#also remember when i wanted to write about killian not getting to see milah in the underworld?

[welllpthisishappening]

falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]

Someone should revoke her title. 

They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once. 

AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually. 

———

“I lied.” Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer. 

To Killian’s chest. 

Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover. 

With her, especially. 

She closes her eyes. 

“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.” “You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”

Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes. 

Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite. 

She’s not sure she’s ever told him that. 

Stupid, really. 

“I told you that I get it; what you did today, and that part’s definitely true. But, uh, the rest of it. That I would have done the same thing? Total lie, right? I mean, I did it. That’s what happened.” Nothing. Just flickering flames and the quiet hum of a TV, neither one of them has been interested in actually watching all night. Emma doesn’t even know what channel they’re on. For all she knows, the remote’s in the kitchen. 

She counts inhales. Tries to keep her exhales measured, most of her face still pressed into the collar of Killian’s shirt as it is. And it takes about five full seconds before his hand moves, starts tracing a calm line up her spine, following that path until he reaches the base of her neck and the goosebumps that have already exploded on her skin and oxygen is overrated anyway. Holding her breath as soon as his fingers card through the ends of hair is basically instinct at this point. 

“Felt wrong to point that out at the time,” he mutters, “all things considered.” “Been kind of a long day.” “Reuniting with long-lost relatives will do that.” Scoffing is not the best reaction. Nothing about this is funny. Includes far too much death and dismay, and Emma’s gaze flickers up. Of its own accord and something much deeper, like the absolute refusal to accept a world where he does not exist. 

Goddamn Captain Hook. 

She loves him so much sometimes she thinks she’ll simply burst with the force of it all. 

It’s a gross thought, honestly. 

And they’ve already spent far too much time in the hospital today.

“Is he ok? Li—” Cutting herself off, Emma grits her teeth, but one side of Killian’s mouth is already tugging up, and the kiss that lands on her forehead is as soft as anything. Maybe bursting isn’t so bad, actually. So long as she can come up with another word for it. “God, that’s so weird.” Killian hums. “Indeed.” “Thoughts, feelings, et cetera?” “Vast. And none of them particularly pleasant.” “Seems fair. That sort of day, huh?” “Indeed.” They need more blankets. Need more things that are theirs in a collective sort of way, but that’s a dangerous and disingenuous train of thought, and Emma’s fingers twitch towards the fire. To ward off the sudden chill that’s settled between her shoulder blades, and it almost works, but it does absolutely nothing to help the sway of her stomach and the acid lingering in the back of her throat, threatening to burn far more than what these meager flames are able to do. 

“Should have finished high school,” Emma mumbles, “then I could choose more accurate verb tenses from my inevitably vast vocabulary. Did. Have done. Would do again, several thousand times over.”

“That’s the future tense.” None of his words come with any kind of pointed emotion, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see the tightness that lingers in the corners of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders, straight as a line, and some joke about rigging that she no intention of making, and the furrow between his brows makes every muscle in her chest twist. Ache too, for good measure. 

With the promise of everything she wants to say and everything she hasn’t or can’t and—

Fuck magic, quite honestly. And the rules no one’s bothered to mention until now. Seems like poor planning on everybody’s part. 

“You heard me.” “I did,” Killian agrees lightly, and his hand has never actually stopped moving. It’s nice. Steady. Something Emma can almost nearly time her breathing too. “I would also choose that particular tense. If given the choice, that is.” “Do you not think you have that?” “I don’t particularly enjoy the thought. I’m rather partial to the option of whim, you see. Pirate and all that. We don’t much abide by schedules and fated decision.” “Seems like it’d be in the by-laws.” “Well, by-laws by their very nature are rather contradictory to the entire pirate notion, but you’ve got the gist of it at least.” Emma laughs. Doesn’t quite regret the sound, even as out of place as it is — just presses it into the edge of Killian’s shirt and the buttons he never bothers to do, trying to brandh the smell of him and the feel of him into every corner of her memory and she’s not really sure what happens after. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, and all that. 

She’s got too much unfinished business. 

To totally leave this particular plane of reality. 

She doesn’t mention that either. Not when the crux of that business is breathing steadily under her hand, and Emma can’t remember when she moved her hand, only that Killian’s warm under her touch, and he’s always so much warmer. Than just about anything else she’s aware of. 

“I thought you were dead.”

Of all the things Emma expects to happen in the midst of this night and this moment — and it’s really not a very long list, admittedly — that did not even make the cut. Wasn’t a consideration or a fledgling idea in the back of her mind, several different vertebrae almost audibly objecting when she jerks her head up. To find Killian staring straight ahead, lips not much more than a thin line across his face. 

Seriously, the rigging jokes almost write themselves. Which is more than Emma can say about her clearly piece of shit list, as metaphorical as it might be. 

“I don’t—” “—When I saw you,” Killian interrupts, and none of the words shake. Come out like a stream of consciousness and memories neither one of them have able to shake yet. Or talk about. Can’t possibly be healthy. “Chained to that stone, blood dripping into my mouth, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Worried I’d simply dreamt you up, couldn’t imagine how you looked quite that lovely in that hell hole, otherwise.” “Oh, that’s kind of insulting, actually.” “Hair like the bloody sun.” “Better,” Emma murmurs. Reaching up, her fingers tangle with the charms around his neck. Pieces of luck and trinkets she hasn’t learned all the stories to yet. The idea that she won’t makes her nauseous. “You told me ‘you shouldn’t be here.’” “Aye, and I meant it.” “Because you thought…” “Living people don’t often appear in such a God awful place, do they? Not without something tragic happening, and my mind was impressively efficient on that front.” “Which one is that?” “Every threat that’s ever lingered, every person I would have gladly run through if it meant you were safe. Half of goddamn Camelot.” Emma might snicker. Killian’s arm tightens, though. And that’s all she’s really worried about. “I think I could have taken Arthur. Y’know if it had come to that.” “Likely not a very good swordsman,” Killian nods, but that’s only so his lips can trace Emma’s temple and the top of her hair. More than once. Like he’s still making sure. “Pampered prince—” “—He was totally a king, babe. That’s like...the most basic Camelot knowledge.” “Ask me in five minutes if I care at all about anything to do with Camelot.” “Should I time it, or…” He scoffs. Presses another half dozen kisses to any spot he can reach, and he can actually reach a fair amount of places. Emma’s impressed. Swooning too, but also pretty impressed. “I kept thinking about you,” Killian says, softer than the last few words have been, and it sounds like an admission and another promise, and it’s weird that it can be both. At the same time. “This house. What it was and wasn’t. All those possible verb tenses.”

“I’m sorry.” “Ah, that’s not your fault, love. None of this is, really, but—well, it did make it so seeing you, realizing you were there...left all of those thoughts crashing down around my ears, so to speak. Falling apart, like an avalanche of what hadn’t been and what I still wanted so desperately. No matter what Hades did.” “Stupid stubborn.” “I believe there’s something about a pot and a kettle in this realm.” “Don’t have that cliche in the Enchanted Forest, huh?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Maybe you just didn’t go to a good college.” “Tell me every Greek word you know,” Killian challenges, and Emma rolls her eyes. Ignores the first few flutters of a headache brewing at the base of her skull. “It didn’t seem fair.” “Which part?” “All of it is also rather vast, but mostly that if you were there, then it happened again.” Narrowing her eyes, Emma tries to piece together those letters and the syllables they make, only to be marginally annoyed when she can’t make sense of them. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. 

She might have to go get Tylenol soon. 

“Losing you without fighting, without challenge the goddamn reaper myself, was worse than anything He could have done,” Killian continues, and he doesn’t have to be more specific. “Worse than whatever pain I’ve ever suffered. Cut off twenty more limbs; it wouldn’t even come close.” “Do you have that many?” “Your humor lacks a little something; you know that, Swan?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” He noses at her hair. Drags the soft hum of what could very well be either an agreement or the opposite, or maybe even the sort of deep-rooted understanding that’s allowed him to sneak his way into the center of everything, across her skin. The specifics don’t matter, only that Emma’s magic roars under her skin, an inferno, and a symphony, meeting the challenge that no one has really laid down yet. 

“Do that again,” Killian mutters, a low chuckle as Emma’s scratches at his side. 

“I’m not sure I can, honestly.” “Pity.” “Something like that, yeah. And you’re not totally right, you know?” “Ah, and that’s almost rude.” “I’m serious,” Emma says, “that’s—none of that was your fault either.” Tilting his head only ensures that several strands of hair he still hasn’t bothered to cut fall almost artfully across his forehead, and Emma is grateful to a variety of gods, Greek or otherwise, that Killian doesn’t mention how much her hand shakes. When she tries to brushes them away. His hook finds her wrist instead, cool metal against freezing cold skin, and the state of her tongue is going to be a problem. Large as it is in Emma’s mouth, making it all but impossible to properly swallow while Killian’s lips sweep the bend of her knuckles. 

“Charmer.” “Aye, that’s my endgame.” There’s not enough room between them for him to run his hand across his face like Emma knows he wants to, and part of that isn’t really a bad thing, but the rest just seems like another entirely unfair thing, and Emma knows the rest is coming. Makes tears burn her eyes all the same. “They were just...gone, you understand? No chance to do anything about it. One moment they were living and breathing. Then Liam was dead. Slumped in my arms in the corner of a cabin he was supposed to spend the rest of his career in. He—he would have been a very good captain.” “So are you,” Emma says, fierce and determined, and Killian kisses in the inside of her palm. She’s moved her hand again. To cup his cheek. 

“For a time, maybe. But then she was gone too, and I thought I could feel it, you know. The exact way her heart crumbled in his hand, tiny bits of dust that I never wanted to blow off the deck. Like some of her still managed to stay. Is that—” The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching, and Emma has to blink. She hopes the moisture on her cheeks isn’t tears. She’s not sure what’s a better option, really. “Must sound daft.” “No. I—I get that too.” “Do you?” “Not the only one who’s watched Rumplestilskin hold the heart of someone you loved.”

He can’t be holding his breath. His chest is moving much too quickly, but the burst of air that all but flies out of Killian is enough to ruffle the ends of Emma’s hair and possibly even dry some of the tears she’s still refusing to acknowledge, and she can’t get closer to him. 

She makes an admirable effort all the same. 

Like occupying the same few inches of space will ensure that she stays there. 

“Did you—” Killian starts, looking almost pained as the words war for his voice on the tip of his tongue. “Did you like her?” That didn’t make the list, either. It’s entirely possible that Emma is just garbage at making lists. She nods. “Anyone who loves you as much as I do is fine with me. Better than, even.”

His expression shifts again. Light lingers in his gaze, cautious hope, and misplaced optimism, gears whirring in his head that Emma can’t almost convince herself she hears. Her verb tense was on purpose that time. 

That’s a confidence boost, all things considered.

“She was something fierce,” Killian says, sounding reminiscent and not as sad as Emma has worried he must be. “Once she got away from him. Could get a grown man to do her bidding with a single look, the kind of glare that’d set you on fire from the inside out. It was—they loved her too. Men on the ship, would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she’d asked. Probably even if she hadn’t.” 

His next inhale becomes an exhale almost immediately.

“She never would have asked,” Killian adds, almost entirely to himself, but then his eyes are back on Emma, and they’re a little glossy and just as blue and she’s holding her breath now. “She liked you too, I know it.” “I think she thought I was crazy, actually. Gold didn’t really have much tact in the...introductions.” “Ah.” “Right?” “Right,” he echoes, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma’s cheeks ache. From smiling. Legitimately smiling. Huh. “But I suppose that’s part of it, though. She was there again, and I—” “—I’m sorry. For...for all of it.” “Still not your fault, love.”

“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice doesn’t sound much like her either. Wobbles and warbles and some other word that fits the alliteration. “About me. And not being…”

“Dead?” Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Strawberries.” “Excuse me?” “That soap you use in your hair. Smells like strawberries, or strawberry adjacent maybe. Manufactured just a bit. I think it’s my favorite smell in the world.” “Backhanded compliment.” “No, no,” Killian shakes his head. His hair moves again. “It’s not. It’s—well, it’s you, love. Smells like everything that you are and—”

“—I’m manufactured?” “If you let me finish,” he chides, and Emma all but yanks her lips behind her teeth, “It smells like home. Smells like falling asleep next to you and a distinct lack of blankets.” He nips at the tip of her nose. She scoffs again; that’s why. “And your distractingly cold feet, and leather jackets, and how the smell clings to the collars, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve worn them. Lingers on your pillow too, and the fronts of my shirt. You fall asleep against me quite often, you know that.” “Can sleep anywhere,” Emma reasons. “Might be my greatest talent.” “I don’t know about that.” “If I call you charmer again, will you hold it against me for lack of synonyms?” “Tell me how charming I am again.” Emma scrunches her nose. “Now it sounds like my dad.” “Let’s leave the prince out of this. He’s only a prince, aye?” “Far as I know, yeah.” “Good, good. Strawberries, love. Touching you helped too, though. If we’re being frank.” “Anything except blunt force honesty seems silly now, doesn’t it?” Killian nods. Slow and measured, like anything else will snap this tenuous peace, and maybe they can just sleep on the couch. Getting up is an impossible prospect right now. Maybe they can make out a little before they fall asleep. 

“It’s a very big house,” Emma whispers, and they should really figure out a schedule for conversations like this. Talking about it all at once is exhausting. 

“It is.” “You don’t want to expand upon that?” “Oh, I want a great number of things I shouldn’t,” Killian admits, “but as much as I appreciate this fresh round of honesty we’re engaging in, the false hope would—” “—There’s no such thing,” Emma interrupts. “False hope. It’s an oxymoron, ask my mother. And I think you should get some sort of crew again.” “How would you suggest I populate such a thing?” She shrugs. Nearly hits Killian in the chin in the process. “Untold stories. Dwarves.” “I will not have dwarves on my ship.” “See, I knew you’d have opinions. And there was a possessive pronoun in there that time.” “Was there not before?” “No,” she says. “Just called it the ship. Like it’s not the most important thing you have.” “Well, it’s not.” Emma’s cheeks warm. “That was very smooth.” “Someone did guarantee I was a very good captain earlier.” Space continues to be relatively minimal between them, but Killian’s nothing if not adaptable, and he works with what he’s got. Swinging Emma’s legs perpendicular over his, she’s nearly sitting on his lap, an arm slung over his shoulders, which makes it even easier to get her fingers into his hair and his head to rest against hers, and he takes another deep breath. “I know you understand, Emma,” he says, soft and serious, and she doesn’t bother doing anything except cling to him. With everything she’s got left. “All of it, from the very start. So I don’t think I’ll apologize, actually. For what I’ve done, or what I’d still be willing to do. I won’t give up on you, do you understand me?” “Didn’t,” Emma says, only a little optimistic that’s the right verb tense. Maybe she can get her GED, or something. Before all of this ends. “In Camelot, or after. Accept or acknowledge, and I probably would have—” 

Announcing that killing Gold for what he’d done to Killian regularly crossed her mind in the twenty-four hours or so before they finally made it to the Underworld doesn’t really have the right sentiment for this conversation. Far too violent, and just as honest. 

She’d consider killing him now, too. 

For everything he’s doing, and everything he hasn’t, and she should have shoved him in that river. 

Killian doesn’t smile. At least not in a way that reaches his eyes, the same ones that are looking at Emma again, all blue and earnest, and his shoulders shift. When her fingers graze his chin, more than stubble there because, she imagines, spending a day or so underwater with a sibling he only sort of wants and kind of knows doesn’t leave much time for facial-type grooming. 

It’s a good look, though. 

Most of them are, in Emma’s experience. 

“This entire time,” she continues, “you haven’t given up on me yet.” “Works both ways, darling.” “That one crosses realms, huh?” “Pick up things spending so much time with you.” There’s nothing extra in the words. No sap-filled sentiment or promises she’s only a little hopeful will become actions. And they haven’t talked about the rest; might not even have time, but Emma will let herself think about all these empty rooms anyway, of the exact shade Killian’s eyes go when he stands at the helm, and she hopes he doesn’t cut his hair. Not yet, at least. Longer strands make it easier to touch him, to leave a lasting mark, and settle into his center the same way he’s taken root in hers. 

They fall asleep on the couch. 

[ouatsnark]

“Rumple isn’t an abuser!”

Someone recently replied to one of my posts on Instagram saying just as the title suggests.... which leaves me shaking my head.

Rumpelstiltskin was the Dark One.

His heart was so dark that he was dying from that darkness.

Hades said that Rumple & Regina supplied him with the most souls.

“Oh but isn’t that the darkness? Didn’t the darkness make him do that?”

Yes, at first you could blame it on the darkness. But Rumple had 300 years to master the darkness and multiple chances to be rid of it forever. But he didn’t give it up. Which makes him solely responsible for all of his misdeeds as the dark one.

Child Neglect & Abandonment

This was his first chance to get rid of the darkness but because he is a weak coward, he chose his powers over his child. That is abuse. Baelfire was abandoned.

Rumple murdered Milah. Twice.

Think what you want of Milah but she did not deserve to be murdered. Technically, twice. And Rumple did not kill her in self-defense or to defend anyone else ... he murdered her in a jealous rage, for revenge and then again to protect his own interests.

He also wouldn’t fight for her honor when Hook tested him aboard his ship. Maybe not abuse but it is the mark of a cowardly husband.

Oh. And Belle still doesn’t know that it was Rumple that killed Milah.

Rumbelle is the poster for Domestic Abuse

And Belle was afraid of Rumple. We never see him hit her but you have to wonder what makes her so fearful of him...

She thought she needed protection from him. She obviously felt there was enough evil in him to harm even her. After all, he nearly killed Henry when Henry stood between him and his power (S5 finale).

He was pretty controlling.

There were so many times he used Belle’s life like a chess piece... strategically moving her around to gain his own happiness.

When Belle and Henry wake up tomorrow morning in New York City, they won't remember a thing about tonight. I'll tell then the Snow Queen destroyed Storybrooke, whilst I saved everyone I could. I won't be a villain. I'll be a hero.

Like the time he put her into a sleeping curse so she wouldn’t know that he was planning to run with her & Henry and leave everyone else to die.

So that she would believe he was some kind of hero.

He didn’t ask her if that is what she wanted. He wanted it. So he did it.

Season 6 finale. He didn’t ask Belle’s permission to change her life or even tell her that in doing so it would ruin the lives of everyone else. It is a real shame Belle just wont learn that Rumple will put his selfish desires before an entire town and won’t even consult her to see if that is what she wants for her life... I mean, after all, that wasn’t the first time...

Season 4 finale. Rumple has the author re-write Belle back to being his wife again after SHE REJECTED HIM. That kiss right there? Sexual Assault.

Actually, Rumple spends a lot of time sexually assaulting his supposed true love:

Pretending to be Killian & touching her. Sexual assault.

Not taking “no” for an answer. More assault and harassment.

Belle puts herself into a sleeping curse to save her unborn child. Since she was at odds with him during this time and tells him:

You're not the one who's going to wake me, Rumple. My father is.

I would say that him kissing her while she is asleep and can’t consent is indeed sexual assault... these touches were for his benefit not hers.

It’s a shame the writers could not see what they were writing and address it properly. 

And Gold did not really care about Belle’s opinions.

I mean he did propose to and marry her after lying to her about the dagger and thus allowing her to believe he’d finally given up his powers for her.

It wasn’t until he realized that just maybe he was pushing her too far that he stopped.

But it never should have come to this in the first place.

Pretty sure he never saw Belle as his equal.

1x12 Rumpelstiltskin: Ah… No. You see, um… I, uh, make gold. What I want is something a bit more special. My price…is her.

I mean he technically bought her... and then there was the line in the Season 3 movie about falling in love with the maid.

Also:

So don’t try to sell me a line about Rumple being a good person. He wasn’t. First he was a coward. Then he was just a powerful coward. He cared for nothing but his own happy ending and by extension of that Belle since he thought of her as the key to his happiness.

[intothewickedwood]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 7x21 Homecoming

Gotta start with a prince riding a horse.

I remember being so confused about which Henry this was. There’s not really any indication this episode but wiki says it’s Wish Henry.

Is this after his grandparents were killed?

How does Wish Henry know there are different versions of the Dark One, I wonder.

So, I guess he’s not in the Wish Realm here. The New EF, perhaps? Then there might have been two Henry’s there. Or a completely different realm? Isn’t he the only one in his family left to rule his Kingdom?

It seems like Wish Henry doesn’t know Wish Rumple is his grandfather. I’m not sure Wish Rumple knows either.

I guess Wish Rumple wants his help because he’s another version of the Author.

Isn’t Wish Henry technically Emma’s son as well? She must have memories of raising him. And biologically speaking as well.

Aww. I somehow forgot this scene was in this episode. Oh yeah, I remember Rose improvised the “I love you” and Colin improvised his response. Gosh, Knightrook is everything! And it’s so sad because all that time they could be together without really knowing who they were. Why can’t they just be happy, damnit!

That waterfall in Facilier’s place and those plants on the wall look so damn cool.

I wonder what Facilier’s first name is. Unless that is his first name.

Hey, they messed up the waterfall!

Poor Regina can’t have a boyfriend who doesn’t get killed. Maybe she should try a girlfriend? But also, Shadow Queen was my otp and now I am sad.

Oh, I thought 2 years had gone since the beginning of the curse for some reason, but Lucy only has one candle for each of their cakes, so maybe only one year has passed.

Wish Rumple: “I know you don’t remember, but I warned a younger version of you once, that you’d never your happy ending without my help.” That really seemed to imply it was this Henry in the flashback, but I guess they were just playing tricks with us.

Regina wants revenge for Facilier, bless her.

Peter Pan! Wish Peter Pan, but still! I wish he was in it longer. It’s interesting that Wish Rumple was able to overpower him. And this seems to imply there’s a Wish Neverland.

Is this Rumple’s home when he lived with Milah, his childhood home or are they the same place, I wonder.

You weren’t a coward, Rumple. You injured your leg so you could get back to your son.

Is Hook suggesting he went there to perish? That’s awful! He must have been in a really dark place.

Why is there a cage with a piece of raw meat? Is this Cruella being kinky again?

Also, Wish Cruella!

So, there must be a Wish Version of the 1920s realm as well?? How comes this Cruella can apparently kill? I guess Isaac never got around to writing that part.

Henry, hun, I know you wanna play swords, but Regina could easily magic Cruella away. And she’s vicious! She could kill you, my dude!

Regina’s just standing there letting Henry have his playtime lol.

Regina could have just put her in the cage in the first place.

It was great to see a version of Cruella again though!

Henry: “Maybe it’s time that we ask ourselves who really deserves their happy ending.” Wow. I never imagined Henry would ever say something like that. But he’s on edge because of what’s happening to his family.  

Where’s Belle and her incredibly speedy and accurate book reading skills when you need her?… Oh, she’s dead. *Cries.*

Oh wow, they’re bringing back that s2 prophecy about Henry being Rumple’s undoing. That’s cool and it needed to be addressed since Rumple was resurrected after the last time Henry was his undoing. But I can’t quite figure out how Henry is his undoing this time. Is it because Rumple ends up sacrificing himself as a result of venturing to help Henry? Idk, seems more like Wish Hook was his undoing.

Henry! I can’t believe he knocked out Killian like that!  

Honestly, I don’t blame Henry for doing whatever it takes to save his family. Wish Hook would do the same for Alice, Regina would for Henry and Rumple for Baelfire.  

The Wish Apprentice: “That is indeed a complicated story. The timelines alone would make one’s head spin.” Lmao! So true!

Rofl. Cruella’s horror at Henry changing her hair.

Nice call back.

I guess Henry was Rumple’s undoing because he got the Author’s pen and ink, which led to Wish Henry writing their nightmare stories, which led to Wish Hook saving Alice from falling into hers, which led to Wish Hook’s death, which led to Rumple sacrificing himself. I wish it was more direct but it kinda makes sense. Kinda.

Why is Wish Realm Henry still so young? He was the same age as the original Henry when Emma ended up in the Wish Realm. I guess you could say it’s because time moves quicker in the New Enchanted Forest. But does it, really? Idk, my head hurts already.

Regina was so happy to see young Henry again, not realising who he actually was.

I love that Wish Henry talks a little differently.

Well, at least he apologised for hitting Killian.

Weirdly, whatever happens to Rumple happens to Wish Rumple as well. It doesn’t seem to be the case for other characters, but I guess the power of the Dark One transcends realms.

Henry could just wrest that pen from Wish Henry’s hand and freaking snap it.

I think the only additional power Alice had as the Guardian was the ability to sense and destroy the dagger. Potential Guardian’s such as Alice and Anastasia seem to have magic of their own. Perhaps that is one of the requirements of a Guardian.

Wish Henry’s has so much anger. Evil!Henry is always awesome.  

Tilly making a pickle tower! Love how she always finds unusual ways to keep herself entertained.

I remember Curious Archer were supposed to have another kiss here, but Tiera was sick, so she settled for her shoulder. Still super cute!

Beignet magic? What is this beignet magic? I know Facilier used it but why and how the heck are they magic??

Umm, Hyperion Heights has a mix of people from the NEF and the Land Without Magic and here’s this woman talking about magic slippers and beans and how she’s the freaking Queen apparently lol. The people from the lwom must be so confused.

Very convenient they found a bean. What happened to going on adventures to find magical artefacts? I miss those days.

Aww. Tilly and Margot being adorable in the background.

I love Tilly’s denim shirt.

Aww group hug! Don’t worry Alice, you’ll see your future step mum Tiana soon! Sorry Naveen, you’ll find someone!  

Margot helping Tilly into the truck and squeezing her shoulder. It’s the little details!

Okay, but did Margot and Tilly just use their only bean to get to Storybrooke? How are they gonna get to the Wish Realm afterwards?

But that’s not how magic beans work. They don’t take you from one town in the land without magic to another. They’re meant to take you to different realms only. Oh well, I guess.  

Perhaps Robin always remembered seeing her older self in the outfit she’s wearing in Storybrooke and knew she had to go there with Tilly. That’s if there’s one timeline, which doesn’t seem to be the case.  

You just know they’re gonna eat all the beignets on the way.

Oh! I’ve got a purple shirt with this truck heading to Storybrooke on it from redbubble. It’s by Chookers38 and I love it so much!

Oh my God final episode next week! It’s gonna be emotional!

[killiansprincss]

Never Forget You Ch. 11

Summary: Season 6A Canon Divergence.Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule. Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Also on A03

I have not updates this fic in ages I’m sorry to anyone who actually reads this lol. This fic is my baby, it’s the first multi chapter fic I have written in a very long time and It also will be the very first mc I ever finish as I’ve almost written it all which kinda makes me sad as I’ve so enjoyed writing it, but 2021 is my year to write and I have a lot more planned so check out my other stuff on A03, (not the stuff posted in 2016 I promise it’s not worth it!) ❤️❤️❤️

The Jolly Roger was a safe haven for Killian. It was more than a ship, it was his home. Killian had never had a home, he and Liam never had a proper home; it was just moving from ship to ship, their father trying to escape his debt.

But the Jolly became his home. When Liam became Captain, the Jewel of the Realm-as she was called back then-served as a home for them. Then she became the Jolly Roger when a crew of pirates were born, and she became his only home. The only place that had any remnants of Liam. For 300 years, it was home. It was small, it wasn’t perfect, but it was still home.

And then he met Emma. Never before had he loved someone so much he would give up his ship. Not even Milah. But he knew he had to do whatever it took to get her and Henry back to Storybrooke. He never mentioned it to her either until she asked. He didn’t do it to score points against Bae, he did it because it was the right thing to do. Even if she didn’t feel the way he felt, he wanted-needed to get her back to her family.

By some miracle, thank the gods, she shared his feelings, even if it took a while to admit. And they planned their future and moved in together. Even if it was only for a couple of weeks before the incident. But for that short time, for the first time, home became a building with four walls and a white picket fence as Emma called it. But it was more than that. It wasn’t even that it had four walks and was on land. Emma. It was Emma. Home wasn’t so much a place, it was her. His happy ending. His true love.

And then he lost all of it in a matter of seconds. And because fate is cruel, the Jolly Roger became his home once again. He was foolish to think a villain such as himself, could truly get a happy ending.

It was also a safe haven on Neverland this time around because the fairies were not able to enter the ship without an invitation. It was an old unwritten fairy and pirate rule, which Killian was grateful for. When he gave the wrong advice to the young lost boy, he did not leave the Jolly for a while, it could’ve been a week, it could’ve been a year, he gave up trying to keep track of the days in Neverland a long time ago.

It was also a safe space because the Captains Quarters contained reminders of his past life. Of Liam and his pre pirate days, and of Milah. And now he had reminders of Emma. He didn’t want anyone to see them, it was his burden to bear, not anyone else.

____

“Henry. I really need to talk to you. Just,you.” Killian said, it was unexpected seeing the entire Charming family appear when he needed to talk to Henry most. He had angered Emma and ruined any chance of her forgiving him for all the horrors he put up with in neverland.

Henry looks to his grandmother who just nods, Snow knows Killian must be hurting and Henry is the only one Killian has been around for 25 years.

The two go down the ladder by the back entrance, away from where Emma and David were.                                

“I fear Cecelia knows of Emma's presence.” Killian tells him, nervous of his reaction.    

Henry doesn’t answer for a few seconds, “Oh no.This is bad.Very bad.”

“Aye. I thought you may have some ideas on how to stop her?” Henry always had good ideas, and Killian was sure he would know how to defeat the fairies.

“I do, but I’m not sure if it’ll work considering she’s a Neverland fairy.” Henry says nervously, he wants to defeat the fairies but he needs to be sure before he can let anyone in on his plan. “But as for getting out of here I have no clue, I was hoping Mr. Gold would’ve given mom an extra bean or something.”

“I have a feeling we are thinking of the same thing. We need to remember that Emma is far more powerful now than she was before, along with the young prince, who is not so young anymore. I’m sure they have a way.” Killian says with pride in his voice at how amazing his Emma is. He always believed she was powerful and incredible, he was glad to know she had finally learnt control of her powers.

Henry looks at Killian. “Whatever it is you and my mom were arguing about, it’ll be okay. She loves you. You’ll work it out and we will be back in Storybrooke soon enough.”

“You truly think she will still love me after all I’ve done on this Island? Who I’ve become?” He asks, even though he knows Henry would only ever be positive.

“Of course she will.” Henry states, “why wouldn’t she? I mean you were a pretty bad guy when you first met and she forgives you and knows that’s not who you are anymore. She knows this place is where you spent most of your days as a villain and that it can bring back bad memories. You just need hope.”

“I-I wanted to apologise lad. I haven’t been as friendly as I was.” Killian stammers, he made a silent vow to protect the boy, to make sure Neverland's tricks would not play on his mind. But he fears he failed. “But now that everybody is here-“

Henry cuts him off before he can continue. “It’s okay. I know this place isn’t Storybrooke, so it’s easier to fall into the darkness. It did hurt at first when you wouldn’t be around me, but I get it, and we’re going to get off this Island together.”

____

____

“Neverland”

Both Killian and Henry say as they walk through the portal Mr. Gold created for them. They look back and see the door to Storybrooke is gone. No going back now. They have to wait for Emma to come and rescue them in 25 years.

“Welcome back lad.” Killian says to Henry who looks uneasy. It’s a rough island filled with bad memories for both of them.

“What now?” Henry asks, still looking around at the Island where he almost died.

Killian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny sized Jolly Roger. Rumplestilskin had allowed him to bring his ship with them to Neverland by using magic to shrink it down to pocket size, and when placed in water it would grow back to full size. They walk over to the water and Killian throws the tiny ship into the sea. In a matter of seconds, it had grown to the full pirate ship that he called home.

“Welcome aboard. You are welcome to stay on this ship while we reside on this damned Island.” Killian says with a smile as they walk onto the main deck.

“What do you think lives here now Pan is gone?” Henry asks, curious as ever.

“To be honest lad I have no clue. It could be another Pan type, or it could be something else entirely.” Killian admits, he’s nervous to think what could be roaming the Island, if there was even anything roaming the Island anymore.

“Gold said my blood can make us immortal here right?”

