bridgerton-inspired fic A Mistress to No One is at the top of my list.

(2) @the-darkdragonfly was one of the first CS authors I read and I have yet to find a story of hers that I don't instantly fall in love with. I love her voice and style so, so much. She is single-handly responsible for my love for Will Scarlet. My current favourite of hers is Tempest - be warned it is incomplete-ish (it is a rewrite of an older story), but kudos and comments feed the muse... so, go read it and let her know how amazing it is.

(3) @nachocheese-itsmycheese will break your heart, bring tears to your eyes, and have no mercy for you while she does it. And, if that doesn't make for some amazing fics... I honestly don't know which of hers to recommend. Read them all? Currently, I cannot get enough of Between Waking Life and Our Dreams but that Darkness Series is also so good. And, I cannot forget the Captain Cobra story...

(4) @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 also have an entire bookshelf of amazing fics. Their joint effort Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke is bloody brilliant.

I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I HAVE ALREADY REACHED....

(5) @donteattheappleshook is another of my first CS fic authors and, again, has a host of incredible fics for you to read. Not Broken at All is one of my favourites of hers, but seriously the other ones are so, so good that it is a favourite by the finest of margins.

But, seriously, this misses so many fantastic authors and amazing stories...

#asked and answered #cs fic rec list #major cs fic rec #captain swan #once upon a time #killian x emma #ouat #cs fanfic #cs ff

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donteattheappleshook · 4 months

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Not Broken At All Chapter 16/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Oh hey, remember me? Remember this story I haven't updated in a year…… Please don't hate me lol Sorry for how long this took - this chapter was just impossible to write and time just kept passing. I'm hoping there won't be such a long break again but I know better than to make promises.

Hopefully some of you are still reading this and enjoy this new chapter!

Note that I made a small change to the last chapter (which fixed this one). You don't have to read it, just know that the lost boys who died on the beach are still out there.

Anyway… here you go! Sorry!

Thank you as always to @the-darkdragonfly for letting me just throw ideas at you about this story all the time and putting up with all the changes! 💕💕 And thank you @kmomof4 for looking this over and helping me decide on the ending 💕 (You can blame her! I kid... mostly)

Small content/trigger warning: This chapter includes more of the aftermath of the hunt. There are no children actively hurt in this chapter but there are bodies and burials and grief.

*******

Part 16

“Mom?”

The thundering of her heart rips her from sleep, hollow and echoing with the blood rushing in her ears, painful in her chest. But there’s only darkness in the small room of the ship, eyes wide and unfocused, the remnants of a dream she can’t remember still making shapes in the dark. She could have sworn she heard it, like it was there in the room with her. But there's no one here - only Killian still in the bed next to her, the arm that had held her close before now outstretched beneath her as he sleeps. A dream. Neverland playing tricks on her - or one of the lost boys above deck calling out to the dark for their mother.

“Momma?” That one’s real, quieter. One of the children must have found a way down, wandering the halls looking for someone he’ll never find. “Mummy…” That one is heartbreaking. She rises from the bed, Killian not stirring as she slips from the sheets and makes her way quietly across and out of the room. The boys were told not to come down here - better she find whoever it is than one of the pirates. “Mom?” There’s no one there to accompany the sound in the dim light of the lantern outside the cabin and she hesitates, looking towards where the disembodied voice came from. Whoever they are, it sounds like they’re making their way back to the deck on their own… “Mom?”

The word cuts through her, paralyzes her, heart so tight in her chest she can’t breathe. Henry. She knows his voice - already so deeply ingrained in every part of her being after such a short time that hearing it now is like a piece of herself lost and calling out to be found.

“Emma?” Softer, getting further away from her - losing him all over again. Her bare feet make no sound as she runs past the crew’s quarters, past the bosun’s room and the galley towards the deck. The door creaks wearily as she climbs the steps and opens it to the night air. The lost boys are asleep - all of them - every single one exhausted from the horrors of the day and she pads carefully through the bodies - sleeping and dead - searching. Henry’s not among them. The ship holds that eerie Neverland silence she can’t get used to, no crashing of waves or rustle of wind, the faint discordant song of the Lorelei the only hiss of sound as it floats in and out on the sea.

“Mom?”

Her eyes snap to the back of the Jolly. “Henry?” she hisses.

