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snowbellewells · 2 years

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Self Promo Sunday: “Just As Much As I Do”

Notes: This is another little one shot I originally wrote in the summer after Season 3 of OuaT. Post Season 3 finale, this one is meant to be the very next day, waking up back in the present, the Wicked Witch defeated,and Pirate and Princess maybe - just maybe - stealing a quiet moment or two in the afterglow. Rated T, though the reasons for that are only implied. Title and song lyrics included are from Snow Patrol's "Crack the Shutters", and of course I don't own that lovely song any more than I do OuaT or its characters. Enjoy – and please leave a review!

Also available on AO3 or ff.net, if that’s more your preference

Summary: The morning after the finale, waking up in his room at Granny's, for Killian Jones, it seems like his wildest dreams have come true magnificently.

“Just As Much As I Do”

by: @snowbellewells

Sunlight pours in through sheer white curtains, bathing the small room in golden glow and warming the darkness into hazy morning. As the sun's rays fall across the tangled sheets on the bed and heat the bare skin of a pirate, Killian Jones' eyes ease open, blinking in the sunrise and slowly regaining his bearings.

He rubs a hand over his face and back through his tufted, disheveled hair, confused and disoriented for a moment, not sure how he is once again in his familiar room at Granny's when yesterday he was sitting at a campfire in the Enchanted Forest of his past. Memory filters back to him with the same sort of gilded pleasure as the morning light. 'Emma,' his mind whispers, 'I brought her home.'

Turning from where he sits up in bed, bare to the waist as the sheets pool at his hips, he sees her lying beside him drenched in the wash of gold through the window, that cascade of blond hair lit up as if on fire. She is still fast asleep, splayed out luxuriously on her stomach, pale, flawless back on display for his perusal. As Killian gazes on her, admiration swirling within him, Emma mumbles drowsily and smiles without conscious thought, looking so much more peaceful and satisfied than he believes he has ever seen her while awake. She scoots closer to him, seeking contact in the depths of her slumber.

He reaches out to brush a lock of hair off her shoulder, smoothing it down her back with its fellows and letting his fingertips trail along the graceful path of her spine. That he can touch her at last, after so long – after so much wanting and denial – seems almost a dream. Killian's breath catches for a moment as he wonders whether he is awake at all.

Smiling to himself, he cannot help snuggling back into the mattress, studying every relaxed, glorious inch of Emma Swan while she is still unaware, knowing she would be blushing and trying to hide from such frank adoration, ducking her head self-consciously to avoid his gaze, if she were awake. Somehow he has earned his place beside his golden goddess – and no one or nothing, not even the sun itself gilding her in splendor before his very eyes, can worship her as much as he does.

Crack the shutters, open wide

I wanna bathe you in the light of day

And just watch you as the rays

tangle up around your face and body

I could sit for hours

finding new ways to be awed each minute

'Cause the daylight seems to want you

just as much as I do

The peaceful quiet of morning's first light is broken before he wishes as Emma's cell phone rings from the nightstand of his rented room and stirs her from her slumber. Her hand shoots out blindly to snag the offending object, and she mumbles "Hello?" blearily.

Emma sits up as she listens to the voice on the other end, bringing the sheet to wrap around her body as she does. Killian can tell already that it is someone needing something from either the Sheriff or the Savior, but she doesn't seem to mind the duty settling back onto her shoulders as she has in the past. Instead, she seems pleased, as if she finally knows that this is not a curse or a burden so much as her calling, part of belonging to people and a place of her own at last. She glances at him over her shoulder, a sly smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes; even as she nods and goes back to assuring the person on the line that she will be right there.

Once she has hung up, she glances at him sheepishly. "Back to work," she says with a shrug and that quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Aye, Darling, so it would seem," he replies, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair and pull her in for a quick kiss.

To his surprise, she nuzzles into his touch, eyes closing for a few precious moments, savoring the warm expanding feeling rising in her chest. He half expected her to pull away – push him back and shut him out once again – when she woke this morning. It would seem instead that his Swan has bested him one more time, and his devotion to her only grows.

"No rest for the wicked, as they say," she murmurs affectionately, pulling back with reluctance to stand and begin redressing in the clothes they had shed in such haste the night before.