Damn. Killian thought. the Crocodile did say that.

“We do not have to do anything like that just yet.” He reassures Henry, ”It’s like you said, we aren’t sure what roams this Island. We do not have to do anything with your blood just yet.”

Henry gave a tentative smile,”Thanks. That makes me feel better.”

Waning to take his mind off the subject Killian suggests giving Henry more sailing lessons.

“Show me what you know already.”

And so that’s what they do. For hours. It takes Henry’s mind off Neverland, off of his mother and all that matters is he’s with Killian, having fun. It also makes him feel closer to his father. Killian would tell him stories of him, seeing as Henry was now the age Baelfire was when he met Killian.

Killian also felt that with Henry, he was getting the second chance. With Bae, he failed, he messed up and he regretted it. Now he had a second chance with Bae’s son. Obviously it was not ideal circumstances, but he would make sure he looked after Henry and he would care for him. And not just for Emma’s sake.

__

It had been 2 days of hiding out on the ship, and they had yet to see any danger in Neverland. They decided it was time to explore the Island, and restore the magic using Henry’s blood.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Just a few drops of blood. I will be there right next to you.”

Dark Hollow, the source of Neverland’s magic. The magic in the hourglass had disappeared and it had a small crack near the top.

Killian hands Henry a small blade and he walks over to the spot where Pan took his heart a few years ago. Henry takes the blade and makes a tiny slice in the palm of his hand.and he allows a tiny drop of blood to fall. A few seconds pass and nothing happens, nothing feels any different. So Henry lets a few more drops of blood fall.

“Why isn’t it working?” Henry asks frustrated as he;s letting all the blood from the cut drip down after nothing happens.

“More. We need more.” A sinister voice whispers in Henry’s ear. He makes another cut in his palm and let’s the blood drip, drip, drip.

Killian is conflicted, he wants to save Henry and make sure he’s not giving too much blood. Bloody crocodile and his lies. But he doesn’t want to stop him and then something bad happens.

He makes up his mind pretty quickly when Henry falls to the ground.

“Henry!” Killian rushes over to him, his hand still dripping with blood. He rips off a piece of his shirt and ties it round Henry’s hand tightly so no more blood can escape.

Henry is on the ground not quite aware of what’s going on. “It’ll be okay. You’re gonna be fine.” Killian tells him over and over until a white light flashes before them.

The hourglass suddenly fills up again and the cracks are slowly being restored. Magic is slowly returning back to the island.

“Killian?” Henry says in a brittle voice, not quite sure what is happening as he slips in and out of consciousness.

“It’s okay lad. It’s okay” he says quietly.

“Is it here?  Magic? Did I do it?” Henry asks as he regains his consciousness.

Killian looks over to the hourglass that’s now pretty much full. “I think so lad.”

With Killians assistance, Henry slowly gets up and looks up at the hourglass now filled with tiny golden magic beads. He looks down at his bandaged hand, “what happened why did it take so much blood from me?”

Killian shakes his head, “I wish I knew the answer. My guess is this place has been void of magic for a few years now and the blood of the truest believer is powerful stuff, you gave it a little but it was greedy and wanted more. But let’s get you back to the ship, we can fix up your hand properly there.”

The two head back to the shore, taking note of where the dreamshade is and making a mental note to try and destroy it if they’re going to be here for a while.

“Hook?”

The pirate and his almost step son turn around to see where the voice was coming from. A beautiful female with ebony skin and red hair, purple wings and pointed ears. A fairy.

“Cecelia.” Hook recognised the beautiful fairy. He’d encountered her many times when he lived in Neverland the first time. She was a fairy native to Neverland which meant she was powerful, far more powerful than the Blue Fairy native only to the Enchanted Forest.

“Well well well Captain. Long time no see.” She says in a seductive tone.

Clearing his throat to ease the tension and to not give off any wrong signals, Killian simply says. “The woman I love has been cursed. Henry and I are here to wait until she can rescue us.”

Not taking any notice of the ‘woman I love’ comment, Cecelia steps closer. “I take it  you were the ones responsible for the restoration of magic? My sisters and I have woken up from what seems like a hundred year slumber.”

“My boy Henry here holds the heart of the Truest Believer. His blood is powerful.” Killain says proudly.

Henry smiles at the ‘my boy’ comment, he always looked up to Hook even if he wasn’t the best role model at first. He was a great sailing and sword fighting teacher, and was the only father figure he had that stuck around, even before he and his mother got together.

Cecelia just smirks, “well I’m glad to be awake when Captain Hook returns home.”

No. Neverland was not his home. It can’t be. He won’t allow it to be.

But over the years, without Emma, it was hard to not call the place he lived for 300 years, home once again.

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (2/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).  Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They've always been -- until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn't know what. Until she does. He's fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they're kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s August – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. Had it on loop while writing, so if you feel like it, do try to listen to it while reading! 

Once again, a huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuffwho beta’d this and gave me very useful advice to tie the plot together! 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 1 - Mirrorball, Part 3 - Hoax ,  Part 4 - Peace, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan ,   Part 7 - Invisible String

PART 2 - AUGUST. 

Present Day – 21st of June.

“—I’m really sorry Killian, it won’t happen again,” Emma’s words linger in Killian’s bedroom, long after she’s gone.

He is still lying on his bed, staring at his door, the one Emma escaped from. He stretches his bare feet over the lime green cover and frowns.

Well, once again, he got it all wrong. He really thought she meant their kiss. She really seemed to want him back.

His skin feels tacky under his fingers. He really needs to take a shower.

He finds a small blue plastic ball on his nightstand, and absently plays with it, swaying it in the air above his head.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers to himself.

An odd, nasty hand is gripping his heart. He’s not angry. He’s not even disappointed. He stopped hoping for something to happen between him and Emma a long time ago.

Except he’s lying to himself. Of course he is disappointed.

He called things off with Milah to give Emma and himself a chance, after these past months spent holding back from her. He was so surprised to find her this eager to be with him, once he got back.

He thought she would forget him over the year. He knows he desperately tried to. Milah appeared to be the perfect distraction.

Milah comes with a bigger cost that he is willing to pay, but that he only learnt a few weeks ago, over the phone. She finally confessed. It was a relief to find out he wasn’t being crazy or delusional. She has been seeing her husband again – the very same man she’s trying to get a divorce from.

He rolls his eyes, almost misses the ball. Milah is driving him crazy and he isn’t entirely sure she is worth it. At least, not when Emma’s green eyes look at him in the way he’s always wanted them to.

But that was a mistake, as well. Emma will never see him as anything but her friend. He made peace with that, when he left a year ago. It was too painful to hope, and with Liam gone, he couldn’t rely on Emma to be happy.

So he left, before she could leave him. It’s the most selfish thing he’s ever done, but he couldn’t, cannot bear to lose her.

Better to rip off the bandage straight away. Even if it leaves a wound over his heart, a wound that itches and burns.

His phone buzzes on his nightstand. He gives up the ball and stretches his arm to grab it. Twenty missed-calls. Milah must be freaking out.

And then, as hangovers usually go, his mind goes back to Emma. He cannot go on like this. He must know if she truly doesn’t want him back.

His fingers quickly find her name in his phone. Her contact photo is a picture of them both, from freshman year. They are sitting on Storybrooke’s carousel, near the beach. It’s fall. The wind is gently blowing their hair, as he hugs her from behind. She looks completely and utterly blissful, her head thrown back as a laugh crinkles her entire face. He is gazing at her, of course, he always has.

(He remembers Liam took the picture. The memory twists his stomach.)

It was so easy, back then, easy to love her and not want anything more. But the summer crush soon evolved into something more demanding – infatuation.

Killian presses her name. If Emma answers he’ll ask her.

He waits. For a long time. It is painful. But she doesn’t answer. And perhaps she does not want to. And then he gets a double call, and he knows before glancing at his phone who it is. M.

He reluctantly answers. “I hope you’ve got a whole script of excuses written down, Milah.”

He promises himself he won’t fall for her tricks.

He lies, again. Surely, Emma was wrong. Liam would not be proud of him.

(His eyes suddenly lend on the small, blue box on his desk. Bloody hell. He forgot to give Emma her present.)

.

A year ago, the 29th of June.

“Are you sure everything will be okay, little brother?”

Liam’s paternal tone sends angry shivers up Killian’s spine as he ties balloons around their front door. What an ass. Liam is very well aware that this nickname is, to Killian’s ears, the worst combination of two words.

“Aye. Don’t worry. You can go see Elsa in peace, brother.”

Killian shifts his gaze from the yellow balloon that’s also being a pain – just stick to the door! – to face Liam, standing in front of him with his hands on his hips.

Liam’s eyebrows are raised and it is difficult to know whether Killian is looking at his father or his brother. He winces. He’s going to get the talk, now, isn’t he?

“Alright. I expect to find this house standing when I come back.”

Killian swallows a very sharp answer. Liam’s entire life purpose solely relies on Killian needing him. Except he doesn’t anymore. He turned eighteen in February and he wants to see wider horizons than this bloody town. (The only thing – person – holding him back is Emma.)

“Don’t worry. It will stand just fine—”

“Great because…”

“— we don’t really need all of the walls, do we?”

Liam scoffs, visibly unimpressed by his sarcasm, and disappears once again into their home.

A home that is already filled by a smell of chocolate. After his last exam, earlier this afternoon, Killian made a cake – Emma’s favorite – to properly celebrate her birthday.

He hasn’t seen her in a week now, and for a very good reason: they all sat a horrendous amount of exams. Liam made sure Killian spent his week with his head buried in his books. Which is understandable, but also bloody unfair. (His life is tremendously boring without Emma Swan.)

Killian’s attention gets caught by Liam, coming his way again with a big, leather bag. He passes through the door and one hand finds Killian’s shoulder, presses it, as blue eyes delve into his.

“Be careful, Killian.” For once, Liam’s words seem really directed at him.

Killian simply smiles. “Always am.”

Liam grins as he nods and takes a step outside. “Do wish happy birthday to our roommate for me. She’s a good one.”

Killian rolls his eyes – what a nice way to remind him he probably shouldn’t invite Emma over all the time. Very Liam of him.

“I will. Safe car ride, brother.” With those last words, he goes back to blowing up the balloons.

It really takes a lot more effort than one might think. Emma will owe him a new pair of lungs by tonight. As he gathers all of his strength to blow up a pink balloon, he feels someone staring at him.

He looks up.

It’s Liam, in the car. He is waving at him, car window down. Behind him, the sky is distinctively blue.

Killian frowns but waves all the same. Weirdo.

.

“Alright. Everything’s ready,” mumbles Killian to himself, examining his living room.

He glances at the big clock on the wall. 8:15 pm. He is early, as per usual.

He shrugs his shoulders and dives onto his sofa for some relaxing me-time, getting out his phone. Emma has left him a text: “Leaving in 10, is that okay?” The thought of seeing her face warms his heart, and he quickly answers back: “Come whenever you want, I’m ready!”

As expected, the doorbell rings almost instantly. That makes him chuckle, imagining his Swan lass waiting in front of his porch – not wanting to bother him.

Emma didn’t have the happy childhood he did, with his brother and his father – although that did not last long. When they met, something was already irrevocably broken inside of her.

Chasing his memories away with a shake of head, he jumps to his feet and reaches the front door in a few long strides.

He opens with his heart drumming in his chest.

“Killian!” Her excited cry meets him as he discovers her outside.

She’s wearing a little black dress and white sneakers and her legs are already slightly tan, and she looks very, very pretty in front of this summer night sky and he must be blushing already.

Eyes open wide, it takes him a lot of willpower to exhale correctly. “Happy belated birthday, Swan!” He wishes he didn’t sound like he’s just run a marathon, but there is just so much a man can hope for.

Emma offers him a blinding smile. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Thanks, Killian!” And then she shakes her wrist right in front of his eyes, and Killian’s horrified expression transforms into a soft smile. “And thank you for that, too.” The silver bracelet glints against her skin, “It’s beautiful, really.”

(He couldn’t bring himself to wait a week to give Emma her present. Thus, he dropped it on her porch on the twenty-first of June, with a small note: “Happy birthday, Swan. Love, Killian.”)

Killian is glad she does not ask further questions – because he would have had to justify the fact that this bracelet nearly cost him a hand. (Well, it did cost him two months of housework under Liam’s smug smirk, but it was definitely worth it.)

“Wanted you to have a proper gift for your eighteenth birthday,” he begins explaining but then she’s grabbing his neck and quite literally throwing herself into his arms.

He is quite out breath at first – Swan’s always been a little brutal in her displays of affection – but then he feels her fingers tangle in his hair and her breath gets deeper in the crook of his neck, and that is definitely very nice.

Come on, Killian, hug her back. His limbs seem to have turned to stone as he gathers all of his mental power to gently hold her waist. He allows himself to close his eyes, for an instant, as he inhales her perfume – a fresh fragrance of ginger and herself.

“—And thank you for organizing this party for me!” she beams as she backs away, and she sounds ecstatic, which is surprising considering how she reacted the first time he offered to organize it.

(It was a lot of screaming and great sighs and “but no one will want to come!” and, finally, Killian’s hands on her shoulders, “I promise, they will want to, Swan.” He was the one who came up with the idea of simultaneously celebrating the end of the school year and her birthday – so as to divert the attention from her – and it was all it took to, finally, convince Emma Swan to celebrate her birthday.)

“My pleasure, Swan. However, I am going to need you to stop thanking me. I already know how perfect I am.”

Oh, the look she darts at him. She’s all fire, Swan, with her fiery green eyes.  He cannot say he does not love every second of it.

“Can I come in now or are we going to stay here a little longer to admire your door?” And then she’s glancing down at his hands still holding tightly her waist, and he blushes furiously, taking them back in a heartbeat. “Nice balloons by the way.”

Her amused words are a cold shower over his shoulders. He shudders, clearing his throat.

“Jeez, do come in, Emma. Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts,” he mumbles very quickly, grabbing her hand to guide her in.

Staring at the white walls of his living room allows him to cool down a bit. Damnit. He cannot be bloody flustered anytime she talks to him. Emma talks to him a lot. She’s his best friend, for heaven’s sake.

“No worries, your door frame is really pretty, when you take enough time to notice.”

He glares at her, but it’s with a lot of tenderness. “Shut up, Swan. You know what I’m like when I have to organize things.”

When he shifts to face her, she’s staring at the decorations he’s taken so much time to prepare. Everything is calculated, from the distance between the HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign and the crisp bowls on the coffee table and the color of the napkins – yellow of course, Emma’s always been yellow.

“I know, Killian. But it’s just a party. You can relax.” And with her last words, her arms have wrapped around his neck.

She cannot tell, but it’s doing terrible things to his heart rate.

“Thanks, Emma,” he rolls his eyes dramatically and gasps. “Doctors hate her, she found the secret cure to anxiety.”

Oh, how satisfying it is to see her blush suddenly. Why should he be the only one suffering from the heat?

She frowns, her fist gently bumping against his chest. “You know what I mean, Killian.” He hears the tiny bit of fear in her voice.

And smiles at her. “Aye, Swan. I’m teasing you.”

And then he stares at her with a big, idiotic grin and she’s raising her eyebrows and – unfortunately for their little duel –  the doorbell rings. They both jump, establishing a respectable distance between them. He doesn’t want the others to talk more than they already are.

“Ah, got to leave you, Swan. I have to be a perfect host.”

She snorts next to him and dives an expert hand into an open crisp bag on the kitchen counter. “Do go ahead. Do your worst, Killian.”

He rolls his eyes. He hates her.

.

It’s nearly midnight, and everything is going very smoothly in the Jones house. It is nice to see it come to life once again, with all of his friends having fun there.

It distracts him from the void that reigns between these walls, if only for a brief moment in time.

Killian presses a bottle of coke against his lips as David explains to him his last soccer game and Killian is barely paying attention to him.

Oh, David is a very nice guy – in spite of the orange t-shirt he is sporting with confidence that night. Probably one of the best friends he’s made in high school. But it’s really hard not to want to divert his gaze somewhere else when David wears this kind of t-shirt, especially since Emma seems very invested in a girly talk back in the kitchen.

She’s trying really hard to fit in, he can tell, from the way she holds herself – arms crossed over her chest to protect herself, but feet towards the girls, eyes alert, grin impeccable on her face.

He really wants Emma to have other friends – beside him. One cannot rely entirely on someone else. It just will not work out, for her. She needs to distill her affection. Even if it means settling for somebody who wears Yoda on his chest at a birthday party.

“Excuse me, mate. Need some water,” he mumbles and David doesn’t look very concerned.

“No problem, dude. See you later,” and with those words he swiftly joins another conversation animated by Robin – a guy from Killian’s mathematics class.

Killian rolls his eyes at his social ease. It’s unfair. David can just jump from one conversation to another and always feels welcome.

Killian heads for the bathroom, glares at one couple – Zelena, brought by Regina from Physics, and some guy – smooching on the stairs.

And then he really doesn’t mean to pry on the girls in the kitchen – but his ears catch his name.

“And what about you and Killian, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret – David’s girlfriend of two years now – in an impish tone, and he hates her for it.

Something blocks Killian just behind the wall of his kitchen – a crippling, human desire to know. From where he stands, he is able to hear but cannot see or be seen.

There is something very heavy and green, down in his stomach. Fear.

He hears Emma’s chuckle. He’d recognize it anywhere.

“Killian? Nothing! We’re just friends.”

Her words should not burn like this. It shouldn’t feel like someone just ripped his heart out in front of him. She’s merely stating the truth.

“Oh, come on Emma. Everyone can see how close you guys are at school,” Mary Margaret will not let it go and Killian is almost tempted to jump in like a devil to put this conversation to an end.

There’s a silence then. It’s deafening.

The universe conspires to play a slow song at this very moment. Killian can feel his heart beat in his temples.

“No really,” Emma’s voice echoes once again. “To be honest, I’ve been crushing on someone else.”

Ouch. Lava seems to have been spilled in the vicinity of Killian’s heart. It burns. Killian’s hand is shaking as it finds the wall in front of him. He doesn’t know where to look. Nowhere seems fine. Everything is terrible and this place is too loud.

“Nooo! And who would that be?!” Their voices are too loud.

Killian knows the answer before she utters the name, and he is cursing every god above. Not him, not him, not him, please, not him…

“Neal.”

Killian’s heart shatters on the ground. The din is unbearable. He needs to get out.

Why is he so mad? They’re only friends. Surely he knew that all along.

A summer breeze welcomes him outside as he sits down on his porch, and its softness is in sharp contrast with the way his hands shake as he clenches his jaw to hold back something much scarier.  

He takes his head between his hands. It feels like he will never be able to go back inside his house. Except he will, of course. Not only does he simply have to on a practical level – it’s his house after all –  but also nothing is really as unbearable as one thinks at first.

.

Later that night, when everyone is dancing and Emma is searching for his eyes in the crowd, Killian receives an unexpected call.

He is sitting on the couch, surrounded by David and Robin, when Liam’s name flashes on his screen. Something stirs inside of him. Killian presses their shoulders, “I’ll be back, mates” and abandons their card game for the tranquil solitude of the kitchen.

It gives him a good view of the party without being a part of it. Emma, Ruby and Mary Margaret are still dancing in the living room.

“Mr. Jones?” A voice answers him on the phone. It is not Liam’s voice. And it is very distant, as if from another reality.

His initial instinct is to think it must be a mistake. Liam must have lost his phone.

“Aye, Killian Jones. Where is Liam?”

He isn’t even concerned at first, because Emma’s staring at him suddenly and wrath circles his heart. He is so mad at her for not liking him, not like he likes her. And at the same time, his heart cannot help but whimper as she smiles at him, her green eyes creasing. He notices she has smeared her black dress. Clown.

“Your brother had an accident, Mr. Jones. His car crashed into a heavy goods vehicle, and he was hurt in the process—”

A chuckle escapes his throat. What are they saying? Liam is immortal, of course he will heal.

“Did he break an arm or a leg?” Killian snorts. His weary gaze notices the chips spilled over the counter. He will have to clean that up.

“Actually, Mr. Jones, your brother did not make it—”

Another nervous chuckle escapes Killian’s mouth.

He doesn’t know his body has started to react before him. He does not feel the tears that rush to the corners of his eyes, does not control the movements of his face as something very evil swoops down on him. The only thing he knows is that at some point Emma enters the kitchen and she’s frowning furiously at him.

“Killian, what’s wrong?”

His phone is still pressed to his cheek. The paramedic hung up five minutes ago. But he didn’t make sense, and Killian is trying to call him back.

“Nothing, love. Liam is trying to trick me.”

He always used to do that, when he was a little boy. Nine-year-old Liam would hide until Killian wept and asked Liam to find him instead.

He doesn’t know why Emma stares at him in a weird way afterwards, doesn’t know why her brows furrow and her chin starts quivering, and she stammers. “Is he alright?”

She doesn’t make sense then. Why does she sound so panicked? It will be fine. Liam is playing a trick on him, hasn’t she been listening?

“He’s fine, Emma, really, it will be fine—"

Next to the chocolate cake and the chips on the kitchen counter, Killian notices the pink vase holding the yellow irises Emma left on his porch earlier this week as a thank you for her gift. (There was no note with it, but a red ribbon was delicately tied to the flowers.)  

Killian doesn’t know then that Emma’s face starts to reflect the expression on his features. Doesn’t know she’s staring at him as he breaks down, doesn’t see himself suddenly kneel to the ground in a desperate attempt to feel something cold under his skin, to feel anything – anything but this earthquake inside of him.

When she kneels next to him, a shiver of horror shakes his shoulder. “Don’t look this upset, Emma. It’s your birthday party,” he quickly utters. He doesn’t want to ruin her party.

And then, it clicks. Just like that. One second of understanding, and his life as he knows it is over.  

Emma’s hand is suddenly very firm over his knuckles still tensed around his phone, and she forces him to let go. He doesn’t fight back. Death has already taken her reward.  

In his memories, she’s the one who breaks down into his arms. It’s not what happened. The truth is he collapsed between her arms, and she held him so tightly, and with such strength, it felt like she had been ready for this her entire life.

He’s unable to look away from the yellow irises behind Emma’s back as she clutches into him. They’ve started to wither. It makes him sad.

.

Present Day.

Killian waits for midnight to strike before risking a glance at her window.

No light in Emma’s room. It’s now or never.

Grabbing his keys, Killian quite literally runs to her house. He reaches her door like a lightning bolt, and just like that, drops her present next to Ingrid’s doormat.

(He leaves no note. Didn’t know what to write.)

.

Killian avoids Emma all through July and August, and he does so quite well – just enough for it to be bearable and not so much as to make her worry.

One afternoon, he heads for ice-cream at Ingrid’s but his blood freezes before he can get in. He expected Emma to be working, but surely not Neal Cassidy to be leaning against the counter.

Killian fists his hands. Why are you angry? You’re dating someone else, for fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t like Neal. Neal isn’t a good guy. Neal is a terrible idea, one he’s tried to shake from Emma’s mind for a long time now.

Killian steps to the side so as to not be seen, and examines the scene carefully. Emma is wearing the blue uniform. For all he knows, she has been helping Ingrid out in the shop since they graduated from high school.

Emma never did like school very much. It only made sense when she decided she didn’t want to go to college and chose to stay in Storybrooke until she figured out what she wanted.

Killian cannot see her face from his hiding spot, but Neal is all teeth out. His smile sparks fire in Killian’s belly. The air of this summer afternoon is uncomfortably dry and warm and grains of sand seem stuck down Killian’s throat.

Neal suddenly bends towards her, hands her a piece of paper –  his number, Killian gathers – and as Emma takes it, Killian’s gift glints around her wrist. (She added the charm he offered her. That alone nearly makes him suffocate.)

You’re dating someone else, his inner voice stammers.

When Neal reaches to brush a strand of hair from Emma’s face, it is simply too much for Killian. He turns back, his stomach twisting.

With one, heartbreaking thought in his mind – You’ve done this to yourself.

.

Late August.

Saying goodbye is incredibly bittersweet, this time. (So was last time but Liam had just died and it made sense.)

It feels a lot like they are both performing their friendship as they stand a foot apart, by the departure door.

There is so much bitterness in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, in the rigidity of his muscles clenched around his heavy bag. Emma is tense too, won’t look at him, stares instead angrily at the departure board.

“Well,” his voice finally breaks the silence. It doesn’t sound like a voice, it croaks in the hall. “Time to say goodbye, Swan.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her nod, blonde hair floating around her face. As he risks a glance at her, he begins to understand she is shaking.

She’s holding back tears. And his anger dissolves into the wind, becomes shame and guilt and tenderness.

He doesn’t want her to be sad.

He lets go of his bag, and grabs her hands, her bracelet ringing playfully as a hello. “Hey, Emma,” he whispers, murmurs her name cautiously to make her look up. She does eventually, and her eyes are bloodshot.

His hands cup her face. “It’s going to be alright, ‘kay?” She nods again, but her chin quivers. It’s killing him. He knows she thinks they wasted their summer. He thinks so too. He only fears they’ve wasted more than that. “We’ll text, and call, and I’ll even write you letters like in those goddamn movies of yours.”

The last part makes her chuckle, but that quickly turns into a frown. She’s determined to not let any tears slip out, but her eyes are working against her.

He traces her features with his fingers, her small nose and her freckles, barely brushes her lips, and he looks up to see a peculiar glint in her eyes.

The weight of unsaid words crushes their young shoulders.

He licks his lips, tries not to stare at her mouth too long. Instead, he leans his forehead against hers, and finds a bittersweet comfort when she wraps her arms around him.

“Come back,” she eventually mutters, her breath tracing the shape of his lips.

He swallows, holding himself back. And holds her tighter, buries his face in her neck, breathes her in. “I will. Always, Swan.”

Then, they don’t say it. They don’t say it but it echoes like a din between them. It’s heart wrenching, and childhood is definitely over.

Summer has never tasted this bitter.

His jaw is tensed as he lets her go to grab his bag. He does not expect her to hold him back, her fingers gripping his hand with strength.

When he turns to face her, she’s staring at him with eyes wide open and lips pressed together.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he simply states, but she frowns harder and he can tell it is not enough.

Nothing will ever be.

He doesn’t say it then – let me go, Emma – but she hears it anyway and her palm opens abruptly, freeing him from her grip.

And he takes a step ahead. And another one. Until his legs aren’t so stiff, and oxygen finally reaches his lungs.

He doesn’t need to look back to know she’s staring at him the whole time.

.

Four years later – July.

Don’t get him wrong, Killian Jones has had his lot of fucking shitty days, but this one is clearly competing for the highest place on his podium of heartbreaks.

He presses a glass of rum against his lips, drinks it up in a few mouthfuls. David and Mary Margaret are sitting next to him and he is aware that they look genuinely concerned. But he is too mad to look at them. He’s furious, furious that their speeches about hope and “finding the right person” finally got to him.

He believed them – even if it was only for the five short minutes during which he ran like a fool towards Storybrooke’s town hall – he believed them.

Around him, everyone is disgustingly happy. He still feels sweaty in his white shirt and he cannot shake an infuriating strand of hair from his forehead.  

Running was pointless, of course. He was too late. Has been for years now.

From the corner of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of Emma in her white dress. She stands up, and for a moment his attention is caught by the bracelet around her wrist. There are four charms on it, four charms echoing the last years of their friendship. She is still wearing it, in spite of everything. It makes him sad.

But Emma isn’t aware of it, instead rings a spoon against her glass of champagne to catch everyone’s attention.

She is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“Hello everyone. Thank you all for coming to our wedding.” The man at Emma's side, her husband snorts Killian’s inner voice, smiles and watches her with adoration.

And Killian is watching his life fall apart, as he does too often.

(It fell apart a long time ago, mumbles his inner voice, but he is too sober to be thinking about this.)

“I really, really couldn’t be happier to have you all here.” And then her eyes are on him and Killian wants to disappear.

How can she still look at him this way after all this bloody time?

He forces a smile on his face, nodding at her and mouthing “go ahead, Swan, you’ve got this.”

It gives her all the confidence she needs to give her speech, and she does it well.

The teenage girl he knew is long gone. A beautiful, confident woman stands in the middle of the room.

A woman he wasn’t bold enough to love properly.

Killian lowers his gaze as she goes on about how happy she is, how perfect everything is, and he wants to vomit and pass out and forget all of this.

But then he feels her stare at him once again, and he looks up to catch her eye.

Can she tell he’s been in love with her all along? He hopes so, because he will never utter the words now.

.

He definitely expects her to find him, as he sits outside on the balcony of the big mansion by the sea she rented for the ceremony.

The moon plays with the gentle salty waves. It’s one of his favorite views of the world. She knows it.

She takes longer than he thought, judging by the amount of rum he manages to gulp down, but she does find him.

“Hey, what’s up, sailor?” Her voice echoes, breaking the comfortable silence he found himself in.

He doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. He makes such a terrible friend, he should be happy for her. Happy that after a bloody bumpy road, Emma and Neal finally found each other.

He hates them for it.

“Not much. How’s the bride feeling?”

Summer crickets playfully sing behind them.

He hopes he doesn’t sound as bitter as the taste on the tip of his tongue. His fingers absently play with his flask of rum.

“Pretty good,” she answers back, and it’s not really the answer one would expect after such a wonderful wedding. “How…how is your hand?”

Oh right, this. The worst part about missing a limb is that everyone can see it, there’s no pretending it didn’t hurt, and they all stare at him with pity. It’s part of the reasons why he didn’t want to come to Emma’s wedding. (Emma didn’t stare, of course. Emma tried to mend him, but there was too much to heal.)

“Well, still missing, but generally good.” His words come out harsher than intended and he blames the rum.

“I tried to call you, to thank you for my birthday present. But you never answered,” she risks once again, and this time the little tremor in her voice makes him shift.

He is urged by a need to look at her, stare at her big, green eyes glinting in the dimness. After all this time, his heart still stops. How is that she still looks the same, only more beautiful, and he’s a wreck?

He paints another smile on his face, fingers clutching hard on his flask.

“I’m glad you liked my present, Swan. And I am, really, happy for you” he finally affirms. He says it because the whole universe expects him to and it is easier to divert her attention.

He really wishes he were good enough to sincerely think the words he utters. But he cannot.

He sees her shoulders fall just the slightest bit forward, as if she is relieved, and he can’t believe he genuinely fooled her. Perhaps she is just unwilling to fight. He cannot blame her.

“Good,” she exhales, smiles, turns a burning knife into his chest, “Because you matter to me. You know that, right, Killian?”

That hurts. It nearly knocks him out, and he has to hold on to the rail of the balcony. The cold metal beneath his fingers grounds him.

An unknown, mystical force – rum – suddenly pushes him to move towards her, against all of his inner principles. “I hope you know, Swan,” he begins, and he has gotten dangerously close to her. Closer than he’s allowed himself in weeks now.  He stares at her lips, shakes his head. She’s staring back just as intensely. “I hope you know how much I love you – ”

The words are out before he’s aware of them, and her eyes widen. Fuck. He thinks he sees panic in her eyes.

He’s quick to utter the end of his sentence. “—as my friend, my oldest friend, and I’m so glad you finally found your happy ending.”

He sees her glance go back and forth between his eyes, and he can tell she’s not breathing any more than he is. Fuck. He’s ruined everything again, hasn’t he?

Finally, a smile cracks her face open and he knows she does it for both of their sake. “Right. Of course. You’re my best friend, Killian.”  

And she reaches for him, for his good hand – touching his missing limb would have just been too much for both of them – and wraps her arms against his chest. He hopes he doesn’t stink. He very solemnly hugs her back, thanks the darkness around them for hiding the one tear that goes down his cheek. This is nothing like the embraces they used to exchange with a very desperate, very innocent affection years ago.

She’s touching him but she still feels a thousand miles away as he gently rubs her back, lost in her scent, and somehow it feels like if he tried, he could bring them back. But he cannot.

And when she backs away, his grip gets a little bit tighter around her knuckles, panic rising in his chest, and her bracelet rings one last time. He cannot lose her.

But she isn’t his to lose.

And then she smiles at him, and in that smile she reminds him there is no war to be fought anymore.