“Mom!” Emma nearly stumbles over a sleeping child as she tries to catch up to him before he’s lost to her again. He found her. Of course he did, just like before. She should have known he would. She rounds the helm, heart pounding so violently it reaches the stern before she does. But there’s no one there, again, just an empty deck where a child should be, where her son should be.

“Where are you?” There’s nowhere else to search, only the sea that surrounds them.

“Emma?” Wendy is standing in front of her, head cocked. “What are you doing up here?”

She looks towards where her son should be, where the voice no longer calls out to her. There’s nothing there, no one, just the sleeping boys, just Will.

“Did you see him?”

“See who?”

“Henry. Did you see him? Did you see where he went?”

“Henry? There’s no one else up here. It’s just me and the new recruits. You must have been dreaming.”

“I know what I heard. I know my son.” The other woman’s expression turns pitying and Emma’s shoulders tense. “I heard him.”

Wendy’s frown deepens and when she speaks her voice has the same tone that hers had when she’d been trying to calm Hook in the hospital, the one you use to console a crazy person. “I’m sure you did.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” But even as she says it she starts to doubt her own words. There’s no sign of him, no sign that he was ever here. Wendy wouldn’t lie about that.

She sighs. “I believe you.” She does, but she also doesn’t believe Henry’s on the ship either. Emma goes to the ship’s edge, careful not to trip over any sprawled limbs, and squints out at the beach against the sun that’s just starting to rise. Maybe he’s not on the Jolly. Maybe he’s somewhere out there. There’s no sign of him on the blood soaked sand and relief settles like a stone in her throat even as the fear of not knowing where he is rises up again. “Neverland plays tricks, Emma.” Wendy joins her at the bow, leaning against the rail, back straight and alert as she looks out at the carnage before them. “You can’t trust anything you hear. The shadows’ll do anything to lure you out.”

“The shadows?”

A nod. “They see into your dreams, see what it is you want most and use it against you. It’s how so many of the boys end up here in the first place.” Wendy’s shoulders sag a little, looking out at the bodies on the beach. It’s the closest Emma’s seen her come to breaking the hard mask she’s worn so well since the hunt started - the real person behind the cold captain. “And now they’ll never leave.”

“What happens to the bodies?” she asks, looking back at the dead, carefully wrapped in sheets on the deck.

“We bury the ones who made it here at sea. Neverland takes back the rest.”

Emma frowns, eyes darting to the shore. “What do you mean it takes them back?”

“They become the shadows that live in Dark Hollow, whispering to Pan, finding children, his way of keeping an eye on the outside world. He’ll come at sundown to collect them.”

“They become the shadows?” she swallows, cold dread tasting bitter at the thought of all those kids having to become Pan’s creatures, forced to do his bidding forever. “The boys?”

Wendy nods and her stomach drops.

“What about the ones who died here? Will they be shadows too?”

She shakes his head. “Neverland magic can’t touch this ship. Whatever enchantment’s on it is powerful enough to keep even the darkness away.” Neverland can’t find you here.

Emma hears her sigh when she looks back out at that beach. “Don’t even think about it.” She’s thinking about it. “He gets to keep his winnings. Those are the rules of the game. Those rules keep us alive.”

She doesn’t answer, only gives the captain a small nod, thoughts still spinning with the cruelty of it all, that even in death these children can’t escape Pan. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder, the gesture surprisingly consoling, the mask slipping again. “You’re not the only one who wishes it could be different.”

Emma nods, grim and defeated, and Wendy pats her shoulder with a tight-lipped smile before turning towards where some of the children have started to stir.

She wishes she could say she thought about it longer, or at all, really. But all she can think of is every single kid she knew growing up, all the ones who fell through the cracks, the ones who were given up on or abandoned, all the adults who threw up their hands and said there was nothing they could do - that was just how the system worked, that rules had to be followed. Fuck that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Wendy’s shout echoes above her, cut off by the water when she plunges into it. It takes her deeper than she expected it to, the fall further than she thought, but she kicks wildly, eyes burning against the salt until she breaks the surface. And then she’s swimming, boots and vest heavy against the waves, hat lost somewhere between the ship and the surface, but she keeps going. She can make this swim, she’s made it before - and she has a purpose now.