"And just which one of us are you calling wicked, Lass?" he questions, brow arching and grinning at her in a way that he hopes will sorely try her resolve not to crawl back across the bed and let the dwarves deal with their stolen trash bins on their own.

"Oh, I meant both of us," she teases back, mischief in her expression, "but those lips and that hand of yours leave no doubt where you're concerned."

He laughs, taken so by surprise that he tips his head back with it, a full-bodied, strong chortle. "Oi, Swan, what would you have had me do, you vixen? You were practically begging me!"

She actually giggles, looking so happy and completely pleased with herself that he wishes to keep that expression on her face forever. The flush that colors her cheeks and spreads down her neck to disappear in her shirt is so fetching that Killian is hard pressed not to haul her back into his arms and refuse to let her go.

"Shall I accompany you, Swan?" he offers, moving to get up as well and already scanning for where she had flung his shirt and vest.

"No, you stay put," she says with a hungry glint in her eye. "Go downstairs and have breakfast or something. It shouldn't be long before I can get back here."

"Oh," he smirks, looking terribly proud of himself, "I see. Am I under house arrest because you cannot get your fill of me, Sheriff?"

"More or less," she grins evilly.

"Insatiable minx," he returns, tongue peeking out to brush across his lower lip in a way that sends sparks along her veins and graphic images flashing behind her eyes.

"You've got no one but yourself to blame, Pirate," she throws out, giving him one last playful look before she slips out the door. Inside, her heart is swelling while she marvels at the absence of panic, at the fact that she truly wants to stay in the perfect little cocoon the two of them have created, and yearns to be back with him as soon as possible.

It's been minutes, it's been days

It's been all I will remember

Happy lost in your hair

and the cool side of the pillow

Your hills and valleys

are mapped by my intrepid fingers

And in a naked slumber

I dream all this again…

The next morning dawns in much the same way, and Killian's eyes crack open with the sunrise once more; years ever-alert from life on the high sea never failing to pull him into early wakefulness. He is stunned all over again by his good fortune: Emma is with him still. This time, instead of a sprawl, she is curled up into his chest, head tucked under his chin.

Still reverent as he touches her, almost afraid to shatter the illusion, he lets his fingers ghost over the apples of her cheeks, along the line of her nose, and twine themselves in her hair, cradling the back of her head, his handless arm tucking her even more securely into the shelter of his body, stump gently caressing her lower back. Her sleep seems calm and dreamless, which she had confided in him is new and rare, and Killian dares to believe that he has helped to make it possible. Her presence is soothing to him as well, banishing haunted nightmares he never thought to lose. There are no creases of worry marring her forehead, and the tiniest smile rests on her senseless lips, tilting them upwards in a captivating, if unknowing, manner.

Killian places the softest of kisses to her smooth brow, loving her just as he has ever since she stared deep into his soul in the diner when Storybrooke faced oblivion and offered him a second chance – a way to belong to something, to someone…to her. He had seen it then, desired it so ardently that it has fueled every action he has taken since. The intensity of this love, now that Emma recognizes and even welcomes the power she holds over him, and is even trying to give herself to him in return, is overwhelming in its power.

He simply rests here, ignoring the sun's rays spreading across the covers and attempting to rouse him from the most peaceful moment he has ever known. He has traveled a dark, harrowing road to reach this place and moment in time, searched lifetimes for the feeling of completeness in someone who loves him, who will fight for him as fiercely as he fights for her. He can see the warm wash of light over Emma's skin and appreciation for her steals his breath anew. A vision forms of each new day beginning like this one: the pattern of their future together.

Allowing his eyes to drift closed, Killian gladly disregards the dawning day for staying beside his love a little longer. He does not need the sun's help to adore the sight of Emma in his arms; she is branded on the back of his eyelids and in the depths of his soul, every detail of her safeguarded in his heart.

I could sit for hours

finding new ways to be awed each minute

'Cause the daylight seems to want you

just as much as I want you…

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @xarandomdreamx @cosette141 @stahlop @sotangledupinit @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @xsajx @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @thislassishooked @drowned-dreamer @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @caught-in-the-filter @ineffablecolors @let-it-raines

#self promo sunday #cs one shot #post season 3 missing moment ff #just as much as i do #cs fluff #ouat canon divergent

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sambethe · 7 years

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CS FF: Hush

A/N: I wrote a little something for the CS Storybook, Volume 2. I opted for a missing scene that falls at the end of Dark Hollow and before the events of Think Lovely Thoughts picks up. @gingerchangeling did a lovely little piece of Emma sitting by the fire to accompany it - go check it out here!