It kills him. “Go back inside, Swan. I’ll join you quickly,” he finally whispers and presses a kiss over her knuckles.

He would burn in hell to kiss her again. She won’t let him. That’s only fair.

Questions echo in her eyes as she gazes at him one last time, and he swears a gentle, pink hue colors her cheeks. The time for asking questions and pondering over answers is over, too. That was a long time ago. They never found any answers.

“Sure thing,” Emma eventually replies, and the few steps she takes to disappear into the night leave him boneless.  

She did not look back. Of course not. She never looks back, now. (He left her hanging with her eyes twitching too long for her to ever look back again.)

And he is stuck looking at the door behind which she disappeared, wondering if he could have held her back.  

If he could have held them back.

[stahlop]

Making a Memory (3/?)

Once again, a big thanks to my betas @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite. This chapter was a bitch to write.

And thanks again to @gingerchangeling for her amazing artwork above!

Chapter 1 2

Ao3

The next two days felt like torture for both Hope and Alice. They had been told by the directors that they were lucky to be allowed to go into town and that they’d better behave themselves as they were representing the camp, to which Hope and Alice solemnly nodded. Henry had sent a text through Lori’s phone (another extra dollar to deliver the message) to meet at a coffee house in town at 11:00 to which Hope replied that she and Alice would be there (another dollar to text back).

 Hope had told Alice that Henry had confirmed they were sisters but nothing else, citing that this wasn’t something he could tell them over the phone. 

 “Maybe they both got amnesia and only remembered the last relationship they’d been in and that’s why they think our other parent is different?” Alice had suggested. Hope had thought that could be a possibility but then…

 “But what about the fire? Or is that where the amnesia came from?” 

 “Could be?” Alice said. “Maybe they both got amnesia from the fire and forgot the other and we just went with whichever one saved us.”

 “But that doesn’t explain Henry.” Hope said, which was also the fly in the ointment to every theory they came up with. Henry was the outlier. The only thing that didn’t make sense. As far as Hope knew, she and Henry both had the same father and Henry had never said anything different. Why would he lie to her for so many years about having a sister and potentially a different father?

 “I definitely think their memories have been altered or erased in some way.” Alice said. “My gut usually tells me if a person is lying, and Papa hasn’t lied to me once about thinking Milah was my Mama.” She frowned at the prospect that her gut could have been wrong about her Papa all these years.

 “Is it always right?” Hope asked. “I mean, you told me that it seemed to hate me on sight when we first got here, but it’s calmed down now, right?” Alice nodded. “Wait! Did you say it mainly tells you if someone is lying or not?” Hope asked, realizing what else Alice had said. Alice nodded. “My mom has that same thing. She can tell when someone is lying. I’ve always chalked it up to being able to read people well, but maybe it’s something you’ve inherited from her!” Hope got really excited about that prospect. Another piece of the puzzle being put together.

 “What was it like growing up with a brother?” Alice asked, changing the subject. Her whole world had been turned upside down and hearing about things she may have inherited from a mother she never knew existed still felt a little weird.

 “It…” Hope paused looking for the right words to describe it. “It was different. He’s 15 years older than me so we weren’t close. I mean, we were close, but not the close that two siblings would have if they were only a few years apart. I know he tried to help out mom with me as best he could. He lived at home during college when he could have lived at the dorms, and he lived at home until I was around 10 before mom kicked him out. He only lives a few blocks from us and he’s been real busy with the book writing lately. But he always makes time for me when I need to get away from mom for a little bit. In fact, he paid for me to go to camp this summer because I’ve wanted to go for forever.”

 There was a bit of silence after that. Neither one knowing what to talk about next. They’d exhausted their theories and both of them were a little leery about learning about the other one’s parent without finding out why they’d been separated and potentially lied to for their whole lives.

 Hope spent the next day reading through Henry’s novel, as if it might hold potential clues for her, even though it was a work of fiction. Alice spent them drawing pictures of various things, everything from characters in the book to things that had happened around camp. Hope was a little jealous at how good Alice was. 

 Finally, the day to go into town arrived. Alice and Hope had woken up early and were the first ones on the bus. They’d be getting into town around 10:00 so they’d have a little time to shop around before meeting Henry. They were both so antsy the entire trip there. As they got off the bus, Mrs. Hatfield remarked about how well they were getting along with a knowing look. If she only knew her initial assumption of them being sisters had been spot on, and that was the reason they were getting along, not because of the stupid Get Along Cabin.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Henry had not been all together surprised when he had received the phone call from Hope. He had been expecting it after all, just not so early. He’d thought he’d have another 4 weeks, once camp had ended to figure out how to explain the situation they had all found themselves in. It wasn’t every day, after all, that one meets their long lost twin sister that they never even knew existed (although Disney would have people believing it, but they messed up most of their retellings of fairy tales, why would this be any different). But here he was, with only two days to figure out what he was going to tell his sisters, one of whom he hadn’t seen since she was two.

 He knew the situation was a mess.  It had been a mess since the twins were born. It wasn’t as if any of them had wanted this situation to happen, but it had and they’d been living with it for the past, almost twelve years. Well, Henry had, anyway, it wasn’t as if anyone else involved in this knew what the hell was going on besides him.

 The whole situation was bittersweet. He had checked up on Killian and Alice over the years, not that they knew that. He’d been discreet. Just happening to be in the same park as them even though it was nowhere near where he lived; jogging near Alice’s school as she grew up to be able to see her during recess. It had pained him to see her playing by herself in a trove of trees near the back of the playground away from everyone else. As she got older, she had the drawing pad, and he was happy that she had something she enjoyed doing. Henry had even gone to a few of her art shows and seen just how much like Killian she was in the drawing department.

 It was a lot harder to check up on Killian, as he worked at the docks and it wasn’t like Henry could just hang around the docks for no reason. He’d thought about getting a job there when he was old enough, but his mother would’ve thrown a fit. She would have given him a talking to about wasting the scholarship money he’d been given for his fancy Creative Writing Bachelors to go work, what she would have considered, a dead-end job at the docks. He had to make it part of his morning run, except that when Killian moved into management, he couldn’t get a look at him at all.

 Deciding to go into Creative Writing in college was a no-brainer. He knew he needed to get his story out, but he needed to do it in sections. Become one of those writers that had a book series instead of just one book. He wouldn’t have been able to get everything into one book as it was. The problem that he hadn’t anticipated was that no one wanted to publish it. He thought the alternative fairy tale genre would have still been a big seller, but it seemed that book publishers were more into dystopian societies again (a resurgence from when he had been a kid). It had taken him a lot longer to get Once Upon a Time out to the masses than he’d intended. The sequel would just barely be released before Hope and Alice’s fourteenth birthday and that was cutting it really close for what needed to happen.

 Henry had done the best he could in helping his mother raise Hope. He knew it was not the life she had imagined when she’d found herself pregnant. He still remembered with distinct clarity when she’d come rushing out of the bathroom waving around the pregnancy test. Explaining to Killian what the two lines meant, and then forcing Henry to go buy her a digital test just to make sure the cheap ones she’d bought over the internet weren’t faulty.  They’d been so excited to start their family together. And when they found out they were having twins, well Killian had practically spun Emma around in excitement (a little hard because they didn’t find out about the twins part until she was almost five months along and she was already huge. Alice had apparently been shy even in the womb as she was hiding behind Hope in the ultrasounds; their heartbeats always perfectly in sync with each other). And then...everything happened.

 Maybe it would be better if Henry tried to write what he wanted to say down. He’d always done better with an outline, a plan, an operation. Operation Gemini was on!

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The girls were already waiting at a table in the coffee shop when Henry arrived; three hot chocolates set at each place, all with whipped cream and cinnamon Henry noticed. As soon as Hope noticed him, she immediately stood up and ran to give him a fierce hug. 

 They stood there, hugging at the entrance, for what seemed a long while. Had it really only been two weeks since she’d gone off to camp? It felt almost like a lifetime. Even though Henry had moved out of the apartment, he still came by to see his mom and Hope every day. It was just the kind of family they had. Very close. 

 Henry had moved them off to the side so as to not block the entranceway, and he felt Hope shuddering in his arms. She was silently crying Henry realized as he stroked soothing circles on her back, something that always calmed her down as a little girl. He looked over to the table and noticed Alice sitting at the table waiting for her world to drastically change and all she looked like she was feeling awkward while she waited for them to finish their emotional reunion.

 “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” Hope wailed softly. “I just have so many questions and emotions from discovering that I have a sister, and it has finally hit me now that you’re here, Henry.” He was making this all real. And no matter the answer, no matter what he told her, Hope and Alice had to keep an open mind, because Henry knew the reality of this situation was going to change things forever.

 “It’s okay, Hope.” Henry whispered into her hair, something else he’d always done when she was younger. “I promise, everything is going to be okay.” He kissed the top of her head for reassurance. Hope seemed to snap out of it, and she broke away from Henry and dried her eyes on the back of her hands. Henry pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and gave it to her.

 “Always a gentleman.” Hope said as they walked over to the table. Alice, who had watched the whole exchange, looked at Henry with wide eyes. Henry wasn’t sure how either of them were going to handle what he was about to tell them, but Alice, despite the wide eyes, seemed overly calm about the whole situation. 

 “It’s nice to meet you, Henry.” Alice said, putting her hand out for him to shake it as he sat down at the table. Henry could tell she wasn’t quite sure what else to say. He could only imagine how she must feel, having grown up an only child and now she supposedly had a twin sister and an older brother.

 “We’ve met before.” Henry said sadly, taking a good look at her while he and Hope took their seats. It was like looking at a punk rock version of Hope and it was a little strange. “But I haven’t seen you since you were two and mom and Killian were still dressing you in matching outfits.” He laughed, remembering how their mother, of all people, liked dressing them the same and Killian absolutely hated it. They’re individuals, Swan, not dress up dolls! Everyone nervously took a sip of their hot chocolate.

 “Can we just cut to the chase.” Hope said. Henry chuckled at how much like their mother she was. Besides looking like her, just with a fuller face that he chalked up to still being a child, she had inherited her personality, and was always straight down to business. No pleasantries, no small talk, just get straight to the point.

 Operation Gemini hadn’t made it much past the notes phase when Henry tried to figure out how to explain things to them. Giving a speech was not the way to go. This wasn’t a book that he could plot out an outline and hope that everything went the way he wanted it to (at least not yet). And he knew these two girls were much too smart to not ask questions about everything he presented to them. He needed to know what they knew or had hypothesized for themselves before figuring out what and how to tell them about their pasts.

 Alice,” Henry said turning to her, “tell me what you’ve been told about your mother.” 

 “Uh,” Alice had not expected to be put on the spot, “her name was Milah.” Henry nodded in agreement, since he already knew that was who she thought was her mother. “She and Papa were together for about five years before they got married and had me. I’m named for my Papa’s mother. She died in an apartment fire when I was two which is also how Papa lost his hand. We…” Alice’s voice drifted off when Henry took out a notebook and started writing everything she told him down. He wrote at a very alarming rate, and it would look as if the words were magically appearing on the page, or at least, it would look like that to Alice, if she believed. 

 ‘H..how are you doing that?” Alice asked, fascinated. The pen he was using looked like an old fountain pen, the kind that required ink. Alice looked around but she saw no ink. He saw her look closer at the notebook which was an old, leather bound notebook with parchment inside. Henry held his breath. Could she see? Henry looked at Hope who was looking at Henry intently the same way Alice was, but he could tell that all Hope saw was a normal pen and notebook.

 Henry looked up at Alice with a quizzical look on his face. “How am I doing what, Alice? What exactly do you see?” From his tone, he hoped that Alice could see he truly wanted an honest answer. She looked hesitant for a moment, took another gulp of her hot chocolate, but then drew a deep breath before telling him exactly what she saw.

 “You have an old fashioned fountain pen, but it seems to not need any ink. And it’s putting the words on the parchment for you.” Alice gulped. Henry knew that what she had said would sound crazy to anyone else, but not to him. She looked over at Hope who was looking between Alice and the pen and notebook. She definitely was looking at Alice as if she just said the craziest thing ever. A wide smile crept over Henry’s face and tears sprang to his eyes. He wanted, more than ever, to just wrap Alice up in his arms like he had when she was a baby, and give her the biggest hug imaginable. He put the fountain pen and notebook aside.

 “Alice,” Henry said as he took both her hands into his, “I need to ask you something, and please answer honestly. No false modesty for my sake, please.” Alice nodded. “Now, I know Hope hasn’t read my book because she says it’s not her style,” Hope rolled her eyes at this statement, crossed her arms and mumbled “I've read some of it,” Henry gave a small laugh at that and focused back on Alice, “but have you read it?” Alice nodded, unsure of where Henry was going with this. “And tell me, my dear Alice, what did you think of it?” He continued.

 Henry watched Alice closely as she tried to figure out where to begin.  

 “It felt like I was reading about people I’d imagined my whole life. Like they’d been living in my head with no way out and then, bam! There they were on the page in front of me. And then I started drawing. Oh, I’d drawn mostly landscapes, places that were right in front of me, but I’d had these images in my head for so long of people, that about a year before your book came out, I’d started drawing them as well. And then there they were in your book. I have sketches of Snow White and Red from before your book even hit the shelves, and at first it scared me, because Papa has always said I might be psychic, just knowing little things here and there, but there it was for me to see. These people who I’d been imaging. I’d never known their story, and here it was laid out for me in the pages of your book.” She took her hands away from Henry’s and put them in her lap as a few tears, Henry couldn’t tell if they were happy or scared tears, slipped down her cheeks. Henry was still staring at her intently, his smile even wider if that were possible. He watched her put her one of her hands under her hair and rub the back of her neck, just like Killian always did.

 “Why did you ask her that?” Hope asked breaking the silence that had enveloped them after Alice had finished her revelation. Alice almost looked embarrassed about Hope asking. She’d just bared her soul about all the thoughts that had been in her head, probably for years, and how Henry’s book had opened the floodgates, and Hope’s only response had been to ask why Henry had asked that particular question? Of course Hope would be the non-believer. Like mother, like daughter.

 “That’s actually a very good question, Hope.” Henry said, his smile never fading. He beamed something that he hoped conveyed pride at Alice before looking over at his sister. 

 “I was going to start out telling you something different. I went over this in so many different ways the past two days, but I think I’m going to have to start with the storybook.” Henry said as he went to grab something out of his satchel. Hope rolled her eyes and scoffed.

 “Henry, you cannot tell us we are sisters and then just go off about your fairy tale book. I get that she’s a fan, but there are more important things going on here besides your book.” Hope said, exasperated. Henry paid her no mind. He placed two books on the table. One was a much bigger, much older looking copy of his book, made from what looked like real leather and gold leaf. Like something the publisher might sell as a collector’s edition. The other looked like his current book, only it was white with a picture of an apple tree on it in a golden frame. It also said Once Upon a Time, but not as ornately as the last book. The O was in red while the rest of the letters were in brown. Underneath the title read the words: Emma’s Story.

 “Is...is that the new book?” Alice squeaked out. Henry’s smile grew even wider if that was possible.

 “It sure is, Alice.” He said quite happily. “And, actually, Hope, these books will tell you everything you need to know about your past.” Both Hope and Alice looked at him. Hope’s expression was one of disbelief. She’d always held their mother’s belief in the practical, everything had a logical explanation, even if lightbulbs tended to pop when one of them were angry, or they’d find random candles lit without any explanation for it when they really needed to relax. Alice’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline for how high she had raised them. Henry could see that she was more open to what he was trying to tell her.

 “They’re all true?” Was all that Alice could get out.

 “Yes, Alice,” Henry nodded, “they’re all true.” Alice smiled with tears starting to form in her eyes. 

 Hope looked from Henry to Alice completely confused. He could see she was trying to comprehend what he was trying to tell her, that the fairy tales he had written about were supposed to be real, but her brain did not compute that. Fairy tales weren’t real. They lived in the real world and magical things simply did not happen. And now Hope was getting angry, because Henry still hadn’t provided any explanation to how she and Alice had become separated and why they had been told lies their whole lives about who their parents were.

 Henry sighed. “Look,” he said, running his fingers through his hair nervously, “this book here,” he pulled out the larger copy of his book and placed it on the center of the table, careful not to knock over any of their half drunk mugs, “is not just some fiction I made up.” He couldn’t believe he was in this situation where he had to explain this all over again. “Every story in this book actually happened. It’s the story of our grandparents and what they went through to eventually end up in this world.” Alice took in a breath of air while Hope looked at Henry like he was insane.

 “Henry,” Hope started, “fairy tales aren’t real. What you’re saying is ludicrous, and you’re beginning to really scare me.”

 “So, the Emma at the end of the book,” Alice said in barely a whisper, “she’s your mom? She’s actually the real daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and the savior destined to break the Evil Queen’s curse?” Henry knew it was a lot to take in, he knew it sounded insane, but he could also see that Alice believed every word that Henry was telling her. Hope just stared at both of them with a look that said she felt like she was the only sane person at their table. 

 “She did break the curse!” he said excitedly. “That’s what’s in this book. How our mother broke the curse and the various things that happened afterwards until she came to the Final Battle. And then….” Henry took a breath trying to stave off the catch that was starting to form in his throat. “We were separated. That’s how this book ends. With our separation.” He grabbed the almost empty mug in front of him and drained the last dregs of hot cocoa that were in there, grimacing at the grainy texture of the chocolate that had coagulated at the bottom. When he looked back at his sisters (he had never been so happy to add that extra ‘s’) he could see that Alice was thoroughly convinced that he spoke the truth, but Hope was still looking at him with a mix of incredulousness and a slight hint of murder. He could see her wanting to object again but cut her off when he continued with what he had to say. 

 “The final book. The final book of my series has not been written. I have no idea how it will end. Both of you need to help me write it because it’s about us, all of us. You two, me, mom, and Killian. It’s about what happened to us and a terrible danger that we will have to face.” Hope’s face immediately tensed at the word danger; Alice’s face lit up intrigued. He continued. “It won’t be easy. I am putting us all in jeopardy, but I don’t have a choice. This is something that we’ve known about since you two were born and I’m the one who has had to carry the burden of it for the past almost 12 years.” Tears were falling from his eyes and Alice handed him a napkin as Hope had never given him back his handkerchief from earlier. Alice also had tears falling as she had listened to what he had told him. Hope just looked frustrated.

 “Henry,” Hope said, breaking in again, “are we ever going to get any answers, or are you just going to parade your books around to Alice and let her fangirl over them. We’ve been here,” she checked her watch,” for an hour and you’ve given us nothing but fairy tales. Not even that, you’ve just given us the books to decipher an answer out of! We have to meet back on the bus to camp in an hour. Are you going to be able to tell us everything we need to know by then?” She gave Henry the look, the look he’d seen too many times on his mother that showed that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth and she was getting tired of it. If she’d been standing, Henry was sure she’d be stomping her foot like the tantrums she used to throw when she was younger.

 Henry thought for a minute. There was no way he could tell them everything he needed to in an hour. Hell, would they even be able to function at camp after everything he needed to tell them? Would they even believe him? Alice definitely seemed open to it, but Hope, she was so stubborn. It was like trying to convince their mother all over again. And that’s when he made the decision.

 “Look, Alice, do you trust me?” He asked, holding out his hand to her. She didn’t even hesitate, she took his hand and answered yes. “Hope, Alice, you are sisters. I am your half brother. Emma and Killian love each other very much, they just don’t remember, and I need your help to bring our family back together. But to do that, you’re going to have to leave camp and come with me. Can you do that?” 

 Alice nodded with no hesitation. Henry probably should have been a little more concerned that Alice seemed so willing to leave camp and go off with a perfect stranger who had just told her that he was her brother with no other explanation except that fairy tales were real and she needed to somehow get their family back together, a family that didn’t even know they were broken, but he saw the belief in her eyes and the trust she had toward him and Hope, and he looked past that concern. Besides, he was her brother, just because she didn’t remember him didn’t mean they weren’t blood. Both he and Alice looked over at Hope who was still looking at them like they were the craziest people she had ever met. Henry was about to apologize for ruining her camp experience when she finally spoke.

 “Well, I guess you two don’t really leave me a choice. I gotta make sure you crazy, and yes, I mean the literal meaning of crazy, people don’t get into too much trouble. Someone has to make sure that when mom and Alice’s dad, ...our dad, whoever he is, find us that we have a sane person to explain we went willingly and Henry doesn’t get arrested for kidnapping or whatever.” Hope flipped her ponytail behind her shoulder as if she didn’t really care either way if they got in trouble or not, but Henry knew better. He knew she was coming along on this crazy ride to make sure Henry didn’t do something stupid and to be there for Alice.

 Henry held out his hand for Hope since he was still holding Alice’s from earlier. She hesitated only a moment before grabbing it. Alice and Hope both gave a slight jolt, something most people would not have noticed or thought they had just had a shiver run through them at the same time, but Henry knew, he knew that was the sign that everything was starting. It was the sign that their family was coming back together.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx  @qualitycoffeethings​

[justanother-unluckysoul]

OUAT fanfic: “Love Is A Ghost You Can’t Control," M, Killian & Smee friendship

Rating: M Characters: Killian Jones, Peter Pan, William Smee Word count: 4233 Summary:“Killian knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular.” Set in early Neverland days. As a grieving Killian sinks deeper into the darkness, Smee awkwardly tries to cement his own place on the Jolly Roger’s crew. Warnings: Implied/referenced Hook/Pan non-con but nothing graphic. Accidental self-harm.

(On AO3) || (On FF.net)

The FF.net version is the more family-friendly version, from which I’ve removed the non-con references and most of the “bad” language as well as my little sister has access to my writings over there lol

A/N:  Kind of a follow up to my story For Love And Revenge, but works as a standalone fic as well. I just had some more ideas that didn’t quite flow on from the end of the other story. Title is from Christina Perri’s “The Words.” (go watch the music video for it, if you hadn’t already!)

Love Is A Ghost You Can’t Control

“You will do what I say, Hook,” Pan said, his voice sharp, “Or there will be consequences.”

Killian bristled at the unfamiliar, and unwanted, moniker.

“It’s Captain Jones.”

Pan only tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised as he looked challengingly at Killian. He’d appeared on board without warning as the crew busied themselves preparing for the day, and in a moment he had every one of the crew members locked in place with a twist of his hand, although for some reason he’d left Killian free. Now Killian gazed back into Pan’s eyes and there no trace in them of the boy he looked to be. No, this was a demon. Just like the Dark One.

“And I won’t make a bloody deal with you,” Killian growled, pushing aside the flicker of fear growing within him.

“A deal? Of course not, I’m not here to make deals.”

Pan stepped closer to John, and Killian ground his teeth together to hold back his instinctive protest as the demon took the cutlass from the first mate’s hand.

“Here’s how it goes. You now work for me, and you will do whatever I ask of you. And if you don’t, more of this is going to happen.”

Killian never got a chance to ask what Pan was talking about, because in the next moment, he had driven that weapon right through John’s heart. Killian might have screamed. He’s not sure. But then Pan was right in his face and Killian’s own cutlass was half drawn, held back by Pan’s magic.

“That was only the beginning,” Pan said, “You have until tomorrow night to be on that shore, pledging your allegiance to me. And if you don’t… well, let’s just say I’m going to really enjoy myself that night.”

Pan smiled predatorily as he caressed Killian’s jaw in a way that left no dispute as to what exactly he planned to do with the captain if his instructions weren’t followed. Killian’s skin crawled. Then the demon vanished, and Killian nearly fell to his knees as his magical bonds were released. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Some of the crew quickly gathered around John’s body, but it was obvious the man was already dead. Killian was in disbelief, caught in that destructive place between anger and grief, where your chest feels tight and your throat closes, but you can’t quite cry and you want to scream and fight and break down but none of it happens. So Killian just stood there in frozen silence for too long, until he realized his crew was now looking to him for direction.

**

They buried John at sea just after midday. Killian forced himself to say a few words. John had been part of the crew from the very beginning, his place as first mate well earned. And more than that, he’d been a trusted friend, helping Killian stay afloat in those first few days after Liam’s death, and then again after Milah’s. He owed John more than he could ever say. It was too much in such a short space of time. Killian could feel himself spiralling, losing control. And the weight of his imminent decision still hovered over his head. How long could he resist Pan and the Lost Ones? Could he, in good conscience, risk his men’s lives by doing so? Pan had already killed John like it was nothing, like John was nothing. Just like the crocodile had killed Milah. And Pan surely had further evil plans for them if Killian didn’t surrender, he had made that clear. Killian internally berated himself for ever coming back to Neverland. Another impulsive decision, exactly what his loved ones had always warned him against.

“Bloody cursed island,” he muttered, taking another swig of rum.

He needed to quieten his mind, just a little, shake off the crushing guilt he’s feeling. He needed to think objectively. He was too emotional right now. His thoughts kept bouncing around from one trauma to another and he couldn’t seem to calm them. The Dark One standing over him in the alley, using Killian’s own sword to pin him down. Liam dying in his arms, Killian screaming uselessly for help. Twice, remember? No, stop. Milah touching his face, whispering I love you. Pan sliding the sword effortlessly between John’s ribs. Stop! And suddenly Killian’s hook was buried in his leg. He blinked at it for a moment in hazy disbelief before yanking it loose. His involuntary cry of pain drew attention, and momentarily there were footsteps on the stairs.

“Captain? Is everything alright?”

No, everything’s not bloody alright.

“’s fine. Go ‘way,” he said instead, and since when did his voice get so slurred?

“You’re bleeding.”

And suddenly Smee was next to him, daring not only to deny a direct order but also to grab Killian’s shoulder. Killian growled and went to punch the insolent man. He missed. Apparently, he was drunker than he thought.

“Sir, please, let me help-”

Killian pushed his chair back from the table and his wounded leg nearly gave out when he stood. God, he’s such an idiot, stabbing himself with his own hook.

“Get out,” he snarled.

Smee didn’t. In fact, Smee was actually calling for assistance now, because Killian had pitched forward and Smee’s probably the only thing keeping him from going all the way to the floor.

“Leave me be,” Killian mumbled at the two - three? He can’t see straight - blurred shapes that come down the stairs.

He shoved hard against the man bracing him and stumbled backward. Smee barely avoided the wildly swinging hook and quickly caught Killian’s forearm before he could make another pass at any of them.

“Sir, if you just-”

“I said leave me!”

Killian managed to pull a bit of strength into his voice but he couldn’t seem to do the same for his body.

“I am your captain. Y-you do as I command.”

He couldn’t even stay conscious long enough to see if they do.

Killian drifted in and out of awareness. His leg was on fire from hip to ankle. He fought against the hands holding him, yelled, spat curses until he fell into darkness again. Then there was a damp cloth on his face, gentle fingers on his jaw.

“Milah,” he whispered.

The touch withdrew immediately.

“No, don’t leave me!”

He lurched upright, biting back a cry as the pain speared through his knee again, and grabbed the arm pulling away from him.

“Take it easy, Captain.”

Smee’s voice was like a slap in the face. Killian dragged himself back to full awareness and shoved Smee away from him.

“Bloody hell. What the devil are you doing, Smee?”

He twisted so his legs reached the floor, and sat there for a moment, holding his head. God, his brain felt like it was going to fall right out of his skull. And it’s likely his stomach would follow shortly after.

“You’ve been a bit ill, sir,” Smee explained nervously, which at this point just seemed like his natural state, “Just rest, alright? I’ll get you some water.”

“No. Get me rum.”

“Captain, I really think-”

“Mr Smee. Rum.”

Smee did as he was told, for once. The rum did no favours for Killian’s swirling stomach, but it did settle his head somewhat. With his thoughts flowing clearer, Killian realized something else and fixed Smee with a dark look.

“Where’s my hook?”

“Uh, we had to take it off,” Smee said.

He looked dreadfully uncomfortable under Killian’s gaze.

“You were thrashing around too much, I thought you might… hurt yourself.”

Again.

“Give it back,” Killian demanded harshly, “Now.”

Smee complied. A small voice at the back of Killian’s mind (it sounded like Liam, it always did, though he couldn’t be certain now that he’s even remembering his brother’s voice correctly, it’s been so long) said he should thank the man for cleaning the blood off it. But the words were buried too far down. The hook made Killian feel a little less feeble, a little more whole, and having it removed without his consent was almost more than he could take. He clicked it back into the slot and let the rage consume him.

“I should have you flogged.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t.”

“Who helped you?”

“D-davis. And Baldy.”

Killian pushed himself to his feet and immediately regretted it. There was no strength in his wounded leg, the knee refusing to lock at all. He gritted his teeth and sat back down.

“I don’t think your medical skills are quite up to task, Smee.”

“Sorry, sir. I did my best but the wound was quite deep. It’ll take some time to heal.”

“Let Davis and Baldy know that I’m thinking of an appropriate punishment,” Killian said, “and for you as well. Now get out.”

Smee quickly obeyed. Now alone, Killian took a moment to examine his leg. Of course Smee had actually done a decent job sewing him back together. The man was surprisingly deft with a needle and thread, as evidenced by his work when Killian had torn the stitches on his stump just days after arriving in Neverland. But now more than ever, Killian couldn’t seem to keep his anger in check and most times, he was beyond caring.

Between the infernal cramping of his left hand, which despite being gone for weeks now still found a way to pain him, and the newer throbbing agony in his leg, Killian couldn’t settle. He’d plunged the hook in just above and slightly to the outside of his left knee, and the whole joint now felt painfully swollen and the rest of the leg below it was practically useless. He finally gave up on sleep sometime before dawn and dragged himself up to the deck. There was usually only one man on deck at this time of night, when they weren’t sailing somewhere, and he wisely kept to himself when Killian was in one of his more volatile moods. Which, if Killian’s being honest, was more often than not these days. But the sight of the open sea always soothed him, and tonight was no different. Killian gingerly lowered himself onto a crate, his injured leg stretched out in front of him rather awkwardly, and felt the tension easing almost instantaneously. The soft, cool breeze on his heated skin felt marvellous. Killian didn’t manage to sleep, but by the time the sun rose, he felt much more like himself. He felt like a bit of an idiot though. He hadn’t intended to get so drunk last night but it had been so easy to just keep drinking, keep chasing the numbness. Right up until the moment he’d clumsily stabbed himself in the leg and shattered what calm he’d nearly managed to find. Now Killian stood up and shook off the thoughts, returning to his quarters before the rest of the crew awoke.

**

Killian’s men took the news that they would all be in Pan’s employ from now on rather well, though Killian didn’t leave them any room not to. Apparently the only emotion he was capable of portraying now was anger. And really, that’s probably for the best, he thinks. He met with Pan on the shore as requested, wanting nothing more than to rip out the demon’s spine. But he couldn’t do that. So he instead he taunted Pan right back, one insult in return for each one Pan sent his way, and although it only served to rile the demon further and Killian paid for it before their meeting was over, he didn’t regret it for one moment. He dragged his battered body back to the ship, where the crew waited anxiously. He brushed them all off and slunk back to his quarters to nurse his new wounds in private.

Pan ordered them to make a “supply run” almost immediately, disregarding Killian’s still-healing wounds. Killian had no choice but to obey. He had to admit though, plundering villages again felt good, and if it weren’t for the pain in his leg and other places he doesn’t want to think about he could almost pretend things were normal. He chased that feeling of normality and calm for hours afterward, standing at the helm, looking over the ocean, picturing Milah at his side.

“Captain. How’s the leg?”

“It’s… better.”

Killian had made a point to be a little more civil to Smee today. The man was only trying to help, although Killian couldn’t quite hide his irritation at having his pleasant daydream interrupted.

“Glad to hear it, sir,” Smee said with a small smile, “And what about your other woun-”

Killian’s good mood evaporated instantly at the reminder of Pan’s actions and Smee hurriedly backtracked at the look on his face.

“I-I mean… I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He practically ran away. Like a coward. Killian growled under his breath and returned his focus to the horizon. He’d been almost excited to come here and thwart the Dark One. Good luck living long enough. Killian was going to make sure he did, but he hadn’t counted on Pan’s interference. He had known the boy – no, the demon – couldn’t be trusted, but the extent of his power hadn’t been comprehended until it was too late.