She stumbles as she climbs onto the beach, the tide pulling at her knees and then her ankles like it’s trying to draw her back to where it’s safe. Emma fights it, running and slipping across the sand once it’s hot and dry beneath her feet and collapsing beside the first boy she finds. He’s tall and wiry, limbs stretched out, calf-like, not yet grown into his elbows and knees. And now he never will.

She kneels beside him, stroking his cheek before closing his eyes. Salt water drips onto his skin, turning dried blood fresh again as she tells him she’s sorry - that this happened, that she couldn't do anything to stop it, that Pan gets to keep living. She doesn’t know how long she just sits there with him, looking out at all the other kids who won’t ever go home.

“Swan…” No. She’s not going back - not leaving them here. She slides her arms under the boy’s shoulders, heaving his limp, heavy frame onto her chest, not sure how she plans to get him back to the ship, just that she will. “Swan.” She ignores it, digging her heels into the sand, trying to plant them under her enough that she can get to her feet. But it slips away beneath her boots and she falls on her ass again and again. She’s not leaving him here. She’s not leaving any of them here.

“Swan.”

“What!” she snaps, barely looking up at him, wet hair plastered to his face, coat left behind, shirt soaked in water and salt. She can’t get her legs steady enough beneath her, can’t lift the kid any higher into her arms, so she starts to drag him back across the beach, holding tight to his chest as she makes it inch by inch, blonde head rolling limply against her shoulder.

“Emma,” Killian says softly when she stumbles, she and the boy fall back against the sand. If he says her name one more goddamn time… His hand is gentle on her arm, stopping her as she moves to stand again and she looks up, ready for a fight, whatever she has to, but she’s taking this kid back to his stupid, magical ship where he can rest in fucking peace.

But his gaze isn’t scolding, not a warning or even pity and he reaches for the boy in her arms, taking his weight from her and hoisting him over his shoulder. He fixes her carefully with a solemn, resolved stare when she stands to meet his gaze. “There’ll be consequences.”

She looks back towards the shoreline where Will and Wendy are standing by the dinghy. “Do you care?” she asks him, turning to the others, “Do any of you care?” There are more coming out of the water now, pirates and lost boys marching onto the beach.

The residual anger fades from Wendy’s eyes, hardening into something different, and then she kneels beside a small body, this one looking too young to have been on this side of the hunt. “John didn’t make it off the beach,” is all she says before lifting him from the sand and meeting Emma’s eyes with equal determination.

Will shrugs. “Pan already wants me dead,” he says, bending to pick up another child, cradling the boy to his chest. “Might as well be for a good reason.”

Slowly, the others begin doing the same, gathering the fallen, some searching for brothers, friends, others finding any they can carry. Emma follows Killian’s gaze to where two older kids come to the aid of a young boy trying to pick up a bigger body that bears him a painful resemblance - a brother no doubt. She doesn’t miss the way Killian watches them carry him across the beach, the younger boy not letting go of his brother’s sleeve. He’d lost his brother here as well, to Pan’s cruelty. She wonders how long ago it was, wonders if any amount of time matters.

Emma follows Killian as he brings the tall boy’s body to the dinghy and sets him down gently.

“So what now, Swan?” he says, turning to look at the Lost Boys gathering their fallen friends, “You’ve declared war on Pan. And these boys will follow you to the end now. Where will you lead them?”

Emma spares another glance at the beach, at the pirates that were Lost Boys and the Lost Boys that will be pirates, all of them stolen from their lives and their families for Pan’s enjoyment. “Home. When this is over, and Pan is dead, we’re taking them home. All of them.”

“Aye,” he says, with an edge of something she can’t place in his voice, his gaze holding hers just a moment too long before he moves to collect another body, damp skin and drying shirt becoming stained with someone else’s blood. He hesitates, casting a glance back at her. “They aren’t the only ones who’ll follow you,” he tells her before turning and walking back towards the shore.

***

There are twice as many bodies on the deck as there had been last night, a sea of white cloth laid out on the bow of the Jolly like snowfall, twice as many ghosts wrapped in sheets waiting to be buried at sea. There are twice as many lost boys too, half of them no longer cowering by the edge of the ship’s rail, gazing longingly out at the island they’d just escaped. Instead they stand in rows, backs straight and heads bowed, already falling in line, already soldiers as they wait for their captain to speak.