Summary: Emma just needs a break, figuratively and metaphorically. Hook may be the one to give it to her.

Words: 1400 | Rated: gen | ao3

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It’s another day down, and another night with Henry out there, alone. It’s enough to make Emma want to steal Neal’s lighter and burn the island down. Take her – take Neal’s - cutlass and hack a path to Henry. Instead she distracts herself by poking at the fire in front of her, watching the embers spark and pop as she disturbs them with the stick she pulled from the brush earlier.

From the corner of her eye she can see Mary Margaret roll out her bedding next to David’s. They still don’t seem to be talking, exactly, but there's a thaw between them. They have once again slid back into that practiced ease of theirs, moving around and with one another seamlessly. It both warms her heart and makes her burn with jealousy. Leaves her with a whole host of what ifs that she tamps down brutally before they can take up residence in her chest, where she is already too full of wants and worries for Henry.

Emma wishes she could say the same of her and Neal. He’s been quiet since they returned from the hollow and set up the night’s camp, curling up on his own bedroll, his back to the fire – and all of them. She doesn’t know whether to huff a sigh and roll her eyes, or hit him in the chest and tell him to get it together. Petulance isn’t what she needs from anyone at this point. She’s feeling enough of it herself.

She meant what she said back in Echo Cave. It would be easier to put everything with him behind her. She doesn’t want face all of it again, doesn’t want to think about the way every part of her cracks when she sees his face. How the ache forms in her chest and begins to gnaw once more, a steady reminder that she has never been enough for someone stay.

But if Neal being here, being back, means there’s a chance Henry doesn’t have to grow up without him, she would face that age-old ache and then some. Because she’ll be damned if Henry ever has to spend one moment more wondering if he matters, to her or anyone else.

Then there’s Hook.

She stabs at the fire again, sliding the stick deep into the embers, shifting them around even when she knows she should leave them be. He shifts behind her as she does, ducking beneath some branches at the edge of the clearing. She wars with herself about whether she should ask, and the words slip from her mouth before she’s realized she’s made up her mind.

“Where are you going?”

She keeps herself from turning as she asks, though, not wanting to see the hint of a smirk on his face or the teasing lift of his eyebrow. She can hear him pause, the swish of his overlong coat fading, and she wonders if he’s turned back towards her or if he, too, refuses to look.

“There’s a river nearby, thought I would get us some fresh water.”

She turns at that point and finds him with the straps of a few canteens wrapped around his hand. Before he can move further, she stands, brushing dirt from her pants.

He waves her off. “You don’t have to. I’ll be back in a tic.”

Not answering, she grabs the cutlass from the top her own bedroll and moves past him. “Let’s go,” she grunts, hacking at the brush in front of her despite the fact they had cleared it away on their way in.

They aren’t more than a few steps from the clearing when his hand wraps around her wrist, stilling her before she can raise her arm for another useless swipe. She glares back at him but doesn’t shrug him off.

“How about we try for a quieter approach?” he asks, one finger rubbing at the side of her wrist. “Not attract any Lost Boys unnecessarily?”

His thumb at her pulse point makes her want to lean back, to sink against him, but she catches herself before she follows that instinct. Slowly rolling her shoulder, she steps forward. Hook drops her hand and steps past her with a nod, taking the path that forks to the right. He doesn’t look to see if she’s followed and she wants to roll her eyes at that, but falls into line behind him instead.

They are quiet as they walk, allowing the sounds of the crickets and cicadas to settle around them. At least she imagines them to be crickets and cicadas. She doesn’t want to ask and risk finding out that even the bugs on this island are the stuff of childhood nightmares. It isn’t long before the trickle of water joins the chirping, and after another bend, the overgrown path dead ends into small river.

Hook drops the canteens to the ground along the bank and shrugs off his coat. She stands at the edge of the water. The quiet that surrounds them is almost soothing. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend they are back in Storybrooke. Home and safe, or whatever counts for that there.

“Take off your shoes, love.”

“Huh?”