**

Over the next few weeks, Killian’s anger only grew. He was desperate to keep his memories of Milah pure, not allow them to be tainted by his own anger. He wanted to think of her only with fondness. Remember the days and nights they shared together. But he found that each time he let his mind wander to her, it got harder to capture those good feelings again. His dreams, not normally pleasant to begin with, had dissolved further into warped horrors. Sometimes he was tied to the mast, screaming for Milah. Other times, he played the role of the Dark One, and it’s his own hand that crushes Milah’s heart. Bloody crocodile. Bloody Pan. He must find a way out of this cursed realm before he loses his mind. Killian’s only consolation is that Pan regularly sends them out to pilfer from more villages, so he can take some of his rage out on the men that try to stop him.

“Captain, the men are tired,” Smee told him carefully, the sun just coming up at the edge of the sea as they come into view of Pan’s island after another raid, “Do you think… maybe you could ask him if we could have a vacation?”

Killian stared at him blankly. Smee’s request honestly caught him by surprise. The rest of the crew knew better than to question him, to ask anything at all from him these days.

“A vacation?”

“Yes!” Smee lost the cautious tone now, misinterpreting Killian’s incredulity for confusion, “I think we’ve earned one. And you look like you could use a rest as much as anyone, just look at the dark circles under your eyes.”

He had said too much, gone too far, forgotten his place. Killian could see the exact moment Smee realised, but it’s too late. Killian lunged for the smaller man, hook at his throat.

“Pirates don’t take vacations,” Killian all but yelled, “They seek revenge. Which is exactly what I’m going to do as soon as I figure out how to kill the bloody Dark One.”

He knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular.

“Of course. I-I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Know your place, Mr Smee,” Killian warned him darkly.

He gave the pitiful man a rough shove as he let him go, nearly knocking him over. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to give Smee a place on the crew. He’d been nothing but disrespectful and ungrateful.

Days later, he was forced to admit to himself that Smee was right and he probably should have tried asking Pan for a break, although likely wouldn’t have done them much good. Killian couldn’t imagine the demon actually acquiescing to anything Killian desires. But lying on the floor of his quarters almost delirious with fever, he thought he could have at least tried. He was not sure what had caused his illness but stretching himself so thin for this long had almost certainly contributed to it.

“Captain, we’re-”

Smee stopped short. Killian supposed he must look quite a sight lying there on the floor, shivering and sweating and only partially clothed because he’d run out of strength part way through dressing.

“Uh, sir, are you alright?”

Killian barked out an almost manic laugh and dragged his hand over his face.

“Do I look like I’m alright, Smee?”

Smee clearly didn’t want to answer that and Killian didn’t bother waiting for his response anyway, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. The floor didn’t seem very steady today.

“I just came to tell you we’ve arrived at the port,” Smee said.

Bloody hell, the port. If the Jolly Roger doesn’t return with a full hold, Pan will have his hide. Killian reached for his vest, missed, had to catch himself at the edge of the table to avoid another tumble.

“Just a moment, mate,” Killian said, his voice slurring slightly.

He managed to grab the vest this time, pulls it on, goes for his overcoat and that’s when the whole ship tilted, throwing him back to the floor.

“Have we hit some bad weather?” he asked in confusion, trying to bring Smee’s face back into focus.

“Um, no?”

“Is that a question, Smee? Or a statement?”

“I think you should rest for a bit, sir.”

Killian was suddenly too hot and he yanked his vest off again.

“I think… I think that’s a good idea, Smee.”

It’s the first good idea Smee’s ever had in his life, Killian thought, and that struck him as funny. Hilarious, in fact. Vaguely his mind warned him that this was it – the moment Killian Jones finally goes insane.

**

He’s not going insane. At least, that’s what Smee said, though Killian couldn’t be sure because he’s definitely seeing things that he shouldn’t. Milah, for one thing. She was a ghost, flickering in the corner like candlelight, but sometimes when his mind was at its most clouded, she came close enough to brush her fingers over his cheek. He learned after a few times just to accept it, not to try to return the gesture because as soon as he moves, she disappears. So he lay still and silent and closed his eyes, Milah’s touch soothing his fevered body.

“I’m sorry, Milah,” he whispered.

“Sssh, my love, just sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”

He missed her so much it hurt, a physical ache in his heart. He still had so much to tell her. The crocodile hadn’t even given him a chance to respond to her murmured I love you and now he’ll never get to say it to her again. He tried to take comfort in the hallucination now, telling Milah all the things he wished to but never could before. But other times the tricks of his mind were less pleasing, instead tormenting him with visions of the Dark One or of Pan, and after, when Killian comes back to himself, he’s most often cowering in a corner, throat raw from screaming, and several of his men are trying to wrestle some weapon from his grip. They stole his hook again sometime when he was passed out, and no matter how much he shouted and threatened and cursed, they would not return it to him. They were frightened of him, he can see it in their eyes, and if he’s honest, he’s frightened of himself too. Afraid of the darkness in his soul. When the fever finally broke after who knows how long, leaving Killian exhausted, and ripe with the stench of sweat and sickness, it was only Smee who dares to offer him a row to the shore to bathe in the river that flows nearby. Killian accepted, of course, but it surprised him that after the cruelty he’s shown the man, Smee was still trying to help him. Sometimes during the fever, they’d sailed back to Neverland. Killian wondered briefly who had taken charge and regretted not reassigning the position of first mate. It was a blatant oversight on his part, too distracted by his own grief that he failed in his duties as captain. (That’s bad form, little brother, says Liam.) Not that it mattered, obviously, because we made it back, didn’t we, Liam? Killian felt terribly weak from the illness, and to strip off his clothing took more effort than he would have liked, not helped at all by the awkwardness that is only having one hand. They’d returned his hook again, finally, but it was no use to him in this situation. Killian feared he’d never get used to this, his newfound clumsiness humiliating and he was glad Smee kept his back to him, allowing his pride to stay more or less intact. The water was slightly too cold to be comfortable, but it was refreshing, and the chill was a small price to pay for his cleanliness. Killian quickly finished bathing and returned to Smee. He was running out of energy already, the fever having sapped his minimal reserves.

“Captain,” Smee said suddenly, his voice urgent.

Killian looked up from pulling his leather pants back on to see Pan staring back at him. His pulse quickened in fear, although he carefully kept his face neutral.

“Captain Hook,” greeted Pan with a smile that looked purely evil, “You know you don’t have to redress so quickly on my account.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in barely contained rage, continuing to dress even as his face flushed with embarrassment. He did not want Smee to hear any of this.

“Where have you been? I expected your return several days ago.”

“He’s been ill,” Smee interjected, “But the Jolly Roger’s hold is full, as you commanded.”

Pan seemed as surprised by Smee’s interruption as Killian was. The demon’s attention shifted, and Killian is grateful that he gets to finish pulling his clothes back on without the uncomfortable scrutiny.

“And who are you?” Pan asked, almost childlike in his curiosity.

It sickened Killian. Although to be fair, just about everything about Pan sickened him now.

“Smee. William Smee, but please, call me Smee.”

“Is this true, Hook?” Pan asked, his attention back on Killian, “You’ve been ill?”

“Aye.”

Pan stepped closer to him. Killian could feel his façade of indifference slipping as the demon sniffed him, nose so close to Killian’s neck he was almost touching him.

“Well, I believe it,” Pan said, stepping away, “You do reek of frailty today, Captain.”

Somehow Pan knew exactly where Killian’s sensitive points are, mentally as much as physically. Killian would certainly have spoken up about that statement if he’d been alone, but he couldn’t risk Smee’s safety. Not after what Pan did to John.

“Very well, William. It seems you and your captain have fulfilled my order. And you know what? I’m feeling generous today. I will allow you both to return to the ship now and I will send the boys to assist you with unloading.”

“Thank you,” Killian said. Bastard.

“But Hook,” Pan added, his hand pressing against Killian’s chest as he tried to move past him, “I do expect that next time, you will inform me much sooner of any changes to the plan.”

“Of course.”

By the time they boarded the ship again, Killian’s legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer and two of his men had to almost carry him back to his quarters. His head swam, vision going grey, body trembling with exhaustion. They gave him some warm broth to drink and left him to rest. He listened to the sounds of the cargo being unloaded in a sort of daze. The broth was cold by the time he came to his senses.

“Who took charge while I was unwell?” Killian asked Smee, hours later when he felt sufficiently recovered and forced himself to return on the deck.

Smee shuffled awkwardly in place.

“I did, sir.”

Killian couldn’t quite believe it. He looked at the handful of men who were eavesdropping and doing a poor job of pretending not to, and they just nodded and quickly returned to their duties.

“Really? You?”

“Why does that surprise you so much, Captain?”

“You’re just… you don’t come across as a leader, mate.”

And yet all the men had clearly accepted him as such when Killian was indisposed. Smee shrugged, but he still looked worried, refusing to meet Killian’s eyes.

“It just kind of happened. I didn’t mean to. I… I hope I haven’t overstepped again.”

Killian’s mouth curved upwards slightly. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s the closest he’d gotten to one in a while.

“Well, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to claim the position without my approval, and it seems the crew will accept you as such, I believe I will have to officially call you my first mate.”

Smee just blinked in stunned silence. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this outcome.

“…What?”

Killian grabbed Smee’s shoulder and turned him to face the rest of the crew.

“Men,” he called out, “I’d like to introduce you to my new first mate, William Smee.”

END

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 8/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings:  Please be aware that this chapter discusses professor/student relations in the past, non-consensual pictures in the past, and some present, consensual, loving, and happy sexual relations. Gotta find a balance somehow. (This chapter also nicknamed "The One where Sarah calls out a shitty storyline from FRIENDS.)

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 8: Unearthed

It takes time, but they both manage to get out some of the difficult parts of their pasts. Emma tells Killian snippets of her former relationships, including why she ran from Henry the first time she saw him. Graham’s story is kept brief, Walsh is brushed off as a bad experience. Killian is patient about it, holding her hand and listening closely. She can see the questions forming behind his eyes, but he never pushes for more info than she’s willing to share. 

He’s hiding bits of his own past, too. He’s very open about the accident that took his hand, how he grew up in Liam’s shadow but preferred it that way, and his strong passions for fiction and poetry. But when it comes to information about his time in university, she sees the way his shoulders tense. There’s a lack of enthusiasm when he speaks of his master’s studies. She’s seen the picture of him at graduation that sits in his office. She knows there’s more to the story. 

They’re watching television one night, background noise as he works on some edits. With the money they got for upgrades, Emma purchased a shiny new laptop, one specifically loaded with the software to digitize the town’s records, and so they work on their own stuff together. 

Something on the screen that neither of them are glued to must catch his attention, however. It’s a rerun, something that used to be popular but has now reached syndication and thus plays on every channel when there’s downtime. It’s something Emma’s seen enough times that she knows the general storyline without really even paying attention. It’s the one where a professor starts a relationship with a student. 

While she’s mostly tuning it out, it seems Killian is finally tuning in, and she looks up as he lurches for her television remote and hits the power button. His breathing is visibly quicker than it should be. Even when the screen goes dark, there’s a tension around his eyes she has never seen before. 

“You okay?” she asks, mostly because she’s not sure he remembers she’s there right now.

He shakes himself a little bit, brushing off the moment for all she can tell, before he turns to her. “Hate this show,” he responds. 

“It’s been on for the last hour.”

As he focuses on her face, she can see the moment he sheds whatever was trying to creep up on him. “I was pretty deep in my work. I do apologize, love.” He’s lying, but she’s willing to let it go if it’s something from his past that he doesn’t want to talk about. 

“Hey, no worries.” She reaches out, squeezing his bicep once for comfort. “You want coffee? Tea?”

“I’ll get it. What would you like?”

“Surprise me,” she says, knowing that he’ll bring back the hot chocolate he knows she loves. 

By the time he returns, the tightness on his face has eased up a bit, but it’s replaced with something she would call contemplation. “Swan, I want to tell you a little piece of my past, but I hope you won’t judge me too hard or let it change the way you feel about me.”

“A little ominous, but okay. Go for it.”

“Back in university, I was involved with one of my professors.”

Emma takes a moment to let it absorb, trying not to flinch or let her facial expressions change at all. It’s his past, and she knows just as well that those moments shouldn’t define the current moment. 

“Tell me about it?”

“As you know, Liam convinced me to enroll in university as a way to pull me out of my slump after I lost my hand. He helped find out if I could take my classes online since I wasn’t ready to go out into the world.”

Emma reaches over, closing her fingers over the hook attachment he has on today. It’s become second nature, but sometimes she wants to tell him without words that she accepts him for who he is and this is one of those moments.

“Eventually, I was comfortable going to classes on campus. I was engrossed in all things to do with writing and literature and editing, and knew that’s the direction I wanted to take. And then I met Milah, one of the professors for a professional writing class. And she was just that for a while, and then when I entered into my master’s studies, we sort of…crossed the boundaries when she was helping me with a project.”

“Milah was married, is married, though they are separated. Her husband, some wealthy bastard, agreed that if she was discreet that they could see other people. He wasn’t anticipating that she would take up with a student, former or otherwise.

“What did he do?”

“Threatened to expose the affair to the university. Milah would’ve been fired. I would’ve likely been expelled. He said he would divorce her and cut her off from his wealth. He only agreed to back off when Milah and I split and I filed to finish my master’s online, much as I began the whole journey.”

“Was the money that important to her?” It’s the question that hits; she can tell immediately.

He grimaces before answering. “She liked to pretend it wasn’t. Painted herself as a free spirit that didn’t need wealth. But it didn’t stop her from walking away from me like it meant nothing.”

Without even prodding, Emma can see that the story isn’t done. She adjusts her grip on him and waits for him to continue.

“I almost didn’t finish my degree after that. I started drinking heavily every chance I got. Took Liam a couple weeks to figure out what was going on, pried out what had happened, and then intervened. He’s the only reason I still completed my coursework.”

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“Right pain in the arse, but yes, he is.” 

“You really loved her?”

“Aye. She’s the only person outside my own family that I ever professed my love for.” He’s quiet for a moment before meeting her eyes once more. “Have you ever been in love, Swan?”

“Maybe I thought I was, once,” she admits. Mostly, she realizes that the feelings she thought she had for Neal and the ones she told Walsh she had were nothing compared to the way Killian makes her feel. “Thanks for sharing all of this with me.”

“I figured you should know,” he tells her, simple as that. 

When Friday rolls around, she’s all set to join her boyfriend and friends in public. Normally, Emma would be one of the first to ditch out on work and get to their usual spot in the bar, but tonight she’s working with Belle to relabel and organize their filing system. Previously, their idea of “orderly” bordered on chaos, and they had trouble keeping track of just about everything. Along with the digital system, they decided to reconfigure the physical records as well. 

They’re in the process of fixing the system when Emma’s email account dings, and she glances at it briefly to make sure it’s nothing important before they get back to work.

What she finds, instead, is a message with a link to a website. Normally, she would write this off as a spam account, but there’s no fill-in-the-blank recipient. There’s no lead-up to the message at all. Just the words written below a link: You’ll have to trust me. Type in code 92574. Check Maine.

With a heavy amount of trepidation, Emma clicks the link and follows the instructions. Her brows furrow as she tries to process what she’s looking at, but it appears to be some kind of personal page, with links to the fifty states. Finding Maine in the list, she clicks it, and almost immediately drops her phone as if burned.

“Oh my fucking god,” she mutters, her vision blurring around the edges.

“Emma is - oh! Oh my goodness!” Belle immediately backs away from the glance she’s just stolen at Emma’s unlocked phone on her desk, looking back at Emma with horror and surprise in her eyes. “What…. What is all that?”

“Something I was told was destroyed a long time ago,” Emma says, her voice shaking and her body feeling heavy and weak all at once. “Can you drive stick?” Her phone finally goes dark and auto-locks, and she’s honestly not sure if she can feel her face right now.

“I’ll text Will and let him know we’re on our way.”

-x- December 13: Friday

The last few weeks since Thanksgiving have been some of the best in Killian’s life. While the project of Henry’s novella is speeding up in momentum and racing towards the end, he and Emma have been taking things at their own pace and enjoying every moment together that they can.

It’s getting easier for them to talk about their pasts. From their shared lack of parentage to finally breaking the barrier of previous relationships, he knows they’ve both made great strides. Being able to tell her about Milah and not have her go running for the hills was admittedly a huge relief, and he only hopes that she’ll trust him to open up about anything she’s still holding out.

Normally, when they go out on Fridays, Emma is right by his side when he enters the bar. While Emma is working with Belle, he and Will have gone to the bar early to have their own catch-up until everyone else arrives. 

They each spend a fair amount of time grousing about work, about late nights and tired eyes and how much they love their jobs despite their words. And they also spend just as much time talking about the women in their lives. He’s happy to see Will as content as he is. He also knows that, despite the strange and often passive-aggressive friendship between the two of them, Will is happy to see Killian with Emma.

About an hour after they sit down, Will gets a text from Belle saying that the two women are on their way. They each share a look, automatically noticing that something feels off, but unable to tell what. That sensation is amplified by the look on Belle’s face when she arrives with Emma not far behind.

There’s a tightness around her eyes that Killian has never seen the soft-spoken woman have before. Emma is just behind her, with her arms crossed over her chest and a look that he would best describe as being a cross between solemn and murderous. Only his girlfriend could manage that combination of expressions. 

“All right, Swan?”

“No. Not all right. Can uh, can we go back to my place?”

“Sure. Let me just -”

“I’ve got the tab. Go on,” Will says, his thick eyebrows drawn together. 

The Bug is waiting for them when they get out, still running. Clearly, she hadn’t intended on spending long inside whether he was coming with her or not.

They’re silent on the drive back to her place, and even while they make the trek up to her loft. She’s quiet as she unwraps her scarf and kicks off her boots, all with deliberate and jerky movements. 

“I have to kind of process through something,” she says, her voice thick with a myriad of emotions. “I don’t wanna talk. I don’t really want to do anything at all. But will you stay with me?”

“I’m here as long as you’ll have me. Whatever you need,” he tells her, making sure to catch her eyes so she knows he’s being honest. 

Wordlessly, she locks the door before she leads him upstairs. 

While Killian is normally the one with the carefully crafted routines - which, admittedly, have taken a backseat to finally relaxing and enjoying his time here in Storybrooke - there are certain things that Emma does every morning and every night as far as her own rituals command. He has never seen her go straight to her room without carefully scrubbing her face and teeth and removing her contacts. 

Usually, she also takes that time to braid her hair to keep it from tangling too much while she sleeps, but tonight she leaves it hanging free, and he’s surprised when she only shucks off her clothes and pulls on a t-shirt before climbing into her bed. 

Following suit, Killian removes his clothes and quickly folds them, leaving them on the cedar chest by the bottom of her bed as he usually does when he stays over before he climbs under the covers. Immediately, Emma is shifting until she’s pressed against him, her ear over his heart and her arm wrapped tightly around his midsection. 

“You won’t leave?”

“Only if you tell me to,” he admits, hoping that it’s what she needs to hear. Her grip only tightens, and he decides to stay awake as long as he can to make sure she’s all right. 

He must doze off because he wakes again to Emma’s lips pressed against his, her hand sliding into his boxers to stroke him awake. As soon as he’s aware of it, he’s kissing her back, helping her push down his boxers before she hastily rips off her own underwear and finds a condom. This is not how they usually have sex - he recognizes it immediately - but even as he hesitates, he hears her whispers.

“Please - I know, please, I just need…”

He responds by pulling her closer, kissing her as hard as she was kissing him to let her know he’s on board. She slides on top of him, gripping his hand like a lifeline and rocking against him as if it’s her one salvation. He can feel the panic and anger with each move of her hips above him and he just holds on, hopes she can feel the reassurance radiating from him, hopes she feels that he’s an anchor she can trust - that he’ll be with her no matter what this all means.

When they’re both sated, she collapses onto his chest, and to his surprise he feels the quiet sobs wracking through her body a few heartbeats later. She only really cries when she’s angry - she admitted as much to him some time ago when they were trying to decipher the use of pathos in commercials. He wraps his arms around her, running his hand soothingly over the small of her back and whispering anything he thinks may bring her back to him.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry that wasn’t… I basically just used you to fuck away my anger and that’s not…”

“Swan,” he says quietly, releasing his hold on her so he can coax her to look at him. “No apologies necessary, love.” 

With hasty swipes, she dries her face. “I’m just so mad right now.”

“Will you tell me what about?”

“Just… give me a couple more minutes,” she says, sliding off of him and climbing off the bed. He hears her footsteps retreating down the stairs and the door to the lavatory close. 

He takes a deep breath, pushing himself to sit up, turning on the light beside her bed and grabbing a couple tissues to clean himself up. He slips his boxers back up while he’s at it before sliding between the sheets again. 

When she returns to her bedroom, her hair is tied up and her robe is wrapped around her like body armor. She must’ve used the time to scrub the last of her makeup off, as well, and his heart stutters a beat to see her looking so down but still so beautiful. She climbs up, sitting next to him at the head of the bed with her legs crossed at the ankles. 

He’s watching her carefully, trying to not pressure her to talk but wishing she would say anything at this point, as the silence is slowly pressing in around them. 

“My last ex was the absolute worst,” she finally starts, fingers fiddling with the ties on her robe. “Worse than Neal, obviously. And worse than I ever thought he was when I found him cheating on me the day that Ruth died.”

He’s quiet, understanding that now is not the time for empty condolences for either incident. Instead, he reaches out and places his hand on her knee.

“He was a shitty antiques dealer down in Boston, never wanted to come up here to visit, never wanted to be seen with me, it seemed like. And unfortunately, he kept a lot of mementos from our time together.”

“How so?”

“You know how I told you I burned my uniform a couple years ago?”

He nods in response, tilting his head and wondering just where this could be going. She’d told him the beige monster was uncomfortable and unflattering, saying that any photographic evidence of the uniform in question was destroyed along with it.

“Well, I left a tiny part out,” she admits, looking over at him briefly.

“Nothing you tell me is going to run me off, Swan. I promise.”

With a bracing breath, she nods, focusing back on her hands in her lap. “I used to wear a uniform. Took it down to Boston with me because I was supposed to go straight to work the day I left his place. And he wanted to see it on. We were joking around and having fun.” She stops, grimacing and visibly willing her face to relax a moment later. “I let him take pictures. He had this fancy photo printer so he had physical copies and deleted them after they were done. At least, that’s what he swore he did. Just like everything else, it turns out that was a lie. 

“Emma?”

“He has a website. A fucking website with all of us.”

“All of who?”

“Every girl he fucked in the year that he and I were together, according to the site description. He proposed to me, you know, right before we ended things. I was going to say yes but told him to give me some time. Ruth passed away about a week after he asked me and I drove all the way to Boston because I wanted… needed the person that claimed to love me. And he was in the middle of fucking another woman when I walked in the door. I told him to give me the photos before I left while this redhead sat naked on his bed and watched me gather my stuff.”

“And you got the physical ones from him?”

“Yeah, no surprise he lied about those being the only copies. He kept them in the top drawer of his dresser, so now I have to wonder where the rest are kept. The day after Ruth’s funeral, I burned the uniform - with David’s permission and minimal questions asked - and the photos.”

She goes quiet after saying that, not really keen on making eye contact for the moment. Killian takes the opportunity to gather the words he wants to say, trying to find the best order of questions and statements. 

“You know that none of this is your fault, right? Nor do I blame you or feel any differently towards you because of your past.”

Emma sniffs at that, a half-hearted attempt at acknowledgement, so Killian leans closer and turns her face to his so he can plant a kiss on her lips. 

“I mean it, Emma. This is on that wanker, not you at all.” 

Her lips thin out for a second, but ultimately she nods and leans forward to give him another kiss. 

“Now, will you tell me about how you found this all out?”

“I got an email while Belle and I were working on our little project. I figured it was spam at first but it just had this link to a website called ‘Banging U.S.A.’ and some instructions for a passcode and a state. When I clicked, there was a whole lot more of me than I expected to see. He must’ve been taking pictures through the whole thing, since not all of them were ones he printed and showed me later.”

“So some taken without your knowledge or consent? How much worse can this guy get?”

“Oh, it still gets worse. I tried not to click on anything else, but I ended up on the newly launched world edition,” she says with quotes around the words. “Without really thinking, I clicked on this little British flag and there was the woman I found him with. She was clearly far more into the photography thing than I was.”

“Bad, but how is that worse?”

“In the first three pictures, you can see one of my t-shirts on the dresser. In the others, it’s gone. Which means he went right back to fucking her as soon as I left his place with my stuff.”

“Definitely worse,” Killain mutters, drawing his hand over his face in disbelief. 

“And we all had subtitles. Hers was the Wicked Witch of the West… and my South Pole.”

“Ouch.”

“Mine was Officer Tie-Me-Down and Fuck-Me-Up.”

“Bloody hell, Swan, how much villainy can one man possess?”

“Apparently, his cup runneth over.”

“Clearly.” They fall silent for a moment, until Emma’s head tilts over to rest on his shoulder. “Any idea what you’ll do about it?” he asks after letting her mull for a moment.

“No fucking clue.”

He shifts in order to kiss the top of her head, pulling her closer when she pushes her way under his arm. It’s still hours more before either of them fall asleep again.

-x- December 14: Saturday

When Killian wakes up again, it’s to the sound of Emma’s voice floating up from down below.

“I know, and I’m sorry for bailing without letting you know,” she says. “I had something come up.”

With much effort, Killian hauls himself out of the bed, pulling on his undershirt before making his way downstairs. 

“No, it’s kind of why I was calling, though. Do you still have that phone number for James?”

Whatever response David must have for that is lengthy and aggravating, judging by the look on Emma’s face when Killian makes it to the main floor. She looks up and gives him a wan smile, pulling the phone away from her ear long enough to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. Dave’s voice is, indeed, squawking out quite the storm from the earpiece, and Killian does nothing more than raise an eyebrow in question before giving her a kiss of his own and moving towards the coffee pot. 

“Well, when you calm down about that, give me a call back. I need his number and you’ll agree with me when I tell you why.”

Her phone clatters to the table but she’s already moving towards where Killian is standing against the kitchen counter. 

“Good morning,” she says, leaning up and pulling him down to give him a much warmer, much more thorough kiss. 

“Same to you. Feeling a little better?”

“More like a fire’s been lit under my ass and I have a plan. I have to swing by my brother’s place to harass him about our other asshole brother. Want me to drop you at home?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I need to head to the office to finish up the last of the preparations and my notes for the party on Friday.”

“No trouble at all. Wanna get breakfast along the way?”

“Food and time with my girlfriend? Only a fool would refuse such blessings.” 

When they part ways, he’s amazed at the clear change in mindset she’s gone through in less than twelve hours. Even as she kisses him goodbye, there’s determination burning in her eyes. 

-x-

It takes roughly forty minutes of needling David before he finally caves and gives her the phone number James had called from once, on accident, a couple years ago. She’s plugging it into her phone and hitting ‘call’ before she’s even halfway out of David’s workshop, taking the steps two at a time to get to the first floor. 

“Don’t hang up,” Emma says as soon as James answers.

“Emma?”

“You mean you actually have my number saved in your phone?”

“I’m sure that’s surprising but yeah, makes it easier to call you if I need to ask for money.”

“Ah, you haven’t changed a bit,” Emma responds, rolling her eyes at his words. 

David reaches for the phone when he gets to the kitchen but Emma bats his hand away. 

“I’m guessing you’re the one that needs something if you’re calling me.”

“You’re still in Boston, right?”

“And what if I am?”

“You still have that fancy talent at hacking computers and websites?”

“Listen, I haven’t done anything wrong. I stopped doing all that ages ago.”

“I don’t care if you’re a law-abiding citizen,” Emma snaps. “I need someone who doesn’t care about the law.”

“So the wonder twins need my help because I don’t follow the rules?”

“Pretty much. I have an ex that needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Fine. Come down here next Friday and I’ll see what I can do. If you’ll do something for me,” he adds at the very end.

“Like what?”

“We’ll discuss my terms on Friday.”

“I have a party…”

“Oh? You have a party?” His tone is mocking, and Emma swallows back the retort she wants to spit at him.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll be there. David is coming with me. You do the job, I’ll repay you however you want me to, and then I never have to see you again.”

“Sounds good to me,” James singsongs. “I’ll text you the address. See you Friday, little sis.”

“That guy’s the worst,” Emma snaps when the call ends. “How is he your fucking twin?”

David just shrugs. “And this is why I didn’t want you to call him. Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“You have to promise you aren’t going to have a coronary or something, okay?”

“Go for it. I will… do my best.”

She takes a deep breath before she urges him to sit down while she starts to tell him what she’s just found out.

To give him some credit, he doesn’t completely lose it. But he does turn an interesting shade of purple at the news that there’s a website that has pornographic photographs of his sister. Trying to get around those words is possibly the most mortifying thing she’s ever been through, until David opens his mouth when she’s done speaking.

“Has Killian seen this site?”

“God, David. No. And he won’t if I have anything to do with it. I’m not going to show my boyfriend pictures of me fucking another guy,” she screeches, standing and stomping over to their coffeemaker to indulge in more caffeine. 

She doesn’t really want to tell James the same news. She doesn’t want to tell him more than she absolutely has to, but she also needs the skillset he picked up from being a generally bad person in order to get this chapter of her life wiped from existence. 

Unfortunately, it’s going to mean missing the one thing she was looking forward to since Killian first told her about it. 

She stops by his office to see him next, admiring the way he looks when he’s deeply concentrating. She can also see just how much he’s put into decorating his office in the time they’ve been together. She remembers stark walls and an empty desk. Now, his degrees are hanging, along with a few artistic prints of book covers. His desk is similarly fuller, with picture frames and small knick knacks beyond the single one that used to be there.

With one more bracing breath, she prepares to go in. He’s going to understand, because he already knows what’s going on, but she hates to disappoint him.

“Swan?”

She’s knocked from her idle watching by him softly saying her name.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she says, walking in and shutting the door. She moves around to lean on the edge of his desk right in front of him. “But I have some bad news. I can’t come to the debut on Friday. That’s when my creep-o brother can help me out. I’ll have to be in Boston.”

His face falls, the disappointment clear, but his hand reaches out and brushes along hers. “As much as I’m sad you won’t be with me, I know it’s for a bigger purpose. Is this evil twin in law? Law enforcement?”

Emma’s face freezes, realizing that she never shared with him how she planned on having James help her. 

“Okay, long story short? James is really good at being a bad guy.”

To his credit, Killian listens with full attention as she launches into her plan and doesn’t even call her crazy.

“Barring any legal repercussions from this Walsh, I find no fault in this plan.”

“I’m pretty sure with James’ help, I won’t have to worry about him trying to come back at us.” At her reassurances, Killian nods in what she hopes is approval. “Should I let you get back to work?”

Slowly, he eases her off the desk and into his lap. “Maybe in a moment or two?”

It’s a question, leaving the answer in her court. 

“I’d be happy if it goes a little longer than a moment,” Emma responds, settling herself fully into his lap and chuckling at the look in his eyes. She pulls her shirt over her head, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. 

“I like to think we’re making up for all those times we’ve been interrupted,” Killian says before sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Straight to the point. She’s glad she locked the door when she closed it.

-x-

Chapter 8

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (2/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: things get explained a little more in this chapter, I promise ☺️

For the lovely @xemmaloveskillianx​ as part of my fic giveaway. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading over this for me!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 |

-/-

“Your husband, love.”

Emma blinks at him, far more than what’s considered normal most likely, and he really should have introduced himself in a different way.

Or reintroduced himself if the look on her face is any indication.

Killian isn’t entirely sure of the best way to go about this, obviously. It’s been years since he felt awkward around a woman, but this isn’t exactly a simple situation where he walks up to a woman at a bar, offers to buy her a drink, talks to her and dances with her for an hour or so before they head back to one of their apartments.

This isn’t a situation where he loves a woman, has her love him in return, and then has her leave the engagement ring on the kitchen counter before she disappears from his life.

This is…different.

Obviously.

And all of the words he rehearsed on his drive here completely slipped his mind and are probably back in Vegas instead of Boston. That’s about three-thousand miles away, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them back.