They’d sailed further from land than Emma’s been since they first arrived, the water deeper here, where no light can reach the depths even with the sun burning high and bright above them, and no shadows can be cast. “They’re weakest when the sun is at its peak, where the light can’t cast them further,” Wendy had explained. “At night though… at night the whole world is shadow.”

Killian stands tense before them, Wendy and Will at his side, the two captains and their first mates. There’s something off in the line of his shoulders, in the way his thumb keeps sliding over the rings he wears. She’d seen him in the aftermath of the hunt, surrounded by the bodies, used to death and slaughter and cruelty. He’d held back then, composed and calm as always around the boys and young men that had survived. But as he looks at the sea of white, the cannonballs tied to their ankles that will drag them all down into the darkness where the shadows can’t reach them, she can see him losing that tenuous grip on his cool indifference. So can Wendy, if the hint of sympathy barely cracking through her own harsh disguise is anything to go on.

When she thinks that he might not manage it, that his first mate might have to step in and take over, he lets out a bitter sigh. “Best not to draw it out.” Will steps forward, he and Killian lifting the closest body onto a plank balanced on the rail, held steady by two of the older crewmen - both barely out of their teens - preparing to tilt the body into the sea.

Before he can raise his hand to signal the order, a small boy appears at his side, and Killian freezes. Emma hadn’t seen him break rank, hadn’t seen him make his way across the deck - no more than seven or eight years old. She recognizes him, the one who’d been trying to carry his brother on the beach. She wonders what he could have possibly done for Pan to decide he’d had his fill of time in Neverland.

The boy’s coat is tattered and dirty from however long he’d been in the jungle, and her reaches into it to pull something out, and then stretches as far as he can to reach across the body that’s nearly at eye level with him. And there, in the center of white sheet, he sets a baseball card down on the fallen boy’s chest.

Emma doesn’t breath, the men holding the plank staring at the card, everyone on deck silent and frozen. The child moves to Killian’s side then, tugging at the thick leather of his sleeve until the captain leans down and gives the boy his attention. “Jack.”

A strange sort of uncertainty falls over the crowd at the sound of the lost boy’s name. This is clearly not how things are done. Even the newest recruits shift uncomfortably - waiting. She watches the understanding settle in the line of Killian’s shoulders as he nods at the newest member of his crew. After a moment, one of the men who’d been holding the plank reaches out and tucks the card into the folds of the sail and then looks to his captain. Killian turns to the boy before nodding again.

“Jack,” he repeats, loud enough for everyone to hear.

There’s barely a splash as the body disappears beneath the surface, hardly a sound in that chilling stillness that Neverland possessed, but it resonates across the deck and Emma feels something shift. Wendy moves to help lift the next body onto the plank as Killian waits. A name is called from somewhere near the back, too quiet to place among the rows of former lost boys, but Killian repeats it as he had first one and there’s a moment of solemnness before another splash echoes across the deck.

He names each of them -they all do - friends and brothers calling out to identify the fallen, to remember them before they’re laid to rest where Pan will never find them, where he’ll never hurt them again.

***

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Killian looks up at her standing in his doorway, shirt slipping over his head, catching on his hook. “Pan?” He sets to working the fabric free, hair windswept and sticking up at strange angles, skin still marked with the blood of the children he’d carried.

Emma nods. He’d said there’d be consequences and she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since they’d gotten the last boy off the beach and onto the ship, his body wrapped in a sheet and sent to the depths with the others.

“I don’t know, but he won’t be happy.”

She worries her lip between her teeth, casting a glance down the hall to the steps where overhead the boys are being introduced to their new life of piracy. “Darling makes ‘em spend days scrubbing the ship clean when they first come aboard. Says it ‘builds character’,” Will had explained. “Let it go already - it’s been nine years.”

“Not having second thoughts, are you?”

She shakes her head. She knows she did the right thing, that the children that died yesterday deserved some amount of dignity, of care, even in death, that those who lived deserved to see that they mattered, that they would be missed, that they wouldn’t be cast aside or forgotten. And that they wouldn’t be forced to be a tool in Pan’s neverending need for more playthings.

“No, but I guess… I guess I didn’t consider that the consequences might not just be mine.” He could come for any of them. As far as Pan knows, she doesn’t exist. But Killian and Wendy, Will and everyone else on this ship could fall victim to Pan’s anger because of her.