Emma turns back to find he has shed his vest as well, leaving him in his thin, billowy shirt. His boots are discarded and he’s rolled up the ends of his pants, exposing his ankles and shins. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen this much of his skin and she’s sure she’s staring with her mouth hanging open.

If she is though, he ignores it and nods to the water as he takes a step forward. “The water runs warm. When nights go cold like this one, it’s a good respite.”

“You came out here to play in the water?”

“There’s nothing more we can do for Henry tonight, and we are no good to your boy if we haven’t rested. This...” He reaches his arm out and gestures for her to join him. “This allows me to relax. Come, try it.”

She narrows her eyes and drops a hand to her hip.

“Swan.”

The way her drawls her name sends a shiver through her that she tries hard to ignore. Rather than answer, she rolls her eyes, but lifts a leg so she can remove her boot. She does the same with her other foot and then leans down to roll up her pants. Hook is smiling by the time she is done and encourages her out into the water.

He’s right, not that she wants to tell him that, and for a brief moment she wishes the water was deep enough to dunk herself in. Then she shakes away the thought. She doesn’t want to think about the last time she’s had a shower, or have a reminder of just how long it has been since Henry was home and safe.

After a few minutes, Hook moves back to the river bank, settling down on the soft grass there, stretching out to leave his feet at the water’s edge. She watches him, drawn to the way the bones of his ankle stand out, the lines and sinews of them tempting. The hair of his legs stops just above the knob of bone, and her fingers itch to follow the swirls of it in the same way he held her wrist earlier.

She stops herself though, sitting down next to him and purposely leaving a decent gap of space between them. Her fingers tangle through the grass beneath them, and she tugs a bit but not enough to pull it up. Keeping her attention at her hand, she quietly asks, “Can you tell me again?”

“What’s that?”

“That we’ll find Henry? That we’ll keep him safe?”

She slaps her toes against the surface of the water, enjoying the small beads that land on the tops of her feet and how their warmth seeps into her skin. Hook extends a foot towards hers, poking at her ankle with his big toe until she finally relents and looks at him.

“You’ll get your boy back, love, of that I’ve never been more sure.”

He then turns towards her, stretching one foot over his extended leg, planting it on the ground and creating a bridge with his leg as he lies down on his side. He props his head in his hand, his hook lying between them.

She shifts to face him and gives him a small smile. “We should go back,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Hush,” he whispers. “We’ve time, just rest.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cssb #cs storybook #missing scene #canon compliant #quiet moments are my favorite thing for these two #my ff ouat

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seriouslyhooked · 2 years

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The Best Bad Idea (Part 3)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Part Two Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Well… it took more than a year, but at last I am back with an update to this story. I have to be honest, there were times in the last year when I doubted I would ever write a fic again. I felt that I had written the stories I wanted, and with my graduation and a new demanding job, I couldn’t find time to sustain the hobby. But with summer fast approaching, I have had a little time to look back and to search for inspiration. I knew I needed to finish this short story. I HATE that I have left it this long, but I hope, if you’ve liked it so far, you’ll reengage and revel in the conclusion of this sweet little fic. Re-reading the first two chapters, I remembered the mix of humor and pure fluff I was going for. It made me smile so big, and if part three does that for any of you, I will be more than pleased. Thank you so much for continuing on, and I hope you enjoy!

Six months later

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Unsteady, loud, and reminding him at every quiet moment of how much he was missing his Swan. This was the state of his heart since rising this morning, leaving the bed he shared with the woman he loved and clutching at cold sheets.

The action of waking up alone, while regrettable, hadn’t been the issue that set his cardiac system into full blown assault. Much as he hated to be parted from Emma, it was a somewhat natural occurrence. They weren’t always blessed with aligning shifts. Still, she had the day off today, and he’d imagined the morning going rather differently…

Facing the start of a new dawn with Emma in his arms made the hours to come more than bearable, and though it may mean fatigue down the line, he always began the day just as he ended it, reminding her of how remarkable she was. He’d start with soft touches, taking her in and tracing the lines of her lithe figure. His eyes swept over every part of her, from her golden hair to sun kissed skin and the freckles on her arms that became more prominent with warmer weather. At first, he’d always forget that this was now normal. He had to remind himself that she was real, and his process of remembering meant using all his senses, brushing kisses on her skin as she slowly came awake.