“Oh,” Emma laughs, but it’s most definitely a pity laugh. “You’re the guy who played my husband at that thing. The – ”

“The wedding convention, yeah, but also I –  ”

“Wait,” Emma starts, closing her front door so that he can only see half of her face now, the worried confusion turning into actual worry, “what the hell are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

“You gave me your address.”

“I would not have done that.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

Killian sighs and reaches his hand around his back to dig in the back pocket of his jeans to find the crumpled piece of paper that Emma gave him the night they met. “Look, it’s got your name and number on it, and there’s a little scribbling of –  ”

She opens the door so that she can snatch the piece of paper out of his hands, reading it with squinted eyes before they widen until they’re almost comically big. She doesn’t have on makeup like she did that day, but the green of her eyes is still so vibrant. “I’d say you’re a liar, but this is my handwriting. I only wrote Boston, though. I didn’t write my address. And look, dude, as good as the sex was, I’m not going to sleep with a one-night stand again, especially if that someone is creepy enough to show up at my door. So, goodbye, or something like that.”

And with that, Emma slams the door in his face until it shakes in its frame.

Of-fucking-course.

This most likely would have gone better if he’d not decided to joke around at first, but to be fair, it wasn’t a joke.

Sighing, Killian reaches his hand up to knock on Emma’s door once more. He would give anything not to be here right now. He’s got about twenty other things he needs to be doing today, but he can’t do most of them until this is over.

“Love,” he yells through the door when she doesn’t answer. “Swan.”

“I will call the cops on you,” she shouts back.

Irony is everywhere, he thinks to himself.

“Funnily enough, the cops are the reason I’m here in the first place.”

There’s a clatter inside the apartment before he can hear the chain on her door being pulled, and then the door is opening with the chain still attached so that he can only see half of Emma’s face. He thinks she’s even more beautiful than he remembers her being, which is pretty much impossible since he remembers her being the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

There is just something about the emerald of her eyes that he can’t quite forget.

“What the hell are you talking about…”

“Killian Jones,” he fills in, realizing that she likely doesn’t remember his name. She remembers they slept together, though, and he’s relieved over that for a myriad of reasons. They both drank a lot of champagne that night, and he doesn’t want to be sleeping with someone who is too drunk to remember it even if he’d had the same amount to drink. “And look, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a lunatic, but two weeks ago, we got married.”

“We got fake married. I know we had a lot of champagne, but none of that was real. You know that, right? It was all pretend and scripted and still super weird.”

How the hell is he supposed to explain this when he can’t quite explain it to himself?

“I do know that, love,” he mumbles, scratching behind his ear and then reaching into his coat pocket. He really should have put all of this stuff into a folder instead of every pocket he has. That’s what Liam would have done in a situation like this. Well, no, Liam wouldn’t have gotten himself into a situation like this in the first place. “Take a look at these, if you’d please, and then give me five minutes to explain everything. We can keep talking here, or we can go to a coffee shop and talk so you’re more comfortable.”

Emma glances up at him, taking him in, before she reaches her hand forward and takes the pictures. “If these are dick pics, I will call the cops. I have no hesitations.”

“I can assure you they aren’t.”

She huffs, but then she looking down at the handful of photographs. Her face morphs from annoyed to nothing to utter disbelief. He watches it all happen while knowing that he made the exact same faces while seeing these pictures for the first time.

Well, nearly the same faces. He thinks it might have taken him longer to figure out what exactly is in the pictures.

“Are we getting married by an Elvis impersonator in these pictures?”

“Aye.”

“And they’re real pictures? They’re not photoshopped or anything as part of your arrestable stalking offense against me?”

“They’re real.”

“Like, are they real as in we took them as a joke or real as in we got married in Vegas like we were in a bad romantic comedy?”

“Both?”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an answer.” He doesn’t know much about the lass, but he’s pretty sure she’s about to punch him in the throat if he doesn’t start explaining things soon. “Listen, Swan,” he starts, holding his hands up and plastering what has to be the most unconvincing smile on his face, “I’ve known about this for a week, and this is as far as I’ve gotten with how that night went. We worked all day, got tipsy on free champagne, went back to my hotel and had sex because we both wanted to, and then we proceeded to drink all of the complimentary alcohol until we were drunk off our asses and wandering around Las Vegas applying for a quickie marriage license and then getting married by a quite frankly awful Elvis impersonator So yeah, like a bad romantic comedy, as you’d say.”

He expects the slamming of the door in his face. He really does. He would slam the door in his face too if he showed up at a practical stranger’s apartment spewing this nonsense, but it’s still a shock when all of the sudden he can no longer see Emma’s face and all he can hear is the loudest screaming of the word “fuck” that he’s ever heard in all of his years of life.

Killian had nearly the same reaction when he found out he was married because the Boston PD told him that he’d lied and failed part of his background check because of it.

He’d said it even more loudly when he got home to his apartment later that day and found an envelope mailed to him by the wedding chapel full of pictures from his wedding.

Talk about timing.

What happens in Vegas inevitably does not stay in Vegas, and whoever allowed them to get a marriage license – a legitimate one at that – and then get married while drunk off their asses should be fired from their job. They’re either better actors than they have any right being or the clerk did not care that they were far from sober.

How does he not remember? How does Emma not remember either? They weren’t drunk when they slept together, but they were easily on their way after. And then…what made two practical strangers decide that getting married was a good idea? Was it the fact that they were both attracted to each other? Was it the lore of Vegas and all of those goddamn clichés? Maybe it was the fact that they’d spent the entire day pretending that it was the happiest day of their lives, and all of those thoughts and the falsities of the day seeped over into their thoughts and lead them to a chapel.

He’s never been black-out drunk in his life, despite the times where he was damn near close after Liam’s death and Milah leaving him, and now he never wants to do that again.

“Swan,” Killian sighs, knocking on her door again, “I understand that you’re likely in shock. It’s a lot to take in, but I really need you to talk to me about this so we can figure out how to get it reversed. I think we should be able to get an annulment, but I haven’t actually talked to a lawyer yet. I was waiting to talk to you first.”

There’s no answer. He’s probably never going to see her again.

But then the door is flinging open, and she’s walking out of her apartment with her purse slung over her shoulder and her keys in her hand so that she’s locking the door behind her. “I’ve got a dress fitting in ten minutes, and my manager will kill me if I miss it. So if you have something else to say, you’ve got the seven minutes it takes me to get to the shop to say it.”

Killian is chasing after her now, using his longer strides to catch up to him as she practically power walks out of her apartment building and out onto the streets of Boston, and even though she must want to know more about the fact that they are husband and wife (bloody hell is that still perplexing to think about), she is obviously itching to get away from him.

So he attempts to explain everything as best as he can. He relays his memories of the night, trying to fill in some blanks with her, and while she says she remembers them sleeping together and then deciding to go get something to eat afterwards, everything else is a hazy mess for her. There’s some memory of wandering around various hotels on the strip, but she chalked that up to a foggy dream that she soon forgot.

It was real.

And so is the fact that he only does the modeling stuff to pay the bills and that he’s trying to be hired by the Boston PD, and when he tells her that, she turns around and runs her eyes up and down his frame.

“Oh, you want to be a cop? Is that what’s up with the shorter haircut?”

“What?”

“Your hair is shorter than it was. It’s a neater cut. It was kind of long two weeks ago, and I don’t know, most cops have shorter hair even if yours is a little longer at the top.”

“Why, love,” he teases, leaning into her space, “I thank you for noticing. Couldn’t help staring at me, could you?”

“You wish.”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma huffs and turns away, returning to her quick pace. Yep, he’s definitely always going to be chasing this woman if he hopes to get anything accomplished.

“Listen, Swan, I know this must be confusing, but I’d really like to get all of this handled as quickly and as easily as possible, and I need you to come to my precinct where I’m trying to get hired and explain to the officers that I didn’t lie about being married. I simply didn’t know that I was, but in a way, I’m relieved that we both live in the same city. That’s convenient.”

She comes to a stop in front of a store with a row of wedding dresses, and he nearly plows into her before stopping himself. From the roll of her eyes and her arms crossed over her chest, he can tell she’s not amused. “What’s your district?”

“A-1. It’s – ”

A smile curves onto her lips, but it disappears just as quickly. “I know where it is. Arrange a meeting with your commanding officers or whatever, and I’ll come meet you there. Then we can figure out how to get this marriage annulled because no offense, but I’d rather not stay married.”

“How do you want me to get in touch with you?”

“You have my number, Jones. You can use it. I’d prefer that to you showing up at my door again.”

At that, she’s turning on her heels and walking away from him and into the dress shop. Killian’s got no clue what the hell just happened or if he actually solved any of his problems. All he knows is that it’s over with, and he’s craving a glass of rum.

One he likely shouldn’t have given the situation he’s in, and really, he should probably channel all of his frustration into a run or something like that. He can pass all of the physical portions of his training exams, but he’d like to stay on top of things so he doesn’t fall behind.

His phone rings in his coat pocket, and Killian pulls it out to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Ariel hisses out.

“Back Bay. Why?”

“You have a meeting with the boat tour company over their ads in twenty minutes.” “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Yep. How did you forget that? You never forget anything.”

“Ah, I don’t know, A,” he lies, turning on his heels and starting a quick jog back to the garage where his car is parked. “I’m stressed over my interview and all for the department, and all of my other gigs have slipped my mind.”

“You’re going to kill it. Don’t be stressed.”

“That doesn’t help.” “Yeah, well, neither does you missing appointments when this is how both of us are currently getting paid.”

“You have other clients besides me.”

“Yes, but not all of my clients are the younger brother of my husband’s best friend.”

Killian’s heart pangs, but he knows it’s true, and it’s what has him running like a madman through the streets so he’s not late for this appointment where all they’re going to do is look at his face and decide if it can sell people on taking boat tours around the city. It may be the vainest job in the world, but a job is a job.

At least for now.

One day, just like this damned accidental marriage, it will come to an end, and Killian will be able to move on with his life like he’s wanted to for years now.

Or at least he can hope.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @xemmaloveskillianx​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776​ @onepunintendid​

You can be removed or added at any time! ❤️

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Mistakes from the past- Killian Jones/Captain Hook X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Killian Jones/Captain Hook X Fem!Reader

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Warnings: none really

Summary: Killian and the reader were in a relationship before the curse. They split up and when they meet again in storybrooke he finds out he has a daughter.

A/N: This is gonna be my attempt at writing a short series. I’m awful at writing series but I feel like this prompt deserves to be done properly and that requires dividing it into parts. Ps, as I said, I’m not that far into the show, I know he technically has two daughters already but lets assume this story doesn’t take place in that storyline. This is my own plot and storyline so I’m making up shit as I go. As I said with my previous Killian shots, I’m only trying to have fun here so if I say something wrong dont quote me on it, just enjoy the Killian content.

Also, I know the timeline of this storyline (my storyline) won’t correlate with the ouat timeline because if im not mistaken, Killian was in Neverland the majority of time before the curse after Milah died. And he only went to the enchanted forest a little bit before the curse. (I’m probably wrong but that’s what I’ve seen so far) Butttt for this, let’s say there was this year or so where he wasn’t in Neverland roughly about 6 years before the curse happened. So that’s when his relationship with Y/n happened. And this also takes place about a year or so after the curse was broken (around season 2, but not the same storyline ) because that’s around the time Killian got to storybrooke. Just clarifying, I know timelines in ouat tend to be confusing like that.

(you are here), part 2

The ever so subtle sound of wind blew in through your open window, refreshing your bedroom with the chilly Maine breeze. If it wasn’t for the rays of sunlight that sneaked their way into your bedroom you would’ve sworn it was still dawn as you were so deep into slumber. Though, such bliss was soon cut short by the sound of subtle and short footsteps making it’s way into your bedroom. You felt an extra weight on your bed as the spot next to you sunk with the weight of a small child.

“Mommy wake up!” You heard the giggly voice of your 6 year-old daughter, Anastasia Grace. Exhaling deeply into your pillow, you clutched it in your arm tightly as your muscles clenched before you allowed your muscles to relax again. Upon opening your eyes, you were met with your daughter’s ocean blue eyes. They were so innocent and pure; so intense and full of life. They were nearly as intense as his..

Sighing softly, you brought your body up into a sitting position, allowing the small child to find herself a spot on your lap. Smiling, you ran your fingers through her raven locks as you looked down at her. Pressing a kiss to her small forehead, you carefully moved her off your lap so you could get out of bed.

Stretching your full body, a soft groan escaped your lips as your muscles clenched once again and a yawn left your lips immediately after. “Morning baby. How did my little princess sleep?” You asked your daughter as she climbed out of bed followed you to your bathroom like a lost puppy. Giggling, she followed you in and out of your bathroom and out to your kitchen. You listened to her constant rambling and giggles as she retold the dream she had the previous night. As per every morning, she retold her recurring dream where she met her nameless father and you were all a happy family. Needless to say, she didn’t have what most people called a father figure, sure she had you. You were her mother and father and that was all she needed. But there was this empty void you couldn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. And it truly broke your heart to see her so excitedly talk about a nameless man she knew nothing about and so desperately wanted to know. But that wasn’t entirely your fault, of course it wasn’t. It was his.

Sighing, you tried to shake those thoughts off mind as you looked through the fridge. Well.. It was time to do groceries. Turning around to look at Anastasia, who was patiently sitting on the dining table with a coloring book, you closed the fridge and clapped your hands together, “How about we get some breakfast at granny’s?” A wide, cheeky smile made it’s way to her lips as she nodded excitedly.

“Granny’s it is,” You smiled as you grabbed her tiny hand into yours and led her upstairs to her bedroom, “Go get dressed while I take a quick shower, okay baby?” She nodded quickly and scurried off to her room. You watched as she skipped happily, giggles filling the atmosphere. Despite only being you, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your life, even if the circumstances weren’t the best. And she was your reminder that it should only be you and her. And there was no room for anyone else in your lives.

~~~~~~~~

Upon arriving at Granny’s, you were happy to see that Emma, Mary Margaret and Henry were also having breakfast. Anastasia was quick to run to their booth, letting her presence to be known. “Look who we got here. How’s our little princess doing?” Mary Margaret said with a smile as Anastasia ran to her first. Her and Emma also looked at you, smiling in your direction. You returned the gesture, taking the spot next to Mary Margaret.

“Morning.” You sighed softly, with a little bit of weariness on your tone. Upon noticing such, Emma gestured to Henry.

“Hey kid, why don’t you watch over Annie for a little bit? She hasn’t seen your for a minute.” She gestured to Henry, giving him a look and a half smile he probably understood. Henry happily complied, moving off the booth and grabbing Annie’s hand, leading her outside. Once the minors were far enough, both Emma and Mary Margaret turned to look at you with concerned eyes.

“What is it now Y/N? Did she ask again?” Mary Margaret spoke first. They were both mostly aware of your predicament when it came to Anastasia’s father. They didn’t know who he was exactly, nobody did. You choose to keep it that way for both yours and your daughter’s sake. But they knew just enough to be aware of how delicate the topic was.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you nodded shortly, “Yeah.. She just kept telling me about her dream and how she met him and how happy we all were.. Together.” You chuckled bitterly at that word. He probably had no idea what that word even meant.

“I know we’ve been over this Y/N, but, why don’t you try finding him? I mean its been, well, years, I’m sure if you talked to him now he would reconsider it.” Emma said, with a shrug. You scoffed, shaking your head with an eye roll. That would be the reasonable thing to do for most people. But he wasn’t like most people. With him, that’s the last thing you would ever do.

“You out of all people should know why I don’t want to do that. Did you look for Henry’s dad when you gave birth or when you found Henry again? No. So, for that exact reason you didn’t, I’m not going to.”

“I mean c'mon Y/N. He can’t be that bad, right?” Emma tried to argue. You exchanged looks of disbelief between Emma and Mary Margaret, who seemed to agree with Emma. You chuckled bitterly and shook your head. They had no idea who they were talking about.

“Okay so, take Henry’s dad, then multiply that by a thousand, that’s Anastasia’s father. We don’t need, nor want him in our lives. He would only hurt us. Cause that’s what he does best.” You frowned slightly as you took a sip of the coffee you had order, downing the small taste of bitterness the topic of him left down your throat. They both gave you looks of sympathy. Looks of pity even. “Besides,” You continued, “he’s not even in storybrooke. He wasn’t in the enchanted forest when the curse hit, I know that. And let’s hope for both our sakes, he never steps a foot on this town.”

~~~~~~

Killian stood on the sidewalk, in front of what he assumed was some sort of dinning. He looked around the unfamiliar town, trying to grow accustomed to the unknown land. Though, his attention was drawn into something or more like someone tugging at the end of his leather coat. Upon looking down he was met with a small child. Interesting..

“Yes child? Are you lost?” Killian asked the little girl in front of him with confusion lacing through his tone. He didn’t know much about children, but he did know children didn’t interact with strangers unless they were lost. Perhaps things were differently on this foreign land.. Still, his confusion only grew bigger when she.. smiled? When she smiled at him and shook her head. “Very well, do I know you then? Because I certainly would recall meeting a little girl like you.. And that I don’t.”

“I know you! You’re that man on my mom’s drawer. I remember you!” She exclaimed. Killian’s confusion only grew bigger by the minute. Nothing this child said made any sense to him. He was debating whether he should just walk away and dismiss this whole situation. That seemed like the reasonable thing to do. He, however, chose to humor the young girl. He slowly nodded and he crouched down to meet her intense blue eyes with his own. For a moment there, but only for a brief moment, the look in her eyes reminded him of someone.. But that couldn’t be, of course not..

“Is that so?” Killian made a humming sound, making her nod. “Well, so tell me sweetheart, how exactly am I on your mother’s drawer?”

“In an old picture! You’re with her and you’re wearing funny clothes!” She giggled at the thought then pointed to his own very, peculiar pirate looking attire. “Like those!”

Killian cocked his eyebrow in thought. Who could she possibly be talking about? Surely, it wasn’t someone from Neverland much less the Island he stayed in during the curse.. A certain someone did come to mind at the mention though, but that just couldn’t be.. There was no way.. The chances of her being in storybrooke with a child were little to none.

There was only one way to find out. “What’s your name little girl?”

“Anastasia Grace L/N.” Killian’s eyes grew a bit wide. That last name.. He knew it all to well. But no, that couldn’t be. There were countless amounts of people with that same last name. It could just merely be a coincidence. Right?

Killian took a deep breath and dared to ask the definitive question. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Y/N L/N.”

Killian’s jaw dropped ten feet under grown and his eyes grew the size of the moon. There was no way. That couldn’t be.. It couldn’t be her.. Out of all people, it had to be her..

Standing up to his full height, Killian ran a hand through his raven hair and sighed exasperatedly. Well.. There was only one thing he could do at that point.

“Can you take me to your mother? There’s an important matter I need to discuss with her.” With a small giggle, Anastasia nodded and grabbed his hand. Hesitantly, Killian took her tiny hand into his and allowed her to lead him inside the dining. There he saw someone he thought he would never have the luck to see again.

“Y/N.”

Part 2

《As I said this is the first part of what will be a short series. Know that I had to rewrite the second half of this one three times because it wouldn’t save properly. This last one didn’t turned out exactly how I wanted to, but I really hope you enjoyed it. Part 2 will be up in a few days at most》

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 2/?

Here it is finally, the second chapter of this fic!! Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this up, @teamhook ! I also have no idea how long this is going to be. Looking at my outline, it should be at least six chapters.

Remember that Emma can’t remember her name in this, so Emma is just “she” at first in this chapter, then “Wendy” later on. (You’ll see why once you read the chapter). I won’t lie, writing a story in which Emma can’t remember her name and no one else knows it either has been a big challenge. Hopefully I wrote it a way everyone can follow!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this but is Killian’s adopted daughter with Milah, and so is Henry. Henry has no relation to Emma in this. There is also positive past Millian.

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist.

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​@whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @xhookswenchx​ @jennjenn615​ @kday426​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @stahlop​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot​ @xhookswenchx​ @distant-rose​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @vvbooklady1256​ @thislassishooked​ @bethacaciakay​ @hollyethecurious​ @nikkiemms​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @tiganasummertree​ @snidgetsafan​ 

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing

Looking for another to combine

Maybe we could be the start of something

Be together at the start of time

When she awoke again, the sun shone brightly through the curtains. She struggled to sit up, her mouth dry and tasting of cotton. Her head still ached, but it no longer throbbed. How long had she slept? Was the sun this bright when she woke up before? She heard sounds outside her door as she swung herself slowly around and stood up. The room spun a bit, but once she took a few deep breaths, she was able to walk across the room easily enough. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of a white dresser, and she made quick work of changing out of the pajamas. The fabric was warm and smelled of fabric softener - someone had washed them.

Speaking of washing, she suddenly realized how greasy her hair was. She could actually smell her own body odor, which was never good. It made her wonder again just how long she had been asleep. A shower would be nice, but she wasn’t about to ask such a thing of complete strangers. They had been kind, she understood that, but she couldn’t stay here any longer.

When she exited her door, she was struck by the quaint log cabin style of the home. Her bedroom was at the end of an open hallway that looked out over a great room with high beamed ceilings of exposed wood. On the other side of a stone fireplace, she could see the dark haired man named Killian at the stove in the kitchen.

She made her way quickly down the stairs and through the living area. She paused at the threshold of the kitchen, and when she did, the family’s chattering stopped abruptly. Little Alice sat at the kitchen island spreading jam on toast. A boy with dark hair just a shade lighter than Killian’s stood by the sink pouring glasses of orange juice. A woman with a dark pixie cut stood with mouth agape clutching a fistfull of silverware. For some reason, the domestic scene made a lump rise in her throat.

“You’re up!” Killian exclaimed with a wide grin. He lifted the pan of scrambled eggs he was stirring. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Um, no thank you,” she replied nervously. “I um . . . I thank you and your wife for everything you’ve done -”

The woman interrupted her with an exuberant laugh. “Oh no, I’m not his wife. My husband David and Killian are best friends. Killian was delivering a foal at our farm last night, so I came over to babysit Alice.”

“I am not a baby,” protested Alice with a pout that said otherwise.

“Excuse me,” the woman corrected with a pointed smile at the little girl, “I was having girl time with Alice, my favorite seven year old.”

Alice tilted her chin with satisfaction than started slathering jam on another piece of toast.

“I’m Mary Margaret,” the woman said as she turned her attention back to their visitor. She extended her hand.

“I - um, that is, I . . .” Shit! What was the social protocol when you didn’t remember your own damn name?

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary Margaret exclaimed snatching her hand back. “I forgot.”

“Sooo, what are you doing here if you two aren’t married? At breakfast?” She shook her head and rubbed her temple. Why was she still talking? “Um, I’m sorry. How long have I been asleep?”

All four of the people before her spoke at once, but only Mary Margaret’s words penetrated her brain.

“Awhile.”

“You slept forever!”

“I was worried you were dead!”

“Oh honey, we’re snowed in.”

She shook her head as she tried to comprehend Mary Margaret’s words. “Um, okay, that’s a problem, I know, but I can’t stay here. I mean, I don’t . . . that is to say . . . I’m just, um, gonna go, okay?”

She inched her way backwards towards the front door as she spoke, stumbling once over a toy lightsaber. Killian rushed forward, and that only made her dart for the door faster.

“We really are snowed in, love,” Killian insisted as she reached for the doorknob.

“Well, I’ll just walk to the nearest town, or -” her words ended abruptly as she opened the door to a wall of white. The snow was packed in hard, letting in not a trace of light, yet the snow on the threshold had melted enough to tumble inside over her feet. She let out a gasp as the cold seeped through the leather of her thin, stylish boots.

“I told you we were snowed in,” Killian told her with a lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

She sheepishly tried to kick the loose snow back outside, amazed that he wasn’t at least irritated with her. Shoving the door shut was something else entirely, and it took both of them to get it done.

Hands shaking, she made her way over to a cozy armchair angled towards the roaring fire. She stared at the flames as fear clawed at her chest. Killian came over and sat on the edge of the wide hearth, tilting his head a bit so he could look into her eyes.

“I know you’re confused and frightened, but I promise you you’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of firewood and food, even a generator if the power goes out -”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered.

He nodded in understanding. “We’re strangers, and I can’t imagine how terrifying this all must be. I know it takes trust to believe this, but we really just want to help you and make you feel at home.”

She glanced up to see Mary Margaret perched on the arm of the chair, smiling down at her encouragingly. Alice sat down next to her father, and he put his arm around the little girl and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. Surely a man with such obvious affection for his daughter couldn’t be dangerous. Right?

The boy stood a bit shyly behind Alice and Killian, shuffling his feet a bit before stepping forward to offer her his hand. “You were passed out when you met me in the truck. I’m Henry.”

She merely nodded as she took the child’s hand, still not sure how to respond with no memory of who she was.

“That does it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We have to call you something. You sure you don’t know your name?”

She scrunched her face up, thinking as hard as she could, but all she could come up with was darkness, snow, and pain. She bit her lip as she shook her head in the negative.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “So we give you a name!”

Killian narrowed his eyes at his friend. “MM, we can’t just name her like she’s our pet.”

“Why not?” Mary Margaret shot back. “Alice doesn’t have a creature in this place for more than five minutes without it having a name.”

“I have a white rabbit named Tick Tock,” Alice told her eagerly, “and a turtle named Mossy, and a frog named Prince, and two goldfish -”

“You can introduce her to your menagerie later, Starfish,” Killian chuckled as he ruffled Alice’s hair.”

“We can pick a name from one of our favorite books!” Henry exclaimed. “Alice is already taken, but what do you think of Lucy like the Narnia books?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Fern like in Charlotte’s Web?” Alice suggested.

“Fern!” Henry exclaimed. “Seriously? Charlotte would be better!”

“Charlotte is a spider,” Alice shot back before sticking her tongue out at her brother.

“What about Wendy?” Killian asked.

“Dad’s favorite is Peter Pan,” Henry explained.

“Yeah, but he like’s Hook best, not Peter,” put in Alice.

“Hey!” Killian chuckled, poking each of his children playfully in the tummy. “Hook is just misunderstood.”

She narrowed her eyes. Wendy . . . “That name sounds familiar,” she told them softly.

Killian smiled at her. “Perhaps because it’s yours?”

“Or maybe it’s someone you know?” Mary Margaret put in helpfully.

She shook her head, frustrated. Every time she thought of the name Wendy, it was as if she were squinting into the fog, trying to make out a figure in the distance.

“I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret said gently, patting her hand, “it will come to you, I’m sure of it.”

“And we’ll get the doctor out here just as soon as the weather clears enough for the snow mobiles,” Killian added, “as well as the sheriff. I’m sure someone you love is looking for you.”

She nodded and attempted to give him a small smile.

“So, are we gonna call her Wendy or what?” Henry asked.

“Don’t be so rude!” Alice yelled.

“I’m not!”

“Get along, please,” Killian admonished, and she couldn’t help but smile at the bickering siblings and their father’s resulting exasperation.

“It’s okay,” she told them, “it will be nice to have a name, even a temporary one.”

“So . . . “ Killian prompted with arched brows.

“So, Wendy it is!”

A wide smile filled her face despite her circumstances as the four people around her cheered. If she were snowed in, there were worse places she could be. And if she had to join a temporary family, this seemed like a pretty happy one to stumble upon.

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

The strong scent of cedar filled Killian’s senses as he opened the long forgotten trunk shoved into the far reaches of his walk in closet. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the woodsy aroma wash over him. Not only would the cedar have protected the clothing inside, it would also have eradicated the scent of the former owner. He could do this.

Killian opened his eyes and looked down at the sweaters and leggings that Milah once wore. He lifted one of deep purple from the trunk and pressed it to his face. All he could smell was the cedar. Not the lingering scent of the citrusy shampoo Milah had preferred nor the hazelnut creamer she always used in her coffee. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him sad. Instead, he was relieved. Relieved that her scent no longer clung to the clothing but also relieved that he still remembered details about her. He would never be able to forget her, and the truth of that finally brought him comfort after four long years.

He rose from the floor of the closet with a pile of clothes in his arms and made his way down the hall to Alice’s bedroom. He hated that Wendy had to use his daughter’s room, but Mary Margaret was already set up in the guest room. He also hated that Alice was sharing his bed. The girl was a cuddler who hogged the bed, and Killian was simply exhausted after two nights of sleeping on the very edge of the mattress.

Killian knocked on the door, but there was no answer. However, he could hear the shower running from the jack and jill bath that Alice shared with her brother. He eased the door open, calling out that he had the clothes he had promised. There was no answer, though he did hear a voice drifting from the bathroom. The voice was singing.

Killian let the door swing open and couldn’t help stepping into the room, mesmerized by the voice. Wendy was belting out The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” with the powerful voice of a rock star. He drew closer to the sound as if he were a sailor and she was a siren calling out to him. As he rounded the bed, however, he fumbled and dropped the clothes in his hands. Wendy had left the door to the bathroom half open, and through it he could see into the bathroom. He spun away quickly, not wanting to be a voyeur, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the silhouette of Wendy’s figure through the frosted glass of the shower door. He fumbled again as he picked up the clothes and set them on the bed. They now looked like Henry had folded them, but he didn’t care. He rushed from the room before Wendy caught him and thought he was a peeping tom.

He shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and sagged against it, his heart pounding like a teenager. Yes, four long years. Four long years since Milah passed. Four long years since a woman had been living in this house. Killian drew in several deep breaths and ran his hand wearily down his face. He had to get a grip! Wendy needed his help. This was no time to become sexually attracted to her. She had been through something traumatic to leave her wandering injured on a remote snowy road. She had amnesia and was understandably frightened and confused.

Mentally listing all the reasons he couldn’t be attracted to her helped his blood cool considerably. Besides, he had made a vow to Milah when she was sick that he would make fatherhood his highest priority. Making sure Henry and Alice were happy and thriving left little time for anything else. Hadn’t that been made abundantly clear after that disastrous blind date he’d let Mary Margaret set him up on?

Wendy had a life somewhere to get back to, and he had his kids to think about. He wouldn’t let her sultry voice, inviting curves, or golden hair distract him from those two hard, cold facts.

[kmomof4]

Operation Secret Santa

And that is not just the title to the fic! Hello @teeandsnowflakes, I was your CS Secret Santa this year! It’s been so much fun chatting with you this month! I hope you’re enjoying your Christmas break and that you like this little fic I’ve written for you! I had planned a series of scenes showcasing CS getting ready for the holidays, but then presents showed up and the fic went in an entirely new direction. I still tried to incorporate some of your favorite Christmas things though and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you! I also hope you have a wonderful Christmas! Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for organizing this fun event and to @profdanglaisstuff for beta services! 

And now for your gift Tee! Merry Christmas!!! 

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

ao3 link

Operation Secret Santa “Just a little more to the right, Killian,” Emma instructed, waving her hands in front of her as if her husband, who was currently hidden behind the newly cut Christmas tree, could see her.

Killian spit out the pine needles that he’d gotten a mouthful of as he tilted the tree to the right. He was so surrounded by the spicy scent of pine and scratchy branches that he could barely tell which way was up, much less whether it was straight or not.

“No, no, no Killian, the other right… my right,” she admonished, when the tree hovered precariously near the point of no return in its potential, imminent journey to the floor.

Killian huffed. “Well, how am I supposed to know that darling?” he groused affectionately as he straightened the tree up in the stand. “Ok lad, crawl under there and screw the trunk in place,” he said to Henry who was trying desperately, but unsuccessfully, to smother his laughter at his mother, who looked to him to be trying to take flight, and his step-father who he couldn’t even see properly behind the evergreen.

Henry crawled underneath the tree and proceeded to twist the screws into the trunk. Crawling back out, he was greeted with bright, happy smiles from his parents that he immediately returned. He turned around with a flourish of his arm. “Behold, the first annual Swan-Jones Christmas tree! Now for lights and ornaments!” He dashed off toward the basement to collect the boxes of decorations that had come with them from New York and that he and Emma had collected after the Final Battle in anticipation of their first Christmas as a fully intact family.

“Need some help, lad,” Killian called down when the teenager didn’t immediately reappear.