“Every person out there made a choice today, Swan. Something they haven’t been able to do in a very long time.” He finally gets the shirt free of his brace and lifts his gaze to hers. “Whatever consequences befall us now, the burden will be all of ours to bear. Not just yours.” He waits until she nods in agreement, then moves to dip his hand and hook into a basin, Emma watching as the water turns a murky red. “I will say though, Swan, I pity Pan for when he finally finds himself on the wrong side of your wrath. You’ve turned all of Neverland against him, even his own.”

“I think he did that himself when he tried to kill them.”

Killian shakes his head, grabbing a dampened cloth with his hook and scrubbing at the blood and sand dried to his hand. “The fact that they’d defy Pan and choose their fallen friends… the fact that half of them didn’t run for the treeline to beg him to take them back… You’ve changed something, love. You’ve done more for the creatures of this island in a week than any of us have managed in centuries.”

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” she mutters, crossing her arms and shrugging awkwardly.

Killian gives a short, humourless laugh, avoiding her gaze, scrubbing harder as the cloth continues to slip from his hook. “Believe me, Swan, it’s very easy to do nothing.”

Emma takes a step into the room. “You didn’t do nothing.”

“I didn’t do nearly as much as I could have.”

“Stop it,” she scolds, crossing the space between them and taking the rag from him. He startles as she grabs his wrist, running the cloth over the blood caked into his palm. She knows her hair and clothes probably look just as bad - everyone out on the deck today carrying the stain of Pan’s cruelty on their skin. “You did what you could while staying alive. You can’t protect people if you’re dead. You can’t protect your crew, and you can’t protect the kids Pan sends your way if you’re dead.” He doesn’t have an answer to that. Good.

They stand in silence as she finishes her task. When she can’t pretend to be cleaning the now non-existent blood anymore - the most stubborn bit finally wiped clean - when she can’t avoid saying what she came to say anymore, she sighs. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I know you could have just as easily made me leave them there on the beach - that it probably would have been the safer choice.”

She rests the cloth in his open hand, focusing on it instead of him. She’s not great at this ‘thank you’ thing, at people understanding her the way he had on the shore today.

“I don’t think anyone could make you do anything easily, Swan,” he teases and she shrugs, matching his hesitant smirk. “And it may have been the safe thing to do, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing.” His fingers curl around hers, keeping her there and drawing her attention back to him. “I should thank you as well.”

“For what?” she echoes, frowning. She’s pretty sure she’s done nothing but cause problems for him since she got here.

“For reminding me that I can still choose to do the right thing. I’d started to believe I’d forgotten how.”

Her frown deepens. “Killian, you’ve done the right thing since -'' always, she wants to say, since she met him and made him bring her back here. He’s done right by her and her son and everyone else here from the beginning.

“Since you chained me to that bloody sick bed,” he finishes, smirking again even as he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb is stroking across her knuckles - she doesn’t think he means to be doing it. “I don’t seem to have the option where you’re concerned. It’s exhausting, really.” Emma does her best not to laugh, not when he takes a step closer, fingers curling more purposefully around hers, the metal of his ring cool against her skin as he drops the cloth, eyes focused on hers like he’s trying to find an answer in them. Voice soft, the teasing gone now he breathes, “you’re a bloody marvel, Swan,” and he’s so damn close now that she can feel his words warm against her cheek, can smell the salt and leather and rum that clings to his skin even after a day like today.

He doesn’t move and she can’t decide if she wants him to, if the pounding of her heart stems from a desire to have him close the distance between them or from fear of what it would mean if he did. He’s watching her like he’s trying to decide the same and the words come out before she can stop them.

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

His brow quirks up in amusement, before it shifts into that smug arch that’s become so familiar. “I believe you’re the one who’s initiated all of our previous dalliances, love,” he points out and she can feel her face going hot because he’s not wrong - she’s been throwing herself at him every chance she gets since that first kiss that was meant to distract him. “But aye,” he continues before the embarrassment gives her time to second guess herself. His hand lifts to her cheek, thumb tracing over her lip. “If you’ve no objections…”

She should have some objections - like that making out with the really hot, annoyingly heroic pirate that makes her feel all kinds of confusing things she doesn’t want to be feeling is a really bad idea. But her head shakes without her permission and then he’s leaning in, carefully and agonizingly slowly until his lips only barely brush hers, the taste and heat of his mouth leaving her aching for the promise of more. She’d accuse him of teasing, only it doesn’t feel like a tease, more like a question as his lips catch hers gently, chaste and slow before pulling away and hesitating a moment longer.