Every time Emma woke up smiling, the goodness in her heart radiating as she did. To see her happy was the best part of his life, and the only other thing that came close was the feeling he had of worthiness when she finally met his gaze. Her love was open and true, never shy and never guarded. Despite the pain of all she’d known as a child and beyond, in spite of scars he’d borne for years and tried to hide from others, they found new meaning together and the world felt as it should. Love would turn to lust, and lust to soulful fire. Soon touch was not enough to sustain either of them. To convince himself this was more than a night’s blessed dreaming, he’d go further: tasting her, marking her, claiming her.

Memories of what had been many times, but what alluded him today merged with the beating of his heart, pulling him out of the delicious remembrance and grounding him in longing once again.

I can’t wait anymore. I simply won’t survive it.

His eyes moved instinctively to his watch, and again he was downcast at the time displayed. The hours were creeping far too slowly. It felt like the shift would never end, and he was barely halfway through. To add insult to injury, he’d been plenty occupied the past few hours. Killian and his team had worked rounds this morning, seen numerous patients, and performed a number of consults. He’d helped David in the ER with one demanding emergency already, and started a complicated surgery of his own while waiting for Locksley to take over on the pediatric case. This would normally give the sensation of the day flying by. But not today. Not when he was so fixated on something he had to wait for.

Of course, while he was actively working, Killian was mostly fine. Maybe Killian wasn’t fully himself, but routine came easy to him, and he remained alert in the ways the job demanded. Medicine required him to be clear headed, task oriented, and to consider all outcomes no matter what plagued him. Lives were on the line, and he took that responsibility seriously. It was an honor to serve others as he did, and he had a legacy of loss to thank for that. Saving others in ways his own family and dear friends couldn’t be saved had always been his drive. But now, the beating of his heart drummed for different reasons.

I’ve got to ask her. I know that she loves me, but what if she’s not ready? What if I push too soon? What if…

“Let me guess, woman withdrawal.”

The assertion came from beside him, and though it took him by surprise, Killian didn’t flinch. Years of active duty and trauma fieldwork had steeled his senses. Thankfully the particular damages of war were behind him, but chaos was his calling. Or rather, seeing people through the chaos. Trauma surgery filled the gaps and made something from nothing. It was about stemming the tides of terror and giving people a fighting shot when time was of the essence. Some days it felt futile, fighting against a world that took just as much as it gave. But most of the time it grounded him. Every life he saved touched countless others and, he hoped, made up for some that he’d had to take over the years.

The voice that deemed it necessary to tease him was also deeply familiar, and it prompted no fear or agitation. At least nothing more than mild annoyance. Will Scarlet stepped into Killian’s peripheral view. They’d known each other since first enlisting years ago, had served together and trained with the naval medicine unit for a substantial block of time. When Killian came to America months back, it made sense that his best mate would join him. They neither of them had anything tying them to the land that once was home. Family connections had long since passed, and loss bonded the two men well before warfare. Now though, they were moving beyond that, retired with honors and on to new chapters. Killian was running his unit and putting down roots, and Will was doing the same as Mist Haven’s new head of ICU.

When he finally acknowledged his friend with a look, Killian had to bite back an audible scoff at the sight before him. Will’s white coat was thrown on him haphazardly and slightly askew, rumpled and creased, and baring the feint outlines of a few dirty footprints varying in size. In some ways it wasn’t surprising. There was just something about Will. He was a brilliant doctor, a fierce and loyal friend, but he tended to look like he’d just been caught in a windstorm. If he were a betting man, however, Killian would give his last dollar to the cause of the current disarray – one Belle French, a friend of Emma’s, and Will’s… well, that remained to be defined at last recount.

“I’m not that bad,” Killian replied, but his heart wasn’t in it. His irritability wasn’t helped by the responding laugh from his friend.

“Right. Let’s just pretend you haven’t made that ridiculous claim, which can only be called a blatant and reprehensible falsehood.”

“Blatant and reprehensible?” Killian asked. “What is this a court martial?”

“Hardly. It’s a friendly intervention. Seems reasonable since you’re scowling and staring into space in the middle of the hallway. Honestly, you need to stop sulking, mate. Whatever’s wrong with Emma -,”

“Nothing is wrong with Emma,” Killian quipped. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Will said, this time smiling in a sign of true affection for Killian’s choice of love. “Let me rephrase. Whatever you’ve mucked up, you’ve got to get a handle on it. Find it, fix it, and let it go.”