“Uh, yeah,” Henry called back, a note of, something, in his voice. “There’s more down here than I remember.”

With a cheeky grin at his wife, Killian sauntered over to the basement and disappeared down the stairs.

When Killian also didn’t reappear, Emma started down the stairs. “What’s taking you guys so lo- ohhh!” she exclaimed. For in front of her eyes and filling the basement were boxes upon boxes of not just Christmas decorations, but presents. Lots and lots of presents. Wrapped up in brightly colored paper, topped with sparkly bows and tags with the names Emma, Henry, and Killian.

Emma stared, slack jawed at the sight. There were enough presents here to make up for all the lonely years growing up when she was lucky if she got one present. And as an adult as well, when the only presents she ever got was if she bought them herself. Killian moved forward from the foot of the stairs to the first gift with his name on it. He ripped the paper and deftly opened the box with his hook. Looking inside, his eyes got as big as, well, a child’s at Christmas. His mouth opened and shut several times, before she finally asked, “What is it?”

He swallowed heavily before bringing it over to them. Peering down into the box, they found a soft, black teddy bear. A bear that was missing an eye, but otherwise was completely whole. Tears were gathering in his eyes as he explained, “He was mine… be…” he rubbed his hand over his face before continuing, “before Flint threw him overboard. Said only babies had those. I remember the day he lost the eye. I just couldn’t leave the loose thread alone and it came off in my hand. I cried for hours thinking I’d ruined him.” Emma gathered him in her arms as a barking sob escaped him. “I never thought I’d see him again,” he cried, his words muffled into her shoulder. “Where did this come from?” He raised his head from her shoulder and turned his inquiring eyes back to the piles of boxes.

Emma shook her head slowly. “I have no idea, Killian,” she said in awe, slowly making her way over to a gift with her name on it. After opening her own, she could feel her own tears gathering. She could feel her husband and son come up behind her on either side before she turned to them. “It’s a wooden music box. I remember seeing it in a catalog when I was about 10. It had Disney characters carved into the sides and played “When You Wish Upon a Star.” I remember thinking that surely wishing on a star and having that music box would mean that my parents would find me and take me home.” Now it was her turn to be enveloped in two pairs of strong arms and to feel the tears escape.

“And now you have, Swan,” Killian murmured into her hair before placing a gentle kiss there. “Your turn lad,” he nodded, encouragingly.

Henry untangled himself from their embrace and slowly walked to the pile of presents. Picking up a large gaily decorated box, he opened it. Inside he found The Chronicles of Narnia. The entire series. In hardback. He held up The Magician’s Nephew to his parents, stunned. “This was at the top of my Christmas list when I was eight. My other mom never really listened to what I wanted for Christmas or birthdays before I brought you home, Mom. I think she gave me a remote control car for Christmas that year. Along with an art set and some other books that I couldn’t care less about. How can this be?” he asked, incredulously. “Could Santa be real too?”

“Given the denizens of our fair hamlet, I’d have to admit to a sneaking suspicion that he is,” Killian speculated.

“But who?” Emma interjected. “Who could it be?” She turned her emerald gaze upon Killian first, then Henry.

A smirk broke Henry’s face and his eyes twinkled. “Sounds like Operation Secret Santa to me!”

Killian’s anticipatory grin could have lit up the Christmas tree all by itself. “A fine name for the operation, my boy!” He turned his eyes upon Emma. “Are you in, Swan?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” she barked, “I’m the OG Operation cohort! Of course, I’m in!”

“All right!” Henry gave an enthusiastic fist pump. “Let’s get the rest of these gifts upstairs and the tree decorated, then Operation Secret Santa can commence!”

“Let’s go,” Emma agreed. Picking up as many boxes as they could hold, they moved back to the main floor of the house.

~*~*~

All of Storybrooke had gathered at Granny’s on Christmas Eve for a blowout Christmas party that rivaled any yuletide ball held in the Enchanted Forest. This was the first time since the original curse broke that they’d been able to celebrate Christmas, what with villians running amok and general magical mayhem. Granny’s was decorated with every tacky Christmas decoration you could possibly think of, from the tree in the corner covered with brightly colored lights, balls, and tinsel, tinseled garlands strung across the windows to the kitchen, balls of holly and mistletoe holding up the garlands and in every doorway, fake snow on the counters and a fairytale village in the front window. With the jukebox playing Celine Dion’s recording of  O Holy Night, Emma looked around at all her friends and family talking, dancing, and eating their way through Granny’s bountiful Christmas buffet. Catching Henry’s eye, she joined him at the jukebox.

“Well?” she asked, “What do you think? Have you gathered any clues on who Santa could be?”

“None,” he answered. “But, everyone has had the same thing that happened to us, happen to them.”

“Really,” Emma exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he began, “Ashley, Shawn, and even Alexandra got a pile of presents. Ariel and Eric, Grandma and Grandpa, Mom, Zelena, and Robin, Archie, Pongo, even the fairies! No one’s been left out.”

“Hmmmm…”

“But, from what I can tell, everyone’s gotten presents based on the years of the curse, or…” he trailed away with a puzzled look on his brow, “their years as a hero. For instance, Mom only had six presents, the years since the curse broke, and Zelena had even less, but Robin had two, since she’s two. You had thirty-four, the years of the curse plus the years since, Killian had thirty-seven, as near as I can figure, his years growing up until Milah died and he became a villain plus the years since you all saved me in Neverland.”

“Interesting,” she mused. “It’s like he was saving them up for when we could all relax and enjoy the holiday.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Henry agreed.

“But that doesn’t get us any closer to who it might be.”

Killian joined them then with a grin that nearly split his face. “I have succeeded!” he exclaimed.

“Succeeded? You know who Santa is?” Emma demanded.

“What?” he asked, startled, “No! I sweet talked Granny into giving me her secret gingerbread cookie recipe.” He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a cheeky smirk and wink. “Since I know your fondness for that particular seasonal delight.” He leaned in and whispered, “She doesn’t measure the molasses.”

Emma shrugged with a sheepish grin on her face. “Well, okay, I guess I forgive you.”

Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You now poured through the speakers as Emma’s attention settled on Marco and Archie sitting in the booth nearest them enjoying Granny’s gingerbread and cocoa. Marco got up suddenly and smiled widely at her. The booth was close enough that she knew he could hear every word they said. The twinkle in his eye made Emma narrow hers at the older gentleman, and when he shot a wink her way, her eyes grew huge as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Marco raised a finger to his lips before turning away and heading for the door. Emma could hardly contain her excitement as a plan began to take shape in her mind.

“I think it might be time for all the good little children to get to bed if they want Santa to visit,” she said, staring pointedly at Henry. “It’s getting late.”

Henry rolled his eyes at her. “Good grief, Mom. I’m sixteen, not six. I don’t need to be in bed yet.”

Killian pulled Emma closer in to his side and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously at his bride. “Well, I don’t know about ‘good little children,’ but I know a grown up pirate who’d like to go to bed.”

Emma giggled and slapped his chest playfully as Henry rolled his eyes again and groaned. “Ewwww, gross, Dad! Teenager present! Fine, I’ll go home and go to bed. Just keep it down, okay?” he pleaded.

“I make no promises, lad.”

~*~*~

Emma came down the stairs of her home, much later, on tiptoe, seeking to surprise their midnight visitor.

“Ah HA!” she whisper shouted.

Marco spun around with his hand to his chest. “You scared the life out of me, your Highness!”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You know better than to call me that, Marco.” She approached him as he turned back to his work, placing presents under the tree. “You’re Santa Claus?” She couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice as she watched him.

“I have many names around the world in this realm, my dear. The one I’m known by in the Enchanted Forest is Belsnickel.”

“Where did all the Christmas presents come from?”

“Always the sheriff,” he chuckled, “Have to have the answers to all the questions, don’t you? Henry was right. Years as a hero that I didn’t get to deliver presents,” he explained. “Whether that was because of the curse, or the chaos of the ensuing years.”

“What about Killian?” she asked. “He had thirty-seven presents.”

“That blessed boy!” Marco laughed. “As a child and lad growing up in servitude, and even at the Naval Academy, it would have been pointless to give him his gifts. They would have been confiscated or destroyed by his masters. Before he turned villain, it just wasn’t practical to give him the things that had collected over the years. A ship just wasn’t the place for them. Once he turned villain, after Milah’s death, he didn’t deserve anything from me, so there wasn’t anything for him for centuries. But once he chose the hero’s path, I started saving his gifts again. I knew this day was coming and how much it would mean to him to receive all those gifts from his childhood.”

“But…” She trailed away. He turned his bright brown eyes upon her as comprehension dawned.

He smiled gently at her. “Yes, I am many hundreds of years old. I have far sight and can see many things that are secret,” he winked at her, “and yet to be.” Emma’s eyes fell toward the floor as a blush graced her cheeks. “And now, my dear, my work here is done. I must move on to the other residents of our fair town before I retire tonight.”

Emma’s eyes were still focused on her feet as Marco raised her chin to look at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Your Highness.” And then he was gone.

~*~*~

Christmas night, Emma sat tucked between Killian’s legs on the sofa in front of the fire and Christmas tree just watching the blinking lights and enjoying a cup of cocoa before bed. Christmas Day had been magical and perfect. Filled to overflowing with love and laughter, family and friends. Killian shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he muttered, “What in the world is that?”

“Hmmm? What in the world is what?” she replied, twisting to look up at him.

“Every time the lights blink, something blinds me. Something on the tree.”

Emma hoisted herself up and walked over to the tree. “I don’t know. Is it reflecting off an ornament? Or maybe there’s something else hidden in the tree?” she wondered, aloud. She reached in and withdrew a tiny wrapped box with Killian’s name on it. She gasped in surprise as she turned and brought it over to where he sat. “It’s for you.”

“Thank you, love.” He reached up and took the small token from her, not quite able to hide his surprise.

“Don’t thank me. I don’t know where that came from. Must be from Santa,” she whispered with a small smile on her lips.

He smirked at her. “Marco, you mean?” he cheeked. “I still can’t believe that Marco is Santa,” he murmured opening the box. Inside was something that had his eyebrows shooting all the way to his hairline. He pulled out a pink pacifier with his hook and held it up for Emma’s inspection. A bashful grin lit up her face.

“I just found out for sure this afternoon,” she began, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re with child?” Killian choked out, rising from the sofa and drawing Emma into his arms.

“Yes,” she beamed at him. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“A very merry Christmas, indeed, Swan.” He lowered his head towards her and captured her lips in a kiss filled with love and joy of the future laid out before them.

Fin

A/N Obviously in my timeline, Emma got pregnant with Hope much earlier than in canon. I hope you liked this Tee! Merry Christmas!

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 11

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter eleven [11/12] AO3

--

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

major, major shoutout here to @distant-rose​​ and especially to @justanotherwannabeclassic​ who shared with me something they were working on that S was writing while i was struggling with this part.  i felt so inspired by what they had done and by S’s words that i knew immediately how i wanted to write this bit of the story.

to @thisonesatellite​​, @profdanglaisstuff​​ and @katie-dub​ who were all treated to MULTIPLE drafts of this chapter, with extra gratitude to poor katie who hadn’t even read any of it before having this shoved under her nose ❤️

to @captainswanbigbang​​, who made all of this possible

to all of you screaming at me after the last chapter, i hope i prove worthy of your time and patience and attention today--particularly @carpedzem​ who is trusting me 💕

--

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~5k AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten

--

It felt like it happened in a second.

Maybe less.

But in retrospect, as she stood there staring at Killian’s lifeless body on the floor of the station, it was more like a slow-motion trainwreck.

(Killian would have had a Shakespearean reference on the tip of his tongue, something sad and depressing but also beautiful. He would quote it, and she would roll her eyes, and he would explain it and wink and she thought it annoyed her but really--she kind of liked it.) 

(She liked him.)

read the full chapter on AO3

chapter eleven

“Hey, Leroy,” David called, “I didn’t order this apple turnover.”

“Do I look like I care?”

--

It’s not that she hadn’t noticed Gold’s comment.

A pirate who pines for you.

Or Cora’s.

Love is weakness.

It’s just--there was a lot going on, and Emma thought--maybe if she could just get her parents to remember, somehow, that would help her figure out the whole curse situation.

(She hadn’t noticed.) (She hadn’t noticed.)

--

Henry said: “Wait, Grandpa, did you say apple?”

And looked at Killian.

And then at Emma.

And then back at Killian.

--

“It’s a trick,” Henry said. “As long as she’s alive, Emma is a threat to the curse.”

“Henry,” Regina said, “You’ve got to stop thinking like this. I’m your mother and I love you.”

“It’s my usual order from Granny’s, Henry. Nothing sinister.” David’s smile was persuasive and warm.

Charming, even.

“I’m very grateful to you, mate,” Killian said, “that you left off the bologna this time.”

--

Emma couldn’t see the future.

But Gold could, he claimed, and this, this--it was impossible, but he had somehow planned for exactly this.

“I’m quite pleased at the level of your devotion to Miss Swan. More than you could possibly know.”

--

It had been there, buried in the layers of conversation between the two men; in the history that they were excavating with each word.

“She’s the mother to your grandson.”

“I need Miss Swan. Surely you understand that.”

“You get what you wanted either way, don’t you, crocodile?”

“I’m a man who likes to plan for any contingency.”

“And when it doesn’t work?”

“It matters not. It might even add a little fuel to the fire.”

(Emma had missed it.) (Emma had missed all of it.)

--

Henry said: “You can’t eat that. It’s poison.”

It was pastry, Emma thought, but Killian--

He just looked at Henry, and she didn’t know she knew it, knew that Killian was looking at her kid and seeing the boy he had loved two hundred years ago when he said: “It’s going to be fine, lad. Your mother is going to be safe.”

(She knew it because she knew him.) (Open book.)

--

His eyes were on the chain.

Emma hadn’t even realized she was clutching it. Again.

“I think it might be the reason I’m still alive,” he’d said.

“Get Lacey,” he said. Killian’s lips were barely moving, his voice so low that only she could hear it. “Bring her here.”

“What?” Emma said. “When--?”

“For once, please,” he said, “just do as I ask, Swan. Promise me.”

--

Apples.

The apple tree was dying.

“If you do not succeed in breaking the curse on your own, killing you breaks the curse just as well as anything else.”

But Regina didn’t want the curse broken.

“I’ve found a solution to my Emma Swan problem.” “An old, reliable solution.”

--

Henry was up against the bars of the cell door, agitated and angry.

“Swan,” Killian said. “You weren’t wrong about me.”

(Henry had known.) (Emma should have known.)

--

She should have known.

It was there, in his expression, in the tilt of his head. It was the lost look in his eyes again, buttressed by something determined. And angry. And--

--hopeful.

--

“There’s hope, Swan.” "All you have to do is believe.”

--

Killian reached for the pastry, picking it up off the tray.

Regina twitched--started to say something, opening her mouth and closing it again.

Gold giggled.

Something stirred in Mary Margaret. “It must be taken willingly,” she said.

Which was pretty fucking creepy.

And then--

Oh.

Oh.

--

“Regina’s not going to let all of her hard work burn.”

--

It was just one bite. One. Bite.

--

Hook was on the floor, his eyes closed and his body unresponsive.

(And her dreams, her goddamned dreams, she’d known this was coming, and yet--) (She hadn’t known.) (Not until it was too late.)

--

Emma’s knees hit the ground almost before he did.

“KILLIAN!”

--

Hello, beautiful.

I find I quite fancy you.

I love a challenge.

I haven’t lived a good life.

I’m not much for loyalty.

I was hoping it would be you.

I believe in good form.

I’m going to tell you a story.

Everything you think you believe is wrong.

Did I tell you a lie?

That’s the thing about revenge, you see: it’s an end, not a beginning.

I don’t dance, anyway.

We make quite the team.

You should know as well as anyone that Lost Ones recognize their own.

I am a man of honor.

Milah wouldn’t have wanted this.

My reasons are my own.

A reminder to both of us.

Don’t you know, Emma? It’s all for you.

You weren’t wrong about me.

--

The tray and its contents clattered to the floor, a mess all around her as David and Mary Margaret--her parents--startled at the noise, as Regina pulled Henry away.

“Killian,” Emma said. “Killian, can you hear me? Come on, Killian, come back to me.”

(He didn’t answer.) (Somehow, she had known that he wouldn’t.)

--

David unlocked the cell doors.

Fucking finally.

Mary Margaret came rushing in, her fingers jabbing uselessly at Killian’s wrists and neck for any indication of a pulse.

“He’s not dead,” Henry said, but he didn’t sound too certain, her son the Believer. “It’s just--”

“It’s a curse,” Emma said. She almost couldn’t make herself say the words, as she looked up at David, at her father, and forced him to look her in the eyes.

“Help me get him up,” David muttered.

“Aren’t you a real Prince Charming,” Mary Margaret said, putting an arm around Emma’s shoulder.

--

It was impossible to tell if he was breathing.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Miss Swan,” Gold said.

Liar.

--

Emma pushed Regina up against the wall, desperately wishing she had her gun. Or a pair of cuffs. “You did this,” she said.

“It was meant for you,” Regina said. But her smile, the sickening smile, suggested that she wasn’t entirely disappointed with the outcome.

“Wake. Him. Up.” Emma punctuated each word with a shove against the wall, only--

Regina laughed. “That’s not how the magic works, Miss Swan.”

--

Emma was on the floor.

Her back up against the bars, her feet flat against the floor, and it kept her eyes level with his, and Henry was there, just--

“It’s going to be okay, Mom.”

Mary Margaret was holding her hand, stroking her thumb soothingly against Emma’s palm.

(Emma did not get emotional over men.)

--

“What--” Henry gulped. “What’s going to happen to him?”

But Emma remembered this part, the story where Snow White had eaten the apple. His body would be like a tomb, and he would be in there with nothing, nothing but--

“Dreams formed of your own regrets,” Mary Margaret said, and Emma nodded.

(God, Killian had so many regrets.)

--

“Wait,” Emma said, blinking away tears. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Mary Margaret said, but she had that look in her eyes, that far-away look, that haunted, cursed look--

--

“Just look at me,” he’d said, “and believe.”

--

It was under the bed.

Emma was sure it hadn’t been there before.

Oversized brown leather binding with old-timey script.

Once Upon A Time.

--

When Emma reached for the book she felt the power rushing through her, and she stood up.

It was time to end this.

“Henry,” she said. “I need you to go to The Rabbit Hole. Bring Lacey. Run.”

--

All curses can be broken. Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.

--

“He’s not dead.”

That’s what Emma said when Liam rushed into the room and looked around, his face pale and his eyes wide as they landed upon his brother.

“He’s not dead.”

Emma said it again as Lacey, resplendent as ever in her t-shirt-micromini-stilettoes combo, rushed in two steps behind Liam. She was saying it for them, but she was reminding herself, too.

She was reminding Henry, as well; Henry, who had refused to leave her. “I’m not leaving you.” That’s what he’d said when she told him to go, this small person she had helped create, who was somehow stronger than both of his parents combined. “I’m not leaving you here with them,” he’d said, biting back tears and pulling an old flip phone out of his pocket.

“Who are you calling, Henry” in Gold’s smoothed-over accent overlapped with “That phone is for emergencies only” in Regina’s acidic tone and Emma had snapped.

“I think this counts as a fucking emergency,” she said, somehow still clutching the storybook to her chest. Once Upon a Time. The rush of power, she could feel it on the edge of her consciousness, but it was something just out of her reach. She had no idea how to wake him up. How to wake any of them up. Mary Margaret and David--it was as if they were on the precipice of something, only Emma couldn’t push them the rest of the way.

“Mom,” Henry had said, “give me the book,” and then pulled it from her hands and gone to sit next to Mary Margaret.

He’d read her a story.

...they didn’t need words to express what they felt in their hearts, for it was here, in the shadow of the troll bridge, where their love was born--where they knew, no matter how they were separated, they would always…

Emma should have thought--should have realized--that Liam would come running just as quickly as Lacey would. In fact, it was probably Liam whom Henry had phoned; after all, they were friends. Liam was Hook’s brother.

“Liam is not the first brother of mine to bear that name.”

It was getting difficult to look at him, to look at Killian and to imagine what it must be like, to be trapped in a prison formed of his own regrets. But Emma also couldn’t look at Gold, who was watching Henry with something in his eyes that frightened her.

Neal was Gold’s son. Gold was Henry’s grandfather. Neal had known Hook, hundreds of years ago. Somehow, they had all ended up here--in a Land Without Magic.

Graham was dead. Gold had killed him over a dagger.

“Baelfire saw it as the source of all of his problems and I saw in it the solution to all of mine.”

It was Gold’s curse, and yet he had used Regina to cast it.

Had Gold--had he been looking for Neal?

It made a twisted kind of sense, Emma decided, watching Gold watch her son. As for her own family tree, well--

No one spoke as Henry’s words bounced around the station, through the bars and off the concrete brick walls. “Whatever she did to you,” Henry said, “I know Snow White is in there somewhere.”

Something stirred in Emma at the words, and in David, too, and then--

Liam. And Lacey.

And Gold’s cane clattered as it hit the floor.

--

Emma was shocked when Lacey came straight up to her and gave her a hug. “Is Jamie okay?”

Jamie--who the fuck was--oh. Right. But also, why was this woman hugging her?

“Belle?” Gold’s words were breathy, broken and disbelieving in a way Emma had never heard from him before. In that brief moment, there was nothing reptilian about him; nothing that glinted or leered, nothing powerful or all-knowing. He was just a man, and he was looking at Lacey as though he had been in a desert and she was water, half-afraid that she was an hallucination, but even more afraid that she wasn’t.

“You think the maid is some kind of chess piece?” “Given the circumstances, it seemed wise to acquire some leverage.” “She’s the only thing that can break him.” “She’s my friend.”

“You’re real,” Gold said. “You’re alive.” It was practically a whisper, one that Lacey acknowledged with a smile--the small, tight kind that showed no teeth as she stepped forward, bending to pick up the fallen cane.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Gold said, accepting the cane from her. “But you will.”

Lacey cocked her head, looking at him, managing somehow not to look terrified at the prospect as the moment ended and Gold’s expression turned murderous and he growled, “Which of them?” His accent thickened as he glanced first at Regina, and then at Emma. “Which of them did this to her?”

Emma instinctively put herself between her landlord--her son’s grandfather, Rumplestiltskin, the fucking Dark One--and Hook. “Hook rescued her, you asshole. From an asylum. Where Regina had her locked up for the past twenty-eight years.”

Regina hissed as Gold stiffened, and something like a shudder overcame Lacey. Belle. “Regina,” she said faintly. “Regina locked me up.” Her eyes--

Shit. She had that far-away cursed look, too. “I was told to find you, and tell you that Regina locked me up. Does that--does that mean anything to you?”

Gold moved, his arms outstretched, only something about the movement triggered the curse again as Belle--Lacey--snapped out of it.

“Lacey,” Liam called softly from inside the cell. Emma wanted to yell, to scream, there was no reason to be quiet--Killian couldn’t hear any of them, or any of this, trapped in a tomb of his own regrets--but she couldn’t. Not when Liam was all long limbs and uncertainty as he hovered over his brother’s body, looking for the same signs of life Emma had tried--and failed--to find. Lacey gave Emma’s shoulder a squeeze, running her hand down Emma’s arm and gently pulling her into the cell with the brothers, and with Henry, who left the storybook on the floor as he stared up at Liam.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Lacey said, also keeping her voice low in a way that made Emma want to scream. “Are you okay?”

Emma blinked. Lacey’s smile was sad but genuine. “I saw the two of you together,” she reminded Emma, “and Jamie told me about you. He said to bring you this if anything happened to him.” She dropped Emma’s arm and twisted, pulling the crossbody bag slung over her shoulder from her back to her front.

“He’s not dead,” Lacey muttered.

“He’s not,” Emma echoed. Then, “Do you even understand what is happening?”

“Emma,” Lacey said, “Do you?” She was holding something in her hand, about the length of her forearm, wrapped in paper. “But he trusts you. So I trust you.”

Emma took the parcel. She could feel the twisted blade inside, crinkling the paper as she gripped the handle. She turned so that Mary Margaret and David--her parents--couldn’t see it. They sat on the other side of the bars, almost frozen as they watched her with Henry, and with Liam, and with Lacey, the storybook still open in front of them on the concrete floor, an illustration of a minutes-old baby girl tucked into a hand-knitted blanket with purple trim covering both pages as a man shoved her into a wardrobe with the last breath in his body.

“How did this happen?” Liam asked.

Of course, that he said loud enough to carry.

Regina smirked. “Miss Swan,” she said, “why don’t you explain to this young man why his brother is comatose and possibly dying, all because you put him in harm’s way?”

Because apparently, reading people at their worst was a family trait. But Cora was gone, dead by Killian’s hand in her defense, and Emma was not responsible for his choices.

She kept telling herself that, too.

Even though she should have known.

Even though her dreams had warned her.

Liam’s face fell, and Emma braced herself, wondering if anger was a family trait for the Jones men the same way it was for the Mills women. “You’re the one,” Liam said, “who got him--and got me--involved in all of this.”

“And if you had listened to me,” Regina said, “he might not be in this position. Miss Swan would have been long taken care of.”

“Listened to you?” And there it was, the flash of his elder brother, in the harshness of his consonants and the icy coolness of his rage. “You wanted me to spy on him, to tell you about her. But I know, Regina, what you did to him, and what you did me, and--”

Emma put her hand on his shoulder, an echo of Lacey’s gesture, in an attempt to give him comfort. “Liam,” she said, “you didn’t do this. As for you--” she directed her glare at Regina, grateful for anything to focus on beside the unmoving body mere feet away “--I’m locking you up.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Regina spat.

“Let’s see,” Emma said, pretending to think. “The sheriff is literally standing right next to you, so we could start with whatever the hell your game is with Kathryn Nolan. But we have so many other choices: you’ve committed false imprisonment, theft, and, of course, attempted murder--”

That’s when her voice caught.

Because Killian was there, unmoving, mere feet away.

Emma closed her eyes, so she heard instead of saw David push Regina into Mary Margaret’s cell; she didn’t open her eyes again until she also heard the door close and the lock click.

“I’m going to fix this,” Emma said. She said it for herself as much as for Liam, or for Lacey, or for Henry. She said it because she needed to hear it, too.

“It happened,” Henry said, “because your brother is a hero.” There was so much conviction in his voice--Emma could hear how much he wanted Liam to believe. “It happened because he didn’t want me to lose my mom, the way you lost your dad. He didn’t want to see another family broken up.” Lacey nodded, but Liam just shook his head and looked mournfully at Henry. “My mom is going to fix this,” he said. “I promise, Liam.”

Gold cleared his throat. His gold tooth was glinting again as he grinned, all traces of the human man with human emotions gone as he was every inch Hook’s crocodile once more.

“I wonder, Miss Swan,” he said. “What exactly do you intend to do about the magical ailment that has befallen my old friend? To fix it, as you say.”

Slowly, Emma advanced on him, emerging from the cell. The dagger--the Dark One’s dagger, the thing that Graham had fucking died for--was still in its wrappings, and his eyes followed her, and it, with speculation.

“All magic comes with a price, dearie,” Gold said.

“He shouldn’t have had to pay it,” Emma said. “Not this time.”

“That’s debatable,” Gold said, “but let’s agree to disagree, shall we?”

“Cut the bullshit, Gold,” Emma said. “You obviously think you still have a plan here, so what is it?”

“I, Miss Swan,” he said, “always have a plan.” Emma’s hand clenched around the dagger so tightly that she could feel the curved edges of the blade and wondered that she hadn’t cut herself yet. “If you had listened to me prior to the Captain’s unfortunate incident--” he gestured with the cane “--we might not have been in this position.”

Emma stared, waiting.

Finally, he said, “True Love. The only magic powerful enough to transcend realms and break any curse.”

Emma very carefully did not look at Killian, but was still rewarded with another one of Gold’s giggles. “Luckily for you,” he said, “I happen to have bottled some.”

Regina stirred. “You did?” Her surprise was evident.

“Oh, yes,” Gold purred. “From strands of her parents’ hair, I made the most powerful potion in all the realms. So powerful, that when I created the Dark Curse, I placed a single drop on the parchment.” For the first time since Lacey had entered the station, Gold moved. Two slow, deliberate steps until he was standing directly in front of Regina, and he leaned forward. “Just a little safety valve,” he said. His cane tapped the bars for emphasis.

“You twisted little imp,” Regina said. “You--”

But Emma was finished with her--with all of it. “You still don’t get it, do you?” Emma said impatiently. “He planned all of this, he and Cora, and it’s not about you at all, or me, or any of us. We’re here because he wanted us to be here. I’m the Savior so that I can break the curse--so that he can leave Storybrooke and go find his son.”

Emma tore the paper from the dagger and held it up by the handle, brandishing it at Gold. “Stop me if I’ve got this wrong,” Emma said. “But I’m not, am I? Neal ended up in Neverland because of you. He left me, pregnant and alone and in jail, because of you. He abandoned his son, your grandson. Because he was afraid of you. Because he hated you.”

“Tell me something, love. If a woman begs you to take her away, is that theft?”

“She left you,” Emma whispered, “because she hated you.”

“Emma,” Lacey said, trying to pull at her arm. Emma shrugged her off, keeping her eyes on Gold. She wasn’t sure if it was the sound of Lacey’s voice or the sight of his precious object, but a change had come over him. He looked--older, suddenly. Angry, and defiant, and--for the first time--scared.

He hadn’t planned for this.

The anger Emma felt bubbling up within her, the hatred, it was like nothing she had ever felt before. Not even when Neal had left--not even when she’d gone to prison--not even when she’d had to give up Henry. She pushed forward, walking toward him, crowding him, continuing her recitation: “And this? Your magical, mystical dagger. The source of all of your power, that you thought was hidden. The reason you killed Graham--but he was smarter than you gave him credit for. Both of them were.”

Emma took the last step toward him, forcing him against the bars and holding the dagger almost against his neck. “And you?” she said. “You’re just a coward.”

There was nothing powerful about Gold, not then. Not with his own dagger pressed almost into his skin, the tip of it very nearly piercing his flesh--there was only fear. The thing might be a paperweight in this realm, in this Land Without Magic, but it was sharp as fuck and ready to cut.

“So tell me, crocodile,” Emma said, “what do you know of True Love?”

True Love is the rarest magic of all.

And all Emma felt was fury--and how easy it would be to push the knife farther into his throat.

He was struggling against her as he spoke, but Emma had him completely pinned. Letters Emma hadn’t even noticed made themselves visible, spelling a name: Rumplestiltskin. It flashed for a second and then just as quickly began to fade away, one letter at a time beginning to disappear.

“You--” Lacey said. “You loved someone?”

Gold licked his lips. “It was a brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.”

That’s when Emma noticed the blood. He was bleeding from a wound she had made--

“All magic comes with a price." "The price of this magic is--unspeakable.”

Emma’s grip faltered; her shoulders sagged and her head felt suddenly heavy.

“Mom,” Henry said, looking at her with pleading eyes. “Don’t. Please--don’t.”

“Vengeance is tempting." "The darkness always is.”

Emma turned, and she could feel them--the tears--burning at the edges of her eyes.

“It creeps up in you. Resist it.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said. “You can’t give in, or your life will be just like his. Bleak, and empty, and full of darkness. I gave Henry that book to give him hope.”

“Heroes do what’s right,” Henry said. “Not what’s easy.”

Something in Emma broke, as she suddenly felt everything, all of it--the grief, the anger, the helplessness, the sadness--all at once. She fell backward on unsteady feet, taking one step after another until her hands felt the wall behind her, and she sank to the floor.

Sobbing.

“Why couldn’t you?” she’d asked in her dream. “I didn’t have anything to live for,” he said, “to keep me on my path. Use whatever it takes to stay on yours."

But what did Emma know about True Love? Nothing--less than nothing--less than the goddamn Dark One. She had been abandoned by her parents, or sent through a magical wardrobe; either way she had grown up alone. She had been abandoned by Neal and she, in turn, had given up her kid--afraid to let herself love Graham, afraid to love Mary Margaret, afraid to love Kil--

“Mom.” Henry was barely taller than her shoulder because of the way she was sitting. “You can do this, Mom. I believe in you.” Emma reached for him with the hand not still clutching the dagger, wrapping him in a hug and pulling him down to the floor next to her. Henry nestled into her side as if he had done it every day of his life and Emma instinctively shifted so that her head lay atop his.