Emma’s fingers reach to tangle in his hair as she resists the urge to pull him to her like she has in the past. He lets out a small sigh at her touch and she can almost taste it before his mouth is on hers again, kiss slow and deep, swallowing the small sound she lets out when his brace slides low across her back to draw her closer. He kisses her like they’ve never done this before, every brush of his lips and stroke of his tongue and exploration and she’ll never get over how strongly her body reacts to him and the all-consuming way his mouth claims hers.

She breathes his name and he lets out a low growl, hand tightening in her hair, pulling her closer, teeth dragging over her lip like he can catch the sound before soothing it with his tongue. He walks them back across the room to the door, pushing it shut, cradling her head against the impact as he presses her into the wood, mouth not leaving hers. She’s taken aback for a moment by the gentleness of his touch, but then his lips leave hers to trail the length of her neck and the shuddering heat that burns her everywhere his tongue meets her skin has her arching into him, need pooling low in her stomach.

Emma lets out a small whimper when he follows the line of her shirt to the swell of her breasts and Killian groans, pulling away, forehead resting against hers as they both pant into the space between them. “I don’t have the energy to do everything I want to do to you tonight,” he sighs.

“How about just some of it?” she asks and he laughs, hand tracing the same path his mouth had, stopping at the center of her chest, over her heart, and sounding as frustrated as she feels - but also just as exhausted. Today had been a trying day, even by Neverland standards, and they’re both weary and still covered in blood and dirt and sweat from the exertion.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh, even if she doesn’t like it. Her hands slide from where they’d woven themselves into his hair to settle on his chest, his skin warm and soft against the coarse hair, heart beating hard under her palm. “Can I…” He waits, gaze focused on her even as she looks at the floor. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with everything that’s happened, with what Wendy told her about the shadows, and the now growing threat of an angry, vindictive Pan she just… “Can I stay?”

They hadn’t talked about it in the morning, about Emma coming to his room the night before, the ship so loud with the cries of those broken children thrust into adulthood too young, into piracy against their will. She’d been gone before he woke, chasing phantoms across the deck and jumping off ships and they’d pretended as though it had never happened. And she’d been grateful for that. It made her feel brave enough to ask now, to admit that she needed this.

He seems surprised by her question before an expression of gentle understanding softens his features. “Aye, love,” he nods, reaching to brush her probably wild and matted hair from her eyes. “I’d like that.” The hitch of her heart calms when she realizes that maybe he also doesn’t want to be alone tonight, that maybe he needs the comfort and safety of another person after all the tragedy they’ve seen these last few days.

He kisses her again, soft and gentle and easing some of the dread that’s made a home in her chest since she left Storybrooke. She thinks he meant it to be chaste, but neither of them seem in any hurry to give up the press of his mouth against hers, the reassuring comfort of his heartbeat, beneath her palm, or the warmth of his calloused fingers against her cheek, the metal of his hook, cool and grounding on her hip.

She lets it go on longer than she should for a kiss like this, one that isn’t building to anything else, that isn’t meant to excite or seduce but just to feel and savour something good for once, something easy. It’s the way she’d kissed him by the water on Solstice. It had been dangerous then and it was dangerous now.

Still, Killian is the one to pull away first, Emma chasing his lips without meaning to before he clears his throat, cheeks flushed and an expression she can’t place in his eyes as they meet hers, like the one he’d worn in the brig - perhaps I would - and suddenly it’s all so much more than it was supposed to be, than it can or should be. He must sense it too because he takes a step back, fog still not fully cleared from his gaze as he straightens.

“I should go ensure the crew are prepared for the night - that there’s a watch planned.” She peels herself off the door so that he can get by. “There’s hot water in the pitcher if you want to wash the day off,” he adds, waiting for her nod, returning it, and then darting out of the room.

Emma sags back against the closed door. What the hell are you doing? She can’t be doing… this. Whatever this is. Not here, certainly not now when she should be focused on her mission, on her son, not when the last time she came close to this was… Her fingers brush over the boot laces tied around her wrist. Look how well that had ended. Look how well it always ends.