The phrase would be seen as benign to many, but spoke to their time in the navy. In that world, speed was essential, and so was definitive response. From their earliest moments in uniform, they’d been trained to find the problem, treat the issue and ship it off to others. It was a stop and go kind of life, never fully engaging, designed to disconnect. But the motto still worked with other things, like self-doubt and overthinking. He appreciated Will’s efforts, but it still felt all for naught.

“It’s not about what I’ve done. It’s what I want to do.”

“Should I sit down for this? Seriously, mate, I’ve never seen you in such a state. What could possibly be that bad?”

Wordlessly, Killian pulled a small black box from his scrubs pocket. His eyes stayed glued to the tiny parcel as he handed it to Will. His friend opened the clasp and let out a low whistle. Killian knew what he was seeing: a large cut diamond in a delicate shade of yellow sitting on a white gold band. Like sun turned to stone, and flanked with smaller diamonds, it was the one ring Killian found that he knew was most like Emma. He couldn’t look at it without envisioning it on her finger and the need to obtain her acceptance was all he could think about.

“You know I love you, Jones, but I just don’t see myself settling for your cranky arse long term.”

The jest prompted its intended reaction. Killian laughed as he shoved his friend, stealing back the box. The ring had been close at hand for a few weeks now, despite the risk. It had cost more than many would ever dream of paying, and deserved proper protection, but he couldn’t run the risk of missing the right moment. He dreamed of the life he and Emma would have together, and as soon as he was able, he intended to propose.

“I hate to make light of your clear distress, but as far as an explanation, this is still rather lacking. I fail to see the problem.”

“It’s fast. Some would say too fast.”

“Rubbish.” Will shook his head, completely rejecting that logic. “Who gives a damn what anyone else has to say. What do you say?”

“She’s it,” Killian admitted. “She’s everything.”

“Aye. That’s clear to anyone with eyes and half a lick of sense. Meanwhile, it’s just as clear that Emma is in this with you, mate. The hearts and roses and general bliss are a shared experience. So again, I ask you, what’s the hold up?”

“I can’t lose her, Will!” Killian didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he caught himself and remembered where they were, close enough to others walking up and down the corridor to be overheard. He straightened his stance and tried to reign it in, lowering his tone. “If I’m wrong – if I push too soon -,’

“Paging Dr. Jones for a code 20 – 12. Dr. Jones for a 20 – 12.”

“Was that…?” Will trailed off, looking to the speaker for clarity.

“Emma,” Killian replied. Before her name had passed his lips, his head pivoted towards the nurse’s station. There was no denying it was his Swan, and the pages always came from the nurses. Had she heard him? Was she here? He was panicked and elated all at once.

The Trauma wing’s nurse manager on shift, Anna, smiled sweetly. It was clear as day she’d anticipated his frantic search, but to his dismay she shook her head. At the same moment his phone buzzed. His hands shook as he reached for the device. Blast it all, he was a schoolboy at the prospect of his Swan. But damn if he cared. The grin on his face, despite the unknown, was undeniable, and his heart continued its staccato symphony as he read a text from the woman he loved.

‘You know where to find me, xo’

“Scarlet -,”

“I’ll hold down the fort, mate.” Will offered the assist preemptively, failing to hide his mirth at the prospect. “You’ve got a woman to propose to.”

“Did he say propose?” one of the aids on the floor asked, but Killian didn’t bother with a reply. He was speeding down the hallway, pushing through the doors and into the depths of the hospital.

He made record time winding through the maze that was this building. Past the ORs and offices, other specialties and more, he made it to the great hall. He still had a ways to go, crossing through the sea of people and taking stairs two at a time. Eventually he was at the nursery, but he only spared the newborn babes a glance before soldiering on. His destination was familiar at this point, but it was also a strange suggestion. Their little oasis would no doubt be crowded at this hour with children and their families making use of the day’s soft light. No matter. Killian was hell bent on seeing his Emma, no matter the audience.

Rounding the corner to the final stretch, Killian noticed the lack of people in the hallway. Curious. Definitely curious. The closer he got the stranger it became. There was no one here, and only the quiet hum of machines and monitors. No children laughing, no babies crying. It made him stop and think. Was there an issue? An alarm of some kind?