Even after everything, his hair still smelled sweet and clean. It was the first time Emma had smelled it.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said. Her friend--her mother--was kneeling on the floor in front of her, one hand on Emma’s knee, looking as though she was actually trying to restrain herself from pulling Emma into her arms.

“Mom,” Emma whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down.”

She hadn’t broken the curse. She had been attacked, kidnapped by a madman who had vanished into a magic hat and imprisoned by the fucking Queen of fucking Hearts. Graham was still dead. Killian was--gone.

What was she going to tell Liam?

What had any of it even been for?

Emma Swan wasn’t a savior.

Emma Swan wasn’t some fairy tale princess.

There were no fairy godmothers in this world.

“You didn’t, Emma, shhh,” Mary Margaret said. “I don’t care what you do or say, I will never stop trying to protect you, and you could never let me down.”

For the first time in her life, Emma let herself be gathered up and held by someone, by her best friend, by her mother.

“I love you, Emma,” Mary Margaret whispered, and Emma felt her mother’s kiss on the crown of her head.

...And, yes, she was beyond hope. Beyond saving. This was her end. When Prince Charming saw his beloved Snow White in her glass coffin, he knew all that was left was to say goodbye. He had to give her one last kiss. And when he did, True Love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuddered out and engulfed the land, waking up Snow White and bringing light to the darkness.

--

@kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @scientificapricot​ @captainsjedi​ @carpedzem​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @eirabach​ @snowbellewells​ @searchingwardrobes​ @spartanguard​

[donteattheappleshook]

Of Cars and Bars Chapter 12/14

Ready to find out what happened between Emma and Killian five years ago?

As always, thank you Krystal @kmomof4​ for all of your amazing beta work and for just being a lovely person. This story exists because of and is dedicated to you! (Thanks for the support even though I keep making you angry with all the angst!)

Summary:

Rated E

When Emma Swan is offered the chance to go on tour as an opener for one of the most popular up and coming bands of the decade, the last thing she expects is to find that the lead guitarist is the stranger she had a one night stand with five years ago.

This started out as a smutty two shot about Emma Ruby and Mary Margaret going on a road trip and has evolved into a slow-burn mutual pining angst-fest.

Read it from the beginning on Ao3 and Ffn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Chapter 12 - Falling Slowly

Well, you have suffered enough / And warred with yourself / It's time that you won / Take this sinking boat and point it home / We've still got time

             Five years ago

Killian burst into Liam’s room, ignoring the way his brother cursed, the way Belle shouted at him to 'get the hell out', 'what time is it?'. He didn’t care. He walked up to the hotel room bed and threw the sheet music onto their annoyed, half-asleep forms. 

“What the fuck is this?” Liam demanded, picking up the pages and frowning at him, looking like he was a second away from murdering him.

“A song,” Killian said. He couldn’t contain his grin, he was too happy. His heart was light, his chest full in the best way, every one of his muscles was singing with excitement and adrenaline. 

“I can bloody well see that,” Liam snapped. “But why do you feel the need to throw it at me at -” he looked at the clock beside him. “For fuck’s sake, Killian, six in the morning?”

“I couldn't sleep,” he told them. He’d been up all night, too happy, too ansty, lyrics and music dancing around in his head, begging to be written, filling him with the kind of joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So you decided none of us should?” It was Belle this time and she sounded just as annoyed as his brother, like she wanted him dead - and she was more likely to do it, he mused. 

“I think this could be it,” he said. “I think this could be that hit that the producer was looking for.” 

They’d been approached by a music producer, an agent who was interested in them, liked their sound, liked their vibe. But he’d said there was something missing. They needed something more, a real hit, something that would pull at heartstrings and make people want to dance and cover it and would make critics sing its praises as ‘real music’. 

It had been a ridiculously high, stupid bar to set, one they thought was impossible, and Killian didn’t want to toot his own horn but he was pretty sure he’d done it - somehow. Not somehow, he knew exactly how.  

Liam looked at the pages in his hand and Killian saw the moment his expression turned from annoyed to impressed, to hopeful. He handed the pages to Belle. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain blonde woman who lured you off the stage last night would it?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“It has everything to do with her,” he answered honestly. It did. She… Emma, even thinking about her sent a thrill through him, made his heart pound, made his breath catch. She’d come into his life out of nowhere, had brightened it, had made him suddenly want to write again, had made him want to love again. He didn’t know if he would ever be capable of it again, not after Milah. But between the car and the bar and being with her in that dressing room, her promising to meet him today… it gave him hope. Hope that he could love again, hope that he wasn’t broken, that he would find that happiness again, the one he thought he’d lost forever. 

It was far too soon, far too quick, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it. The second he’d seen her there, angry and glaring at the road and then the way her whole face had lit up, the way she’d smiled at him on the dance floor, the way she’d touched him, the way she’d challenged him, the way she’d responded to him when they were together. He just - he knew. It was as simple as that. He knew that he could love her and that if he did, he would love her forever. 

Liam was eyeing him warily. “Be careful, Killian.” 

Killian ignored him. He didn’t have time for Liam’s pessimism, for his caution. He’d spent enough time being cautious, enough time guarding his heart. It was time to let himself believe that he could have love again, to let himself believe that he deserved it.

“I’ve gotta go,” he told him, dismissing his warning with a wave of his hand. “Share that with the guys, will you? I’ll see you at the show tonight."

“Where are you going?” Liam demanded. 

Killian smiled. “I’ve got a date!” He slammed the door behind him.

He was early. Way too early. His date wasn’t until noon. He circled the block a few times, walked through the streets of New York, got to know them a little, but he couldn’t let himself stray too far. What if she arrived early too and got scared and changed her mind? So he stayed near, circling, until finally, at 8 he gave up and went inside the cafe. Whatever, he would order a dozen coffees and wait around until noon. He didn’t care. He was too nervous.

His leg bounced under him as his mind raced, remembering the night before, remembering the way she’d felt in his arms and under his hands but also, more than that, the way she’d smiled at him up on stage, the way she’d laughed at him in the car, the way she’d danced with him, the way she’d kissed him before leaving last night. 

He got up, asked the barista if he could have some paper and a pen. She handed him some old order sheets, blank on one side and a sparkly pink pen, apologizing and saying it was the only one she could find. 

“It’s perfect,” he told her. The smile she gave him was shy and a little flirtatious. If it had been any other day, any other morning before this one, he’d have flirted with her, smiled at her and maybe even asked for her number. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when he knew that any minute - any hour, he reminded himself - Emma would walk through that door. 

He returned to his table with another coffee - that was probably a bad idea considering the jitters that were already running through his system, but he liked it, liked this excitement and anxiety - the good kind, the kind he hadn’t felt in years. He wrote. He was having trouble stopping. He thought of her, of her forwardness and her brazenness and how strong she’d been and the tiny, miniscule bit of vulnerability he’d been allowed to see, thought of the shade of her hair and the curve of her face and he wrote. 

He wrote three more songs before he looked up, the bell above the door ringing as someone walked in. It wasn’t her. That was okay, it was still only 11:30. He looked at his phone. He wished he’d gotten her number - idiot, he thought. But she had his. He waited, doodling on the edges of the page. 

11:45. 12:00. 12:15. He checked his phone again. She had his number. Would she call if she was running late? 12:30. 1:00. 1:30. The energy that had been rushing through him started to diffuse, like air from a balloon. 2 oclock. Dozens of people came in and out of the shop, the barista brought him more coffees and with each one her smile grew sadder, sympathy clear on her lips. Was it that obvious? Was it written across his face that he was waiting for someone, someone who wasn’t showing up. 

He made excuses, she’d gotten lost, she’d gone to the wrong coffee shop, she’d had to leave early… but she didn’t call, she didn’t text. He waited another two hours, and then another two more. At six oclock, he finally gave up, crumpling the bits of paper, the songs, in his fist. He walked over to the barista again, handed them to her. 

“Throw this out for me would you?” he asked before walking out the door. 

Present Day

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, trying to avoid waking up as long as possible. Her head hurt, she had expected that, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be. No, that wasn’t what was worrying her about waking up. What was worrying her was the leather that was under her cheek, sticking to her face and probably leaving creases, and the warm breath on the back of her neck, the arm slung heavy across her waist. 

Killian. He was still here. She couldn’t understand how he hadn’t run away after her embarrassing display last night, after she shunned him then tried to molest him and then dumped all of her emotional baggage on him. But she knew he couldn’t stay. There was no way anyone would stay after that - not for her, never for her. 

If she shut her eyes, forced herself back to sleep then she wouldn’t have to be awake for the moment when he eventually woke up, realised what a terrible, terrible mistake he’d made getting involved with a mess like her and snuck out of his own room and out of her life. She was used to that, used to being left behind. She’d survived it with Neal and she would - probably - survive it with Killian. Probably not, but she’d have to.

She felt him stir behind her, heard his sharp intake of breath as he froze for a moment. Here we go, she thought. He breathed out heavily, the sound relieved, his muscles relaxing. The arm that was around her waist tightened a fraction and her eyes blinked open. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he bolting? She’d given him every reason to. His nose buried into her hair, he pressed his lips to her neck and she turned in his arms, frowning at his still half-asleep face. He smiled at her, one of those big, almost disbelieving smiles that made his eyes crinkle in the corners. 

“You stayed,” he said and her heart started to race in her chest.

“I stayed?” she asked in disbelief. She stayed? Why wouldn’t she stay? 

“I worried that you’d… regret what you said last night.” His eyes widened then. “Do you remember what you said?” 

Did she remember? Did he? She’d poured her goddamn heart out to him last night, told him she wanted to be with him, told him all of her damage and her baggage and her fears… why had he stayed? Her chest tightened.

“I remember,” she said and the look of relief that crossed his face was a little heartbreaking. But so was the insecurity, the doubt. 

“Emma, if you didn’t mean it - if you’ve changed your mind I-” He was giving her an out, she could tell. Maybe she should have jumped on it, taken it as a chance to run, to get away from this terrifying situation, from the possibility of letting herself love him and of letting herself be hurt. But he stayed. He stayed despite all the terrible things he’d learned about her and now he was afraid that she’d regret it, that she’d run. 

She couldn’t blame him. She’d given him plenty of reasons to think she would. And that was when she realised… he hadn’t given her any reason to think he would run. He’d stayed tonight, yes, but he’d also stayed despite all the times she’d pushed him away since they met again two months ago. He stayed despite the fact that she’d run once before. She was an idiot. How in the hell had she ever doubted him?

“I don’t regret it,” she said and the worry left his eyes so quickly that it hurt, but it also made her smile a little, the corner of her mouth turning up as his did. 

“And, um,” he scratched that spot behind his ear. “Do you remember what I said?” 

She nodded, could feel her cheeks warming. “You said you were in this for the long haul.” He looked shy, still that bit of uncertainty but he met her eyes with an earnestness that sent her blood racing. 

“I mean it, Emma,” he promised. “I want this. I want you. If you don’t, please tell me now because I don’t think I could take it if you changed your mind.”

“Warts and all?” she asked, only half-joking. 

He laughed. “Warts and all.”

“You don’t…” It was getting harder to look at him so she settled for looking at his chest instead, fiddled with the pendants hanging there. “... mind them?” she finished lamely. 

“I like your warts,” he said.

“Ew.” 

He poked her in the side and she squirmed away. He didn’t let her go though. “I mean, that your past doesn’t scare me. I’m honored that you shared it with me. All it is is another part of you, another part of what made you who you are… and I’m quite fond of that woman.” 

She smiled, finally meeting his eyes again. He wasn’t lying. “I…” Ugh. Words. “I like your warts too.” 

He gave her an amused, affectionate grin. “Then are we doing this? Are we trying?”

She nodded, not wanting to stumble over words anymore and brought his face to hers. She kissed him and his hand came to her cheek, his touch gentle and sweet and she could feel his lips curling under her own. When she pulled back there was an expression she couldn’t read on his face. 

“What?” she asked. 

“I just - I was so afraid that you’d run again,” he confessed and the words were like a lead weight on her heart. He had every right to think that. But she’d run so many times in her life, not just from him, from everyone. And she was tired of it. She’d always been willing to lose the things she ran from before. But not now, not him. 

“I already made that mistake once,” she said and she heard his intake of breath. They hadn’t ever talked about it, he hadn’t brought it up, but she couldn’t pretend it didn’t hang over them like some giant betrayal, a giant broken promise that gave him every right to doubt her, to never believe a thing she said again. 

“Five years ago I-”

“Emma,” he said and she knew he was going to let her get away with it, dismiss it. But she couldn’t let him. He deserved better. 

“No, let me finish. Five years ago I got scared because I was afraid of how much I liked you - even back then. And all I’ve ever done was run, so I ran away and I’m sorry. I don’t want to do that again.” She turned her eyes to him and he was looking at her with that softness that was so often on his face when he looked at her, when she tried to talk about her feelings - poorly. “I regretted it, you know. The second I got home.” 

He gave her a surprised, hesitant smile, his eyebrow ticking up, and then kissed her again. “I forgive you,” he told her, because he knew that’s what she needed to hear. She took a moment to once again be amazed by how well he understood her. 

“But, um,” he cleared his throat. “Now I’ll have to ask you to forgive me as well.” She looked at him in surprise - what could he possibly have to apologize for? “I broke our agreement.” 

She raised a brow at him. “What agreement?”

“I wrote a song about you.” A smile tugged at her lips and she watched as the hesitation on his face turned to relief and then a little bit of that teasing glint she liked so much. “In my defence, I wrote it before we agreed to those terms.” 

“When did you write it?” she asked, but she was pretty sure she knew the answer. 

“Five years ago.” He looked at her nervously and she smiled, feeling almost shy but her heart raced in her chest, hoping she was right, a little afraid that she was right, but choosing hope, choosing happiness over the fear. 

“Liam didn’t write your first hit, did he?”

“He wishes.” 

She laughed and could feel the warmth spreading through her as he gave her another one of those smiles. 

“Well, I guess you’re forgiven since you didn’t technically break the rules,” she allowed. He rolled them over suddenly and she was on her back with him hovering over her, his face bright and happy.

“I hope you’re in a forgiving mood then, because I’ve written about six more since.” 

She laughed even as he brought his mouth down over hers and she reached for his shirt, pulling him down so she could wrap her arms around him and so that he could kiss her properly like he’d refused to last night. She moved to wrap her legs around his and squealed as she nearly had her toes squished. 

“Are you wearing shoes in my bed?” she demanded, realising that he was still dressed in his coat and his boots. 

“If you recall, you lured me into your bed last night fully clothed.” She scoffed, lured. 

“Take those off. You’ll get the sheets dirty.” 

He sighed dramatically, making a show of rolling his eyes. 

“And so it begins. We’ve only been dating ten minutes and you’re already telling me what to do?” 

She didn’t bother to hide her smile at the casual way he said ‘dating’. She couldn’t have if she wanted to. She liked the way it sounded way, way too much. He conceded though and rolled back off of her, onto his back so he could kick them off. He threw her a mischievous grin, one eyebrow raised as he looked at her over his shoulder. “Anything else you’d like me to remove while I’m at it?” 

She wanted to laugh but stopped herself, cocking her head at him instead. She turned onto her side, propping her head up on her knuckles. “Well, that jacket feels a little overdressed,” she said casually. The smirk he gave her was sinful before he shrugged it off his shoulders. 

“Better?” She raised one shoulder dismissively. “What?”

“I’ve never been a fan of that shirt, honestly.” That was a lie. He looked really, really good in that shirt. But he would look much better out of it. 

“You don’t like it?” he asked, pulling at the front and glancing down at it. She bit her lip to hide her smile as he pulled it over his head, messing his hair up in the best way. 

“Much better,” she said as she reached for his belt and used it to drag him back over to her. He laughed at her that way that he always did when she got a little eager - and she was eager. It was hard not to be when he looked like that and he went around talking about how they were dating and how he was in this for the long haul.

He didn’t get to say anything as she got up on her knees with him and slanted her lips over his, grabbing hold of that soft, lovely hair and holding him against her. He was happy to comply, his hands coming to her back, sliding under her shirt, his fingers warm against her skin and causing goosebumps to break out where he touched her.

She pushed her hips against him, wanting him closer, needing that confirmation that he wanted her as much as she did him and he groaned, hands sliding down to her ass, squeezing and pulling her against his already hardening erection. Lust shot through her and she pushed him down onto his back, and threw a leg over his hips so that she could sit astride him. 

“You’re being very pushy,” he commented, an amused smile on his lips. 

“Aren’t girlfriends allowed to be?” she teased and her heart stopped when his brows shot up.

“Girlfriends?” he asked and she felt her face flush. 

“Shut up,” she said, leaning down and sealing her lips to his so that he couldn’t make another teasing remark if he tried. He groaned under her, his hand finding its way back to her ass and the other into her hair as he very happily let her keep him quiet. “I like it,” he said as she moved to trail kisses down his neck, his breath hitching when she reached a particularly sensitive spot. His fingers had found their way under the material of her panties, inching closer and closer to where she was already desperate for him. 

“What’s that?” she asked, growing more confident as his breathing continued to become more laboured under her mouth on his neck and her hands on his chest, his stomach, his hips. “Me calling myself your girlfriend or me being pushy?”

He let out a choked sound when her hands reached a little lower. “Both,” he said, the word caught in his throat. Oh really? she thought. That could be fun. His hands came up to her sides, one wrapping around her waist as he started to sit up, probably to flip them over but she stopped him. 

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down against the pillows. “No,” she said, holding him down to make sure he’d stay there. He raised an eyebrow at her in question, in challenge really and she held firm until he conceded, dropping his hands back to his sides. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want him in control - she loved it really. But he was always taking care of her, always putting her first, generous and considerate. And last night he’d taken care of her in a whole new way, one she wasn’t used to. She couldn’t return that favor now in kind but she could certainly return it in other ways - thank him in other ways. She needed to remember to put him first sometimes. That was part of being a girlfriend right?

Right now though, all she could focus on was the way he was watching her, with nervous excitement and desire. And on the length of him hard under his jeans, pressed against her where their hips met - she was pretty focused on that too. 

She pulled her shirt over her head, mostly so that she could watch the way his eyes darkened, the way his teeth bit down on his lip and his hips pushed up against hers just a fraction. His hand came up to reach for her and she smacked it away nearly laughing as he pouted. He looked like he was gonna say something, like he was gonna change his mind about liking her pushy, but she rolled her hips over his and his head fell back and then he didn’t look like he could think much of anything, let alone say it. 

She did it a few more times, revelled in the way he cursed softly under his breath, and she fought the urge to just rip his pants off now and let him sink into her. She leaned down, not stopping the motion of her hips, a slow, steady grind as she restarted her assault on his neck, licking and sucking and nipping at the skin there until he swore again. 

She trailed her lips down his chest, finally having to stop rocking against him so that she could slide down lower, press open mouth kisses to the spot under his belly button, to each of his hip bones. He really had a habit of wearing his pants ridiculously low. She could see his hands fisting at his sides, his knuckles white, his chest heaving as she teased the skin above the denim waistband. She looked up at him coyly and a thrill ran through her. He looked wrecked and she’d barely even started. 

“I don’t know if I’m crazy about these jeans either,” she said casually as she trailed a finger over them, over the hard ridge of him pressing against the material. 

“Get rid of them,” he insisted and the desperation and the urgency in his voice made her laugh. Apparently he’d lost the ability to banter back. She waited, ran her hand over him a few more times, barely touching, light enough to nearly drive him crazy as she watched his jaw clench. “Swan, please,” he whined and she took pity on him. She was supposed to be thanking him after all. 

She undid the buckle of his belt and the button of his jeans, slid the zipper down until she could see him, spilling out of his pants, hard and straining. Fucking hell.

“Emma w-” his words caught in his throat, turning into a strangled moan when she dragged her tongue along the length of him. “Fuck,” he panted, hand coming up to fist in her hair. She loved seeing him like this, seeing him desperate and needy and out of control. He had her like this so often - it was nice to be reminded that she had the same effect on him.

She slid his pants further down his legs, enough so that she could take hold of him. She waited, her mouth a breath away until he looked at her. She felt a stirring in her gut both at the way he looked at her and at the words she was about to say. “You were a real gentleman last night,” she told him, her hand sliding slowly up and down. “You took such good care of me.” She sped up the pace, watched as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “But you’re not gonna be now,” she said and his eyes snapped open, widened as he stared at her. “You’re gonna sit there and watch while I suck you off. You’re gonna let me take care of you.”  

“Bloody fucking hell,” he groaned and his words sent a fresh wave of lust and heat to her core, had her pressing her thighs together to try relieve the ache. She kept up the movement of her hand, brought him to her lips as she watched him watch her, saw the heady desire in his eyes. 

“Got it?” she asked, waiting for an answer before she did anything, before she gave him what he wanted. 

“Yes,” he cried, half  whisper, half  moan and she took him into her mouth. “Fuck. Fuck,” he called out as she licked and sucked at him, taking more of him in before pulling back and swirling her tongue around the head of him. His hand fisted in her hair, hard enough to hurt and she felt a sort of pride at reducing the eloquent Killian Jones to a few monosyllables and curses. 

God, she wanted him. But this wasn’t about her. Well, it was a tiny bit, she mused as she looked up again to see his eyes fixed on her, to see the way he was staring at her like she was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. It made her feel like she was, and to know how much he wanted her, how good she could make him feel was a heady combination. 

She’d kept her pace fairly slow, drawing it out until she heard his whimpered “Emma, Emma please. I need -” He hadn’t finished his sentence, his eyes screwing shut and his mouth falling open as he gasped, his hand pulling at her hair now. She gave in, she’d teased him enough. She pulled him deeper into her mouth, hollowed her cheeks as she sucked and bobbed her head faster, letting him sink further with each drag. 

He was still watching, still doing his best to anyway, but his eyes kept screwing shut, his lids heavy when they were open as his breathing became more erratic. She felt his hips thrust up into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat before he caught himself. She thrilled that he’d lost control, even if just for a second. 

“Fuck, Swan, yes. Gods, you feel so good,” he rambled desperately. She loved how vocal he was. Even that first time, the way he spoke, the dirty, filthy things he let roll off his tongue while he fucked her had turned her on more than anyone had managed to before. “I want to -” he stopped, swallowed the words. She pulled back, let her hand take over, kept up the pace as she looked at him.

“You want to what?” she insisted, refusing to give him back her mouth until he answered, despite the subtle way his hand in her hair kept trying to nudge her back. “Tell me.” 

“Fuck, I want to come in your mouth,” he cried. “I want to come down your throat and feel you swallow it.” Emma moaned, she actually moaned, his words sending a wave of heat straight to her clit, a fresh shock of desire soaking the fabric of her underwear. She’d done it. She’d conquered the gentleman. 

He was looking at her, waiting, his face starting to look nervous, shocked like he couldn’t believe what he’d said. She brought his cock to her lips and let her tongue dart out, meeting his eye as she swiped over the tip, watching the way his darkened before she slid her mouth back over him, sucking and licking and pumping, setting a punishing pace. 

She could feel how close he was, felt him harden and swell under her tongue and she pushed forward, let him sink to the back of her throat, hit it once, twice before he came with a hoarse shout, holding her against him for just a fraction of a second too long as his whole body tensed before he relaxed and his hand fell from her hair. 

She released him, smiling proudly as she rolled over onto the bed beside him looking over at where he was laying. He looked absolutely ruined, naked and panting with his head still thrown back against the pillow, eyes shut tight and breath passing roughly through his parted lips. She loved how he looked when he was like this. He was gorgeous, indecent and rakish and she bit her lip, thighs rubbing together to try and calm the ache his appearance stirred in her. Maybe that hadn’t totally made them even for him punching Neal in the face for her and taking care of her all night, but she thought it was pretty fucking close. 

He looked over at her finally, his head flopping over onto its side against the pillow, his eyes only half open. “That was…” 

She raised an eyebrow teasingly at him. “Oh, I could tell.”

He reached for her weakly and she let him pull her to him, let him catch her lip between his, open under her and let his tongue slide slowly and lazy over her own. “You’re amazing,” he sighed as he pulled back and she laughed against his next kiss. Sated Killian was absolutely adorable and she’d only just begun to realise it, had only just started to stick around long enough to see him in his soft, almost drunken glory. 

She’d been an idiot, missing out on so many things because she was scared, missing out on getting to know him, on seeing all these new sides of him. She liked every new bit that he revealed to her. And the bits she wasn’t crazy about, she still found endearing because they were uniquely him, because they made up the man that she’d finally allowed herself to admit she wanted in her life - indefinitely. 

His kiss became more insistent, the hand on her cheek tilting her face, letting him open her mouth wider under his, his tongue tasting and exploring her mouth with deep, deliberate strokes and she moaned against his lips. He rolled her onto her back before she knew what was happening, his hand sliding down to her breast, teasing her nipple into a stiff peak as she whimpered and arched into his touch. She felt his smile against her lips just before he pulled away to pay attention to her neck. 

“Killian, you don’t -” she tried to say but she was cut off by the gasped ‘oh’ that left her when his fingers trailed down, his mouth taking their place over her breast, rolling the rosy bud under his tongue. “You don’t have to,” she managed to force the words out. “That’s not what this was about,” she tried to explain. 

“Hush, Swan,” he said, his fingers trailing over her hip now, groping at her ass sliding under the fabric, nails biting briefly at her flesh before trailing back around to the front, toying with the elastic. “This is what boyfriends do,” he said seriously, but she could feel his smile against her skin and her heartbeat picked up at the word ‘boyfriend’. She felt like a high schooler but in the absolute best way. Her heart practically stopped when his fingers dipped down into her panties, to where she was already hot and desperate for his touch. 

 “Bloody hell, Emma,” he cursed. “You’re soaked.” She could only nod, tongue coming out to wet her lip when he teased her entrance, then slid slippery fingers up to her sensitive nub, circling it slowly. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked with awe and lust heavy in his voice as he continued his feather-light touch. She squirmed against him. “Did you enjoy sucking me off? Making me beg you for more? Making me come down your throat? Did it turn you on?”

“Yes,” she breathed desperately and he rewarded her with more pressure, making her cry out against his skilled ministrations. She was already rolling her hips against his fingers wantonly, seconds after he’d started touching her. She couldn’t help it, making him fall apart had brought her so close to the edge already. He let her ride his hand for another moment, growling low under his breath, before he slipped out of her panties and she cried out in protest. 

“I think it’s only fair,” he said, settling into the open space between her thighs. “That since you got to taste me,” he gripped the fabric at her hips, slid it down past her ankles. Her heart was pounding against her ribs in anticipation, at the look in his eyes - like he wanted to eat her alive. “I should get to taste you.” 

Fucking yes, she wanted to scream but it was swallowed by a gasp as his lips closed over her, pulling her clit into his mouth with no preamble. Holy shit, she was going to come right here and now if he kept that up. His tongue flicked out, teasing the nub with a few, quick strokes before he released it, his mouth opening hot over her core and she didn’t know whether to moan in frustration or in pleasure. 

He licked her slowly, bottom to top, once, twice, before sliding his tongue into her, thrusting and curling against her walls. “Jesus Christ,” she cursed and he groaned appreciatively against her, the feeling vibrating through her core and sending a fresh wave of heat and slickness between her thighs. He groaned again. 

She couldn’t take it. She needed to come. She was too wound up, too high, too close. She couldn’t take the teasing. “Please,” she begged, hoping he’d take pity on her like she had on him. He pressed another hot, open-mouthed kiss against her before finding her clit again, pulling it between his lips and sucking as he pushed one finger and then another inside of her. 

“Yes,” she sobbed as he found the perfect rhythm, the way he always did, the steady rocking of his fingers and the pulsing against her sensitive nerves driving her higher and higher. She grabbed for his hair, needing to hold onto him, needing something to ground her to reality. “Don’t stop,” she begged between frantic gasps and cries. He redoubled his efforts, increasing the speed of his fingers, sucking harder, curling, licking, flicking, and she broke, her whole body convulsing, her thighs gripping the sides of his head, a shout bursting from her as the world went silent for a moment. The only thing that existed was the feel of his mouth on her and the shudders wracking through her.

He eased her down, slowing his caresses until her aftershocks subsided and she melted against the mattress in a boneless heap. She laughed, a disbelieving, weak sound leaving her. She’d heard that sex got better when there were feelings involved but she’d always thought that was a load of bull. But now, ever since that night a week ago where she’d decided to try, each time they were together was more intense, more powerful, more earth-shattering. And this time - Jesus fucking christ she had not been prepared for this time. 

“That was...” she rasped, mirroring his words from earlier. 

“I know,” he said and she looked down to see him smirking, cocky and smug. He crawled back up, wiped his mouth with a tissue and pulled her in for a sweet kiss before tucking her against his chest. “You know, I think I’m gonna like this boyfriend thing,” he mused. She smacked his chest lightly and he laughed. He was right though. She was definitely already liking it. 

She hitched a leg over his hip and smiled when he grunted, feeling him stir against her. “How late are we for breakfast?” she asked, knowing that their friends would likely be waiting for them downstairs as they did most mornings so they could all eat together in the hotel restaurant.

“A bit,” he admitted. “I’m sure they’ll understand though that last night was -” 

“No, you misunderstood me,” she interrupted him, grabbing his bicep and pulling to roll him over on top of her again. “How late do you think we can get away with being for breakfast?” His grin matched hers as he leaned down to kiss her again. 

***

They missed breakfast. They arrived in the hotel dining room just as their friends were heading back to their rooms to get ready to board the bus in an hour. They had a three hour drive, a sound check, a little downtime to settle into their hotel, and then a show at eight. Emma didn’t notice the nervous, concerned glances Mary Margaret and Ruby shot her when she walked in - or the way they changed to shock when they saw her smile, her hand clasped firmly in Killian’s. Mary Margaret’s mouth hung open in disbelief, looking quickly back and forth between the two of them. Ruby’s grin was wicked, pleased and knowing. 

“If it isn’t our new celebrity,” Liam exclaimed as they reached them. Killian rolled his eyes, waiting for whatever his brother was building up to. “Congratulations on going viral,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “And twice in one night, too.” 

‘What are you talking about, brother,” he sighed, but Emma knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he was pretending to be, he was too happy - she could tell, she was too. 

Liam handed over his phone to show him two articles, one after the other. The first was a rumor about them, a suspicion that they were together, with photos of them singing last night, a picture of them with their arms around each other. The second article was about the party, with photos clearly taken on someone’s phone, of him knocking Neal out. Emma tried not to smile at the way Neal was referred to as ‘a one-hit wonder who had been mostly absent from the music scene after his second album failed to live up to his debut’. 

“You’re trending on Twitter,” Liam told him scornfully.

“And instagram! And Tik Tok,” David added with more excitement. “There’s a looped video of you knocking him out - they set it to music. Here, look, it’s pretty great.” David moved to show him but Liam stopped him, displeased. 

“Lighten up, Liam,” Killian said. “You’re just jealous that I’m going to have the ‘bad boy’ rep in the band now and not you. Besides,” he added. “He deserved it.” 

Some of the anger left Liam’s face then, his eyes flickered briefly to Emma. “Yes, I know.” Her heart swelled a little. She knew that her friends must have told him some version of what happened with Neal, but to see Liam support her was… kind of touching. Liam was fairly aloof. It was nice to know he cared. 

She looked around to see the others wearing similar expressions and she realised then how much she’d gained when she agreed to go on this little adventure. She’d found Killian, but she’d also gained three brothers, and another sister in Belle. She loved this little makeshift family they’d created (albeit a fairly incestuous one) but she loved them and she planned to hold on to them. 

“I wish I’d done it,” Ruby muttered. She looked at Killian then. “But I’m glad you did. That was very cool of you.” A look passed between them, some sort of unspoken understanding and Emma wondered what secret they had, what score had been settled. 