By the time Killian returns she’s washed her hair and the worst of the grime from her skin before slipping under the covers in a stolen, clean shirt. She feigns sleep when she hears him move almost silently around the room, there’s the splash of water and the rustle of clothing as she forces her eyes to remain shut. It’s not until she knows he’s standing by the bed, hesitating, like he’s not sure he should still join her now that she’s ‘asleep’ - as though she didn’t ask him if she could spend another night in his bed- that she breaks her pretense.

“Just get in, Killian.” There’s a pause, a stillness in the air before she feels the sheets move and the bed sag beside her as he slides in, settling on his side next to her but leaving enough room that there’s no risk of them touching. And it’s a palpable distance. “Do you… do you want to sleep alone?” she asks quietly, anxious now that this isn’t one of his frustrating gentleman streaks but that he’s changed his mind, that she’s imposing, asking too much of him.

“No,” his voice is just as low as hers and she holds back a small sigh of relief.

“Please don’t make me ask…” Emma feels him calm beside her, the awkward tension leaving him as he inches closer. His fingers ghost over her shoulder for a moment before he slides his arm around her waist and pulls her back against him.

“I’m here, Swan. You don’t have to ask.” The promise is breathed into her hair, lips pressing to the crown of her head as they had the night before and Emma shuts her eyes against the tears that burn at the edges of them. “You’re safe,” he tells her again, like he knows she needs to hear it, and she nods. She knows. Even as the cries of the lost boys drift into the room from above deck and the jungle beyond, she knows.

She turns in his arms, tucking her hands beneath her cheek so she can see him, follow the outline of his jaw and neck in the moonlight that steals through the drawn curtains. Even his silhouette is beautiful, the light playing over the edges of his skin, turning it almost iridescent, and making her want to reach out and trace the curve of his bare shoulder and arm where the shadows suggest shapes in the dark.

“You are too, you know.” Killian might be one of the bravest people she’s ever met, but she knows that Pan terrifies him. And today he pissed him off - because she asked him to. “If Pan wants any of you he’s gonna have to go through me first.” Bold words as they hide beneath the covers like children hoping they won’t be found.

She doesn’t have to see his eyebrow tick up to know that it is. “Aye?”

“I’m scarier than I look.” He bites down on a laugh or a teasing comment. Her fingers found their way to his elbow at some point - she hadn’t meant to. They follow the line of his bicep, his shoulder. “I can keep you all safe.” Her voice nearly breaks on the last word - because she has to. Henry, Killian, Wendy, Will, she needs all of them to survive this. She’s lost everyone she’s cared about. She won’t add them to the list.

His finger is gentle beneath her chin as hers dance across his collarbone and she lifts her gaze to the pale blue that shines even in the dim light. “We’ll keep each other safe then,” he offers like a compromise and she nods. She can do that.

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s going to kiss her this time, and she doesn’t care enough to be conflicted by the fact that she wants him to - not here in the dark where her doubts can’t find her. His hand slides over her cheek, fingers tracing the shell of her ear to curl around the nape of her neck, like he’s mapping his way to her by touch. When he draws her in she goes willingly, mouth meeting his like muscle memory, the heat and feel and taste of him a familiar temptation that she could find blind.

He hums low in the back of his throat when her lips part beneath his in invitation, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue hot and slow against hers, using his hooked arm to pull her close, legs tangling beneath the sheets. She’s on goddamn fire as he continues to touch her with nothing but his hand in her hair, lips not straying from hers, and it’s not fucking fair because nobody should be able to push all of her buttons and make her want them so badly without even trying. And he’s not trying. This is just… how he is with her, how they are together and it’s maddening and intoxicating and she wonders if it’s always like this when you care.

Fuck. The thought stops her. Fuck, she cares. She cares if he lives or dies - if something were to happen to him… If it happened because of her, she doesn’t -

“Are you alright, love?” The words are spoken against her lips. No, she’s absolutely not. But she’s not dealing with that right now. She doesn’t want to deal with how or why or when she ended up caring so fucking much, what it could do to her, like it’s done so many times before. She shakes her head, ignoring his question, both her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him back to her, mouth slanting over his in a silent sort of plea. He returns it, though his kiss is gentler than hers, softer and less urgent than it had been a moment ago and her heart and mind grow a bit less frantic.