“We should get going,” Belle said, glancing at her watch and they all nodded in agreement. Emma’s stomach growled. Not having eaten since before the show last night and having consumed an entire bottle of whiskey leaving her hungry and desperate for something unhealthy. Killian glanced around the room and grabbed a couple of pastries before they were put away, snuck them quickly out into the lobby with their friends. He handed her one. She smiled and thanked him as they walked, their arms bumping against one another, far closer together than was necessary.

“So are you two together now?” Graham asked when they reached the elevators. The others didn’t say anything, but Emma could see them all watching them out of the corner of their eyes. 

“Are you?” Killian shot back, looking between him and Ruby with a raised brow. She knew what he was doing, knew he was still trying to protect her, not wanting to announce their newfound relationship before she was ready. But she was ready. She’d kept him a secret too long. It wasn’t fair to him. She wanted them to know. 

Graham grinned. “I asked you first.” 

“Yes,” Emma said and watched as seven pairs of eyes widened in shock - Killian’s included. She shrugged them off, taking a bite of her pastry. She felt Killian’s smile pressed against the crown of her head, his arms slipping around her waist. 

“Oh god, it was bad enough when they were hiding it,” Ruby groaned. “They’re gonna be insufferable now.” 

Emma glared at her but it was half-hearted, the grin pulling at her lips much stronger.  

***

They had just finished their set, Ruby, Mary Margaret and Emma all taking their bows and shouting their thanks at the cheering crowd. Emma smiled at her friends. They all had equally massive grins on their faces. Each show they played they had a bigger round of applause. Each time they were up there, there were more people in the stands, people coming to see them rather than only to see Abandon Ship! and tolerating the opening act. There had been signs today in the stands, signs with her name on them, with Ruby’s and with Mary Margarets, decorated with hearts and catchy slogans and drawings of swans. This was really happening. They’d really made it. 

They said one final farewell and rushed off the stage, hearts racing and adrenaline singing in their veins. The cheers continued, they usually did, people now warmed up and ready for the main act. She found Belle waiting for them on the side of the stage, a wide smile on her face. 

“I think they’re ready for the guys,” Ruby laughed. 

Belle shook her head. “Listen.” They looked back towards the stage, paid attention to the cries and the cheers. It wasn’t for Abandon Ship! - it was for them. They were screaming her name, demanding another song. Her jaw dropped as she turned to the other women.

“What do we do?” she asked and Belle’s brow quirked up.

“You go back out there and give the people what they want,” she said. 

“Our first encore,” Mary Margaret squealed. “How exciting!”

“What do ya say, Em?” Ruby asked. Emma nodded but paused, her friends watching her eagerly.

“Do you think… look maybe this isn’t the best time to go up there and improvise but do you think we could try something new? Do you think you guys could follow me?” she hesitated. It was a big ask, risking their first encore for her to take a chance and finally, finally put herself out there. 

“Fucking absolutely,” Mary Margaret said and Emma’s eyes shot up at her friend’s language. 

“What she said,” Ruby laughed. “Just go out there and play. We’ve got your back.”

“Always,” Mary Margaret added.

She was so goddamn lucky. She had the best friends - the best family - she could ever ask for. She grabbed both their hands, felt them squeeze hers tightly and together they walked back on the stage. Emma sat down, picking up her guitar - one of those acoustic-electric ones she was so fond of, and looked back at her band. They were ready, instrument and sticks in hand. They offered her reassuring nods.

“Thanks for that,” she said into the mic and the crowd cheered loudly. She smiled. Sometimes she understood why Killian hamed it up so much up here. She didn’t have that in her though. “If um,” she hesitated. “If it’s alright with you I’d like to try something new.” Another collective cheer. “I’ve never played this before for anyone -” she looked back at the girls. “We’ve never even played this one together so, uh, bear with us,” she joked. The crowd erupted again when she started strumming.

This was it. She could do this. It was time to put her money where her mouth was and finally play something real - something scary and vulnerable and so goddamn terrifying, but she needed to. And she knew he would hear it - knew that the sounds from the stage travelled to the dressing room where he and the boys were getting ready - knew that he’d hear it and that he’d know - he wasn’t the only one who’d broken their rule. 

She thought of him when she sang and it made her feel braver. She’d thought of playing the one they wrote together - the first one - but she’d changed her mind. She didn’t want the first real, honest song she played on stage to be about Neal - he didn’t deserve that. Killian did. Ruby and Mary Margaret joined in after the first chorus, always able to read her so well, and that made her braver too. She didn’t have to feel vulnerable on stage because she wasn’t alone. She had backup. She had family.

The crowd was dead silent for a moment when they finished and Emma’s heart hung somewhere in her throat, waiting, terrified to see if they would like this as much as they liked what she’d played before, if it was enough. The screams filled her ears, a roar that went through the room, echoing across the stadium, blending into a single, booming sound that seemed to go on forever. Ruby and Mary Margaret joined her, wrapped their arms around her and thanked the crowd, their voices barely heard over the noise despite their microphones. She was too stunned to say anything, her eyes stung. 

They left the stage and it was a moment before she could hear her friends’ voices - over the crowd yes, but also over the blood rushing in her ears. 

“That was amazing, Emma,” Ruby hugged her. Mary Margaret joined in from the other side, sandwiching her between them so that she could barely breathe. She laughed, tears still wetting her eyes but with joy, with excitement. They’d liked it. They’d liked her music - liked the real her and she could feel that thought swelling in her chest, opening it, like all the doubts and the fears she’d kept locked away in there to protect herself were finally being set free - she didn’t need them anymore.

“Have you found him?” she heard Liam’s voice saying, a little frantic, almost scared. 

“No,” Belle said, her voice equally worried. “Graham’s got people searching the whole building and David’s checking out back in the alleys in case he stepped out. Emma’s heart seized. Belle, Liam, Graham, David. That left only one person. Where was Killian? 

“What’s going on?” she asked and Liam turned to her, his face hesitant, like he didn’t want to tell her and it scared her because she knew that look. That was the look people gave when they were protecting someone, when answering your question put someone else at risk. After a moment he sighed, still looking panicked. “Killian’s missing.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t in the dressing room. We thought he was out here watching you play but he’s not. Nobody’s seen him in over an hour when he got a phone call and stepped out to take it.” 

“Has he done this before?” Emma asked, her heart now pounding heavily in her chest thinking of all the places he could be, all the terrible things that could have happened.

Liam winced and nodded. “The last time he did this... We found him a week later. He’d gone on a bender. He didn’t even remember where he’d been.” He hesitated, like he was worried whatever he said next could upset her. “Did anything happen last night? Or this morning? Anything that could have set him off?” 

She wanted to be sick. Was this because of them? She knew Killian had his own issues, his own baggage. But he was so carefree, so lighthearted and so kind that sometimes she forgot about the darkness he had inside of him - about what he’d lived through. She worried that maybe he’d acted the way she had in the past - sabotaged something good because he was too afraid of it, because he didn’t think he deserved it. 

“We need to find him,” she said. Liam nodded and they all grabbed their coats. 

“Belle, stall as long as you can,” Liam told her. “If we’re not back in thirty minutes… cancel the show.” Belle understood, agreed, Emma saw her squeeze his hand tightly, reassuringly before he left. 

“Find him,” she said. 

They searched for over two hours. Looked in every hotel and bar they could find, called his phone, called the police, called the hospital. Liam even called a couple of local AA meetings. Nobody had seen him. The show was cancelled but that was the least of her worries. She needed to find him. She needed him to be safe and with each passing second she imagined worse and worse fates that might have befallen him. 

She was the one to find him, in a bar nearly ten miles away from the venue. He must have walked there. She felt a fist gripping her heart, trying to pull it out of her chest when she saw him. He was sitting at the counter, a bottle of rum and an empty glass on the table in front of him. She pulled out her phone, texted Liam who said he’d be there in ten. She approached him slowly and felt the grip loosen when she saw that the bottle was still sealed. 

“Killian?” she asked and he started, turned to look at her. His expression relaxed when he recognized her. He looked angry - he looked heartbroken, defeated, and sad, but the anger simmered under the surface. She sat next to him, reeling at how familiar this scene was, how quickly their roles had reversed. He had the glass between his fingers now, was glaring at the bottle and she couldn’t tell which pull was stronger - how much he wanted it or how much he hated it. 

“What happened?” she asked and he didn’t answer for a long while, his fingers playing along the edge of the glass. At least he’d started focusing on it now and not the bottle. When he finally spoke his voice was hollow, even the rage gone from it now. 

“Gold,” he said and Emma tried not to let the confusion show on her face, wanted him to say what he needed to, to explain. “Milah’s husband. He’s up for early release.” Fuck. She didn’t know how to comfort him, what to do. How do you help someone deal with the man who murdered his love being released from prison? 

“Good behaviour,” he scoffed. “What that really means is that he has his hand in enough people’s pocket.” She put her hand on his arm and he finally set the glass down, finally looked at her. “I’m leaving,” he said. 

“What?” she asked, hating how small and broken she sounded. 

“I’m going back to England. There’s going to be an appeal. Milah didn’t have any other family. There’s nobody else to stand up for her - nobody else to tell people what a monster he was. I need to go back.” 

Emma tried not to listen to the voice in her head, the one that repeated over and over: I’m leaving. I’m leaving you. But it only grew louder, more insistent. He hadn’t asked her to come with him, hadn’t needed her help. He was leaving. Just like that. It hurt how easy that decision seemed to be. 

She saw Liam and David coming through the door. She stood up, nodding her head, fighting the tears that were burning her eyes and her throat. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t let him see her break, couldn’t make this about her. But she had to get out. She couldn’t stand by to watch him leave her. She deserved this, she figured. She’d left him more than once and karma was a bitch. 

She left him there, with his brother and his best friend. He didn’t even try to stop her, didn’t seem to notice her leaving. Ruby and Mary Margaret were outside when she got there. They took one look at her face and wrapped her up in their arms, asking what happened, what was wrong.

“It’s over,” she said. “Everything.” She’d tried. She put herself out there, risked it. And he’d still left. “Let’s just go home. I’m done.” 

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

CS Pillow Talk 4 - The Guest

A/N: I wrote something. Perhaps the muse isn’t dead? She came back tonight to push this story out. Unbeta’d, because I started writing it a couple hours ago and now it’s finished and I want to post it. Other chapters need not be read to understand this chapter, as this is a series of unrelated one shots where Emma and Killian are, you guessed it, talking in bed. 

Summary: Who is the guest in Killian’s dream? If Emma can guess, Killian will confess. 

       ao3          ffnet          Rated M            1.7K          Fluff, Humor, Smut      

The deep moan rumbling from Killian’s sleeping form has Emma pausing as she throws her hair into a ponytail. She’s up before him for a change, and has taken it upon herself to make him breakfast in bed. Walking toward their bed, she watches as her husband’s sleeping form stretches and another groan passes his now smirking lips on an exhale. She chuckles as she realizes the cocky grin she has fallen in love with even happens when he sleeps. The trace of laughter is quickly replaced though, with a sharp intake of breath when the sheet moves further down his body as he continues to squirm. 

She’s immediately torn between cooking him breakfast or taking care of Killian’s stiff cock that is now peeking from under the sheet. “Goddamn,” she mutters to herself, admiring his morning wood; she’d like nothing more than to wake him by riding him like the stud he is. With all the other characters she has come to find out are real, she errantly wonders if there truly is a faction of Morning Wood Fairies. 

“Emma,” he sighs.

A rush of heat surges through her belly when she hears the desperation in his voice. Sitting down next to his sleeping form, she wars with waking him or just taking him in her hand or mouth. Emma runs her finger lightly from the tip of his straining cock, over his sensitive underside and down to his base before gently caressing his balls. When Killian’s hips surge toward her touch, she wraps her hand around his shaft and begins stroking him slowly. She can feel her own wetness gathering and shifts slightly on the bed to slip her other hand into her panties. She bites down on her lip as she tries to suppress a moan when her fingers glide effortlessly through her wetness then up over her clit. Her eyes close involuntarily as her fingers work in a motion as perfect as only one knows their own body. 

“Bloody Hell, a man could get used to being woke like this,” Killian rasps in a sleep addled timbre. 

Emma jumps slightly and her eyes open, but she doesn’t cease the movement of either hand. “I was going to make you breakfast in bed, but you looked much more appealing than anything I could cook.” 

“Is that so,” Killian growls as he halts Emma’s movements to maneuver them so she is sprawled out on her back and he is hovering over her.

“How did you do that?” Emma giggles, a bit breathlessly from being pounced on. She doesn’t pause for an answer though before craning her neck to kiss him senseless. A lusty moan passes from her lips as Killian kisses her back, and she surrenders herself to the carnal nature in which he always satisfies her. It is quite erotic watching him as he licks, nips, caresses, and fills her, and soon she is coming hard, shamelessly calling out his name and praising his efforts. 

Lying quietly in his arms, after he tells her how bloody amazing she is, Emma can’t help but wonder what it was that had him so turned on before he’d even opened his eyes. “What were you dreaming about this morning?”

Killian chuckles, and Emma knows he is either blushing or scratching behind his ear by the shy tone in his voice. “We were… eh… we were  having a threesome.”

It’s Emma’s turn to giggle, “Naughty. And just who was in this threesome?”

“Us,” he states simply. 

Emma looks up at him, wondering why she is having to spell out her question. “Well, yes, you and me, but who was our guest?” She’s surprised to see a bit of confusion in his features, before the dawning of realization crosses his face.

“Tell you what, love. If you can guess, I will confess.”

Emma squints her eyes at him, debating the choices. She decides to go for the obvious first. “Ruby?”

“The wolf?” Killian asks incredulously.

“Well… she is hot, and she’s always been very flirty with… everyone.”

“Not my type.”

Emma shifts her weight, leaning up on her elbow and facing Killian. She snaps her fingers and blurts out, “Belle!”

“You sound so sure of yourself with that guess. But that is also incorrect.”

“I was thinking maybe it was like a sexy dream and a revenge dream all in one,” she explains. Biting her lip she contemplates who else could be making an appearance in her husband’s dreams. Remembering an off-handed comment he’d made in regards to all the many blondes of this realm, she realizes who it must be. “Is it Tinkerbell?”

“Sweet lass, she is, but still a no.”

“Ashley? Elsa?”

“Also no.”

“Maybe you have a thing for redheads? Elsa’s sister, Anna? Mal? Mulan?” Emma continues on as her husband just smiles and shakes his head in the negative to all her suggestions. “Ursula?” She shudders as she asks about Cruella. But still he shakes his head no. Who else does that leave, she muses. “Aurora? Jasmine! Ooh, another redhead, Ariel!”

“You are so far from the answer love, I do not think you will be able to guess.”

Emma flops to her back and exhales loudly. Suddenly a thought occurs to her, and she thinks, despite the fact that she hasn’t felt an ounce of discomfort or jealousy while lazing with her true love, discussing his sex dream on a quiet Sunday morning, this next guess might actually change all that. “Regina,” she whispers.

“Not a chance!” he responds with thinly veiled offense. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” she mutters. She rolls her eyes at him when he smirks at her. She knows that he knows that would’ve made her a bit green with- “Zelena! It is a redhead.”

“What is it with your assumption that this mystery guest has a better chance of being a redhead?”

“It’d be something different than me and…”

“Ah, yes, Milah. A redhead would be different than you or Milah. But who’s to say I haven’t had my fair share of the fiery redheaded lasses.”

She backhands his bare chest before shouting out, “Merida!”

“Your first hint is, not a redhead.”

“Damn,” Emma mutters, “Who else is there? Okay, I give up. Who is it?”

“That wasn’t the game, Swan. I said you guess, I’ll confess. I rather like this, it feels like a game. A game I am winning.”

“Well that would mean I am losing, and that’s not happening.” She closes her eyes trying to remember any other faces of Storybrooke who could be making an appearance in Killian’s dreams. As soon as the next choice hits her she is laughing out loud, even she has to admit, the two have quite the banter at times. “GRANNY!” 

“What?” This time, Killian doesn’t hide the offense in his voice as he sits up and brings his hand to his heart as if she’s wounded him. “Are you bloody serious? She’s a lovely lady, and maybe in her hay-day, but no, it was not Granny.”

“Okay, okay, no need for theatrics. You know the old broad loves to flirt with you, if you had a little sexy dream about her it’d speak more to your ego being stroked than the plausibility of the matchup.” 

“There will be no stroking of anything between me and Granny! Not even in dreams.”

Emma laughs loudly at his ridiculous declarations. “Calm down, babe.” Racking her brain, an idea so perverse rears its head and she is not sure she even wants to say it, but she wants to win. “It wasn’t…”

Killian looks at her with a raised eyebrow, nodding his head at her to continue. 

“It wasn’t my mom was it?” She watches all the air deflate from his chest. “Indubitably and irrevocably a no, Swan.”

“What the fuck? There aren’t even any more women in Storybr-”

Killian’s grin widens as she pauses. “Have you finally figured it out?”

She sat bolt upright in bed, facing Killian. “It wasn’t a woman! Oh, this is too good!” she teases, eyes wide with glee. “Where should I even start? Was it-”

“Noooooo,” he draws out as he places a finger to her lips to quiet her. “Nope. No, it was not whoever you are about to guess. Stop right there. I don’t even want to hear your idea of this threesome. Not that I have anything against a threesome with two men and a woman, but I do not want to hear what man you think I might be sharing you with in my fantasy.”

She chuckles at Killian’s rambling, noting there is no anger in his voice. “Oh, it’s a fantasy now?”

“It was before you soiled it with all your incorrect guesses.”

“But, I’ve guessed every woman I can think of,” she whined.

“It was you, you daft woman!”

Emma sighs in exasperation, “Yes, we established that. You and me, who was the third part of the threesome?”

“Just you. Me, you, and another you. The same you, but two of you.”

Emma is immediately thrown back into the moment Hook had kissed her aboard the Jolly Roger, right before Killian had stormed in and knocked his other self out. How many times had she fantasized about that threesome? “Oh,” she murmured, slightly embarrassed and only a lot flattered. 

“Oh, indeed,” Killian chuckled, leaning back against the headboard and pulling her close. “There is no other woman I dream about.” 

“I don’t know why that choice didn’t cross my mind, especially given the number of times I’ve fantasized about having two of you.”

Is that so,” Killian asked running his tongue along his lower lip salaciously.

“Aye,” she giggled, “ever since our trip back in time where you knocked yourself out.”

“That version of me wouldn’t have known what to do with a woman like you, he wasn’t worthy.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’ve taught him some things over the years.”

“Aye, ‘tis. Now make me breakfast, wench!” 

“In your dreams!”

“Allow me to show you about my dreams,” he growls as he pulls her on top of him. 

“But there’s only one of me.” Emma presses her body to his and plants kisses along his jawline. 

“You are all the woman I will ever want,” Killian utters as she begins to work her magic on him. 

“Good.”

[hookedonapirate]

Set My Soul On Fire

Summary: What happens when the high school principal's son falls in love with the pastor's daughter?

Hiding a relationship is hard, especially since Killian's girlfriend is seventeen and not allowed to date until she's thirty, it's even harder to hide her pregnant belly. Can Killian save his relationship with Emma when her parents find out? Some miracles are worth fighting for no matter what. Especially when there's a little hope involved and a whole lot of love.

Teen Pregnancy AU

Notes: This story was sort of inspired by a storyline in one of Colleen Hoover's books, Ugly Love, but with a much happier ending. You could say it's a canon divergence of Ugly Love. I wanted to write a highschool AU where Emma and Killian are each other's firsts, so there's no past Milah or past Neal in this one. Only Captain Swan, or rather Lieutenant Duckling.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld as always for letting me share my ideas with you!!! You help me more than you know!

Rated: Mature

Also available: AO3 l FF.N

Chapter 1

Being the principal's son is not all it's cracked up to be.

His classmates tell him all the time, it must be nice to be the principal's son. They think it's all unicorns and rainbows, they think it's why he's never been in detention when the real reason is that he's forced to be a role model to his fellow classmates. Since Brennan Jones is not only the principal but a strict father who runs a very tight ship, both at school and at home, he sets high standards and has even higher expectations of his two sons. Killian's actually surprised he's made it three years in high school without being in detention because it feels like everything he does at home is wrong. He's constantly reminded his older brother was captain of the football team and had straight A's when he was in high school, while Killian is only a straight-A student. That’s right, just a straight-A student. He’s often lectured rather than praised. Being the principal's son has its perks, but it feels more like a prison sentence than a privilege. Today feels like a good example of this.

He's currently sitting in the administration office waiting for the new student he's supposed to show around the school and around town. His father is already chummy with her parents and boasted to his sons about how her mother is an elementary school teacher and her father is the new Pastor at Living Hope Community Church, where Brennan attends every Sunday without fail. While discussing the new girl’s enrollment at the high school, her parents asked the principal if he knew anyone who would be interested in showing their daughter around. Since Killian is in the same grade as she is and has the same classes, Brennan volunteered him.

So now he’s endowed with the task, and his father wants him to make her feel at home, show her the ropes, show her where the good places to eat are and the good crowds to hang out with. He wants her experience at Storybrooke Highschool to be an enjoyable one, and apparently Killian's experience to be an insufferable one. Sound like a privilege to you?

He should feel flattered his father saw fit to have him show the pastor’s daughter around, but it only reminds Killian that he’s tried so hard to impress his father, he may be missing out on some of the finer aspects of high school. But this is senior year—his most important year of high school.

He’s easily made straight A's in the past three years, but that didn’t matter to him. He wants to be a pilot and needs flying hours to earn his commercial pilot’s license, not a flashy college degree. Getting into a prestigious university is what his father wants for him, it’s not what Killian wants or even needs. So he’s not worried about getting into a good college, he knows he can do that no problem anyway. But he’s always been the golden boy, the teacher's pet, the principal’s son who never gets in trouble. He’s seventeen and still a virgin; perhaps it’s time he changed that. It’s his senior year, but it’s only the beginning, so perhaps it’s not too late to get into some sort of trouble.

Killian is towed from his thoughts as his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls out the device and sees a text from his best friend.

Robin: Good luck with the new girl.

Killian: More like bad luck. This feels like punishment.

Robin: Why? Is she ugly?

Killian: Haven’t met her yet. Just hate being the one always picked for these things.

Robin: Send me a pic if she’s hot.

Robin: That was Will. He already got his phone confiscated for blowing a spitball at the chalkboard, and the class hasn't even begun yet lol.

Killian chuckles and is kind of jealous he wasn’t there to see it.

Killian: Why am I not surprised?

Robin: Oi, I read that, mate. This is Will btw

Robin: Seriously though, send a pic.

Killian: Will do.

Robin: If she’s hot, Will will definitely do her.

Robin: That was Will again.

Killian: I figured.

He hears the principal's door open and slips his phone into his pocket before his father catches him texting.

Killian looks up and never wants to look away again.

One look is all it takes. His jaw is on the floor and he finds himself gasping for air because the vision before him literally takes his breath away.

“I’ve got this, thanks, Kelly,” Brennan says to the secretary when she starts to get up, but he motions for her to stay seated, flashing her the signature Jones grin.

Killian can only imagine his father is grinning at the secretary though, to which he'd roll his eyes in return, but he can't seem to take his eyes off the new girl long enough to find out.

Adorable, beautiful, breathtaking, gorgeous, ravishing, stunning.

His mind is reeling as he searches for the correct adjective, but no words are good enough. No words can adequately describe her.

Her skin is the color of smooth porcelain with a tint of pink on her delicate cheekbones and her hair falls to her waist in long, golden waves and reminds him of yellow daisies that bloom in the springtime. And her eyes… her eyes are perfectly framed by long black lashes and remind him of the forest after a fresh rainfall. Rich, green, sparkling and full of life. His eyes are drawn to her like a magnet is drawn to the right kind of metal. She's the most beautiful metal he's ever seen.

“Emma, this is my son. He’s in your first class with you and is going to show you around.”

Even though Killian's mouth is hanging open, he somehow forgets how to form words. He forgets how to stand on his two feet, he forgets how to move. It’s probably best he can't walk though, because he’d probably slip on his own drool.

“Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself to the lass or are you just going to just sit there?” his father asks, pulling Killian from his trance. There’s a bit of mirth dancing in Brennan's eyes when Killian finally pulls his gaze away from her.

He clears his throat and shakes himself from his revery, finally able to stand. He somehow manages to stride over to her without slipping on his own drool and moves his arm enough to extend his hand so she can shake it. “Killian,” is all he can utter, though rather incoherently, his voice cracked beyond repair.

The way her sweet, pliant lips curve slightly when her eyes meet his knocks the wind entirely from his lungs as she slides her delicate palm into his. As her fingertips lightly grip his hand, tiny sparks dance along his skin; he gets goosebumps all over and a warm, tingling sensation all at once. His heart is beating fast and he never wants to let go of her hand ever again. “Hi, I’m Emma.” She sounds like an angel, her voice is like soft silk and the cordial smile she graces him with reminds him of the sun, it’s bright, powerful rays radiating against a cloudless, blue sky.

Emma. Her name is Emma. “Hi, Emma,” he breathes, just to hear her name roll off his tongue. It sounds like music to his ears and he wants to write poetry about her name. He wants to write poetry about her beauty and how his heart flutters when she looks at him. (He’s never wanted to write poetry before.)

“Remember what I told you, my boy, about being a gentleman?” his father warns him.

“I'm always a gentleman,” Killian replies, never taking his eyes off Emma's. He even forgot anyone else was in the room until his father had spoken. Hell, he’d forgotten he’s still holding Emma’s hand. Well, he hadn’t forgotten, he’s still feeling the effects of her touch, the way the electric currents from her touch surge through his body, but he hadn’t realized he’s held her hand much longer than he probably should. She hasn't seemed to notice either. Nor has she taken her eyes off him.

When he pulls his palm from hers, his entire body suffers from the loss. His knees feel weak and he fears they may buckle at any moment.

Brennan furrows his brows and stares at Killian with a vigilant eye. “Alright, well I’ll leave you to it then.” He puts a hand on his son’s shoulder and whispers in his ear, “Remember, she’s the pastor’s daughter. No funny business, you hear me?”

Killian gives a complacent nod so his father will disappear into his office, which he does, leaving the most beautiful girl Killian’s ever laid eyes on in his entire life with him to take under his wing. Sure he's only seventeen and there are only so many pretty girls he's seen in his short existence, but how can anything in this world be more beautiful than her? It's not possible. He wants to kiss her beautiful lips and touch her lovely skin and do all the things he knows he's not supposed to.

No funny business. Right.

Killian’s lips tip into a smirk and it’s laced with a hint of mischief as he moves to the office door and pulls it open for her.

All that stuff he’d moaned and groaned about—something to the effect of being the principal's kid is similar to being in prison—is all rubbish. This is definitely not a punishment. More like heaven.

“Thank you,” she says appreciatively and steps over the threshold.

He takes a moment to appreciate her cute backside as the skirt of her white dress sways when she moves. Mmmm. Even her legs are gorgeous.

“Very old-fashioned of you,” she snickers playfully and turns her head, catching him staring at her as he licks at his lips.

He quickly lifts his eyes, hoping she's not offended. If she is, she gives no indication. He can't help but stare at her though. He wants to spend his whole life staring at her.

He cocks a brow as he follows behind her and escorts her to first period, which is English with Mrs. Squires. “Since when did being a gentleman go out of style?”

Emma shrugs. “I often wonder the same thing. Boys at my old school didn't open doors for girls, that’s for sure. They’d rush past them to be the first to pass through. Even the boys at church are too busy staring at me to hold doors open. My father is the only gentleman I know.”

Killian’s heart saddens a little. Emma has never experienced a gentleman except for her father? “Well, then you’re in luck, love. I’m nothing if not old-fashioned, milady, ” he says with a bow. God, he sounds like an idiot.Pull it together Jones! She’s just a girl. A very hot girl. Speaking of hot, he has to remember to take a picture of her, but now is not the right time. It would be too obvious, and what’s he supposed to say? Excuse me while I snap a photo of you so my friends can see how hot you are. Somehow he doesn’t think that will go over very well. “It shall be my goal in life—I mean in our senior year to show you a true gentleman.” Okay, life may have been the more accurate noun, but he’s trying to be subtle here. He’s doing a terrible job at being subtle though. If subtlety was a snake, it would’ve bitten him by now.

A light blush colors her cheeks as a coy smile touches her lips and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed. “Careful with your promises, I might just hold you to them,” she teases, and he decides right then and there he loves being teased by her. He loves the hell out of it. She can call him names and be mean and bitchy to him and he would still love it.

“Oh, believe me, love, there are plenty more promises where that came from,” He flashes her a cheeky grin and points at his chest, “And I never break a promise.” He even adds a flirty wink to the signature Jones grin.

Emma's cheeks are flushed as she purses her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Killian scratches nervously behind his ear as he tries to think of something to ask her. He needs a topic that will temporarily distract himself from thinking about how drawn he is to her or how fast his heart is racing right now. “So, where is this barbaric school where manners seem to have gone out of style?”

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Ah, I see, well I’ve never been there, but it sounds like I’m not missing out on much.”

She shakes her head. “No, you're not. The people here in Storybrooke seem much nicer,” she says. She talks about Phoenix and why her parents moved. Meanwhile, he can't stop thinking about how much he wants to spend time with her and get to know her. She tells him she’s seventeen, like him, but Emma is certainly no girl. She’s a woman. A goddess.

He’s in love with a freaking goddess.

Bloody hell. He’s only known her for roughly ten minutes and he’s already in love with her. Or so he thinks. He’s never actually been in love before, but he’s sure the feelings blooming in his heart right now can only be described as love. And yes he's had crushes on girls before, but he’s experienced nothing he could even remotely describe as love.  

She tells him she wants to go to the police academy when she graduates and he tells her he wants to be a pilot. But he can't stop picturing her in a police uniform. He shudders at the thought and shakes his head to rid the thoughts from his mind. But he can't help but fixate on everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes. He wants to do nothing except stare at her all day. He’s so bewitched by her, he doesn’t realize they’ve passed the classroom until they’re at the end of the hall and she’s asking where Mrs. Squire's class is.

He blushes and points the direction they came from.

“Doesn't a pilot need to know where he's going to fly a plane?”

He nods and chuckles. “Aye, but to be fair, there are no gorgeous blondes there to distract a pilot and make him forget where he is. There are only the clouds and the sky.”

He can see her cheeks tinting with a brilliant shade of pink again as they turn around and head toward the classroom. They don't speak the rest of the way there, but they don't need to. He’s too busy watching her as she tucks some hair behind her ear and flashes him little smiles that tell him she might feel even a smidgen of what he feels for her. Which is certainly saying something.

He makes sure they don’t pass the classroom this time. When they enter the room, he looks around for two empty seats side by side and takes one. The teacher introduces her to the class before Emma makes her way to one of the empty seats. Thankfully, she’s eyeing the seat next to his and claims it as her own. He sighs silently in relief and they make eye contact briefly as Mrs. Squires continues with her lesson plan.

He pulls out his phone to discreetly snap a photo of Emma as she's paying attention to the teacher. There’s no way he’s paying attention in this class though. Not with Emma in the same room. Just before he takes the photo, she turns her head and smiles at him. His cheeks are on fire as he lowers his phone and looks away. When he's sure she's not looking at him anymore, he catches a glimpse of her, but sure enough, she's still smiling at him. His heart actually skips a beat. He can't tell if she knows he'd taken her picture or not, but based on the aim of the camera lens when he'd snapped it, she probably figured it out.

As soon as she looks away again, he looks down at his phone and unlocks it, pulling up her photo to send it to Robin, who will subsequently show it to Will. Killian is in complete awe of her perfection, even on his screen. She looks like an angel, with the picture window in the background as the sunlight seeps in, illuminating her skin, and her hair seems to glow in the soft light. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he types out a text to accompany the photo.

Killian: Gentlemen, meet Emma. Aka my future wife. Aka mother of all my future babies 😍❤😍❤😍❤😍

He sends the text and the photo with a big smirk on his face. He’s thought of the perfect way to get into trouble before he graduates. Because, it's only his first class of the year and, God help him, he’s already in BIG trouble.