He changes the pace, slowing her, calming her, Emma sinking into the purposeful slide of his mouth and tongue and the tug of his fingers in her hair. He pulls away, their breath shallow and he finds her eyes in the dark again. The shadows don’t let her read his expression, but he must see something in hers because his hand slips from her hair, following the strands down her back to her waist where it flattens against her hip, slipping beneath the fabric of her stolen shirt. He moves so slowly, like he expects her to stop him, or he’s just giving her the chance to, but the heat of his palm trailing up her side is the most agonizing kind of torment and she bites hard on her lip to keep from begging as he inches across her skin.

When his hand finds her breast she lets him swallow the gasp that escapes her and the small curse she lets out when his thumb rolls over her nipple. She breathes his name when he continues to touch her, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders when he moves to nip and lick at the pulse point of her neck. He releases her only long enough to work the few buttons of her shirt open and then his mouth is on her breast and the room fills with her poorly silenced gasps and pleas as he teases her with teeth and tongue.

She’s grateful when he kisses her again, just as his fingers trail over her stomach and dip between her legs, muffling the sound that would have alerted anyone still awake to exactly what was taking place in the dark of the cabin. His touch is fucking perfect, like he’d watched her in that fairy field where he talked her over the edge because ever stroke and curl and thrust is exactly what she likes, exactly what she needs and she knows it won’t take long.

Killian falters when she reaches for him, fingers sliding into the soft, slippery fabric of his pants and finding him hard and straining in her hand. He bites out her name like a curse when she strokes him and he tries and fails to regain his composure. When her mouth claims his he groans into the kiss, his fingers matching the pace she sets with her hand on him and the roll of her hips. His thumb finds her clit and she bites his lip at the meticulousness of his touch, determined and fervid and she thinks he must be close too if he’s trying to send her over the edge so urgently.

Her free hand is vice-like in his hair, holding him to her as they whisper hushed gasps and curses into each other’s mouths and Emma has to turn her head into his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as she feels her climax building, hips rocking frantically as he brings her higher and higher. Her grip on his cock tightens, her strokes faster as she nears that edge. His words fall out in a choked mix of encouragement and pleasure, beard rough against her skin, breath hot on her neck, until she feels him tense against her. He groans a muffled ‘fuck, please, Swan,’ against her throat, fingers curling and urging and then she’s coming, back arching and her cry cut off by his mouth on hers before she feels him spill himself in her hand.

“Fuck,” Killian curses, low and breathless in the stillness of the Neverland night. She doesn’t have any words, heart still racing and eyes still shut tight, her body feeling like it’s going to float away despite the heaviness in her limbs. She tugs his mouth back to hers with the grip she still has on his hair and the groan he lets out almost makes her feel bad, exhaustion and desperation and desire wrapped into one, low sound.

He kisses her again, lips moving to her neck, her shoulder, her breast, and she’s about to warn him not to start something he can’t finish as the low hum of warmth settles over her skin, but then his fingers tug the edges of her shirt closed gently, pressing one last kiss to her mouth before standing and retrieving a cloth.

“Was that one of the things you had in mind?” she teases when she hands it back to him and he discards it. Her voice is still breathless and strained as he climbs back into the bed, sliding beneath the covers and taking her hand in his. She watches as he raises it to his lips, placing a kiss to the center of her palm and then weaving his fingers through hers. She tries not to let her heart grow frantic with the mix of fear and longing that surges when he lets their entwined hands rest in the bare space between them.

“That was… wholly unexpected,” he rasps, thick with sleep and sex. She thinks his eyes are drifting shut, the strain of the day finally taking him even as his thumb strokes carefully over the back of hers, slower and slower as he’s pulled under.

She watches him for a moment longer, making out the line of his brow and cheek in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest, more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. And as she pulls his hand to her mouth, lips settling against the cool metal of his rings, she knows exactly what he means.

***

Emma wakes to a hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her eyes darting open in panic, muscles tensed, braced for a fight. But where she expects an intruder she finds only Killian, face close to hers, finger held to his lips, and she’d fucking deck him for scaring the shit out of her like this if it weren’t for the seriousness of his expression, the fear he just barely hides beneath the command. She knows that fear can only mean one thing, even before he whispers it into the darkness, eyes darting towards the ceiling, to the deck above them.

Pan.

******

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