When the windows came into view, the door that would lead to Emma bore a paper sign. The closer he got, the clearer it read. ‘Temporarily Closed.’ Beneath it, in a child’s handwriting was something unrelated. ‘Magical moment happening. Do Not Disturb!!’ The bright color crayon and questionable spelling only stopped him for a moment, then he looked outside and his heart stop. For there was Emma. And she was… simply a marvel.

Time seemed suspended as he slipped outside, the feint clicking of the door echoed out behind him. The sounds of the city came through at once, but all he saw was Emma. Wearing a red dress, with her hair down and curled, she was a vision, the same vision she’d made for on their first date. It nearly stole his breath, and certainly stole his sanity to see her like this. In seconds he was on her, taking her hand, holding her close.

“Emma,” he said, the pain of the morning released as he held her close. “God how I’ve missed you.”

Her laughter filled his entire being with warmth, the subtle gravel of the tone washing over him. It swirled in time with the light in her eyes and the humor at her lips, giving him hope in ways only she could.

“I missed you too, but I kind of had a lot to do.”

His brow furrowed, and only when she gestured at the space around them did he take it in. Hundreds of paper flowers were positively everywhere. Some were hanging from tasteful strings, fluttering in the breeze. Others wound up the benches and swings and slides. Most looked familiar. They were gifts he’d given her every day they’d been together. Some days he made only one, some days many more, but he always found a way to bring her flowers, knowing how much she loved them. Unbelievably, for each of the hundreds he’d made for Emma these past six months, there was one perfectly matching pair, and no flower stood alone. He knew in that moment she had made them, and they were all for him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a kind of crazy story,” she murmured, drawing his eyes back to her beautiful face. “Once upon a time there was a girl. She’d been… let’s say disappointed by life and by love.”

Instinctively his hold on Emma tightened. He hated the burdens of her past. Growing up alone as she did, having to fight so hard to survive. She was a miracle made real, and she’d become that way despite the odds. If he could take away everything that had ever hurt her he would. God above, he would. But she always reminded him that things happened for a reason, and the roads they’d traveled, both rocky and hard, had led to this, the two of them, together. He continued to listen to her heartfelt plea.

“In fact, her missing those things set the girl on a very particular path, fixing the hearts of people in need, with a lot science and a little love. She was alone a long time, and even when she found friends and success, she often wondered if her heart would really beat in time with someone else.” She brought his hand above her chest and she brought hers to his. Sure enough, the rhythm was identical. “And then one day, she saw him and the whole world stopped. Her heartbeat skipped and on that day, she knew. She knew she would love him forever. She knew she’d found what she’d been looking for.”

“I knew too, Emma,” he promised, running his hand along her cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of her lips. “From the first moments, I knew you were the most precious jewel the world over.”

Emma smiled, radiating the joy that he felt. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but this was not the product of heartache. Instead it was possibility and promise that couldn’t be contained.

“Some people might call it a bad idea, these two hearts choosing each other. They may think the story not so smart. It might get messy. They worked together after all, and there’s always risk when letting someone in.” Killian let out a displeased grunt and his mouth hardened a bit. Unwilling to let that linger, Emma kissed him again, bringing in goodness, and calming the storm. “Those people would be wrong, Killian. So totally and completely wrong. We’re not a bad idea. We’re good and we’re certain, and the thing is, this story? It’s only just begun.

“The past six months have been the best of my life, and every day I fall deeper and deeper in love with you,” she said, pulling back slightly to reach for one flower in particular. The petals were a delicate cream, etched in his favorite shade of gold. It matched the shine of her hair and the flecks of gold in her jade eyes, and there, in her delicate script was the question he’d been desperate to ask her: Will you marry me?

“I know it’s fast. I know it’s crazy. But sometimes, when you know you know, and I have never known something to be more true. We’re two imperfect people, but our world combined is perfect. You make it perfect. You and your thoughtful, caring, sinfully sexy tendencies. So, Killian Jones, would you-,”

Before she could finish the statement, he took back some control, tasting her and taking her in a way that completely abandoned the setting of this moment. He wanted to show her just how proud he was to claim her heart, to leave no room for questions. For as she loved him, so too did he love her. For always and so much more beyond that.

“That wasn’t exactly a yes,” Emma said minutes later when they pulled back, her eyes dazed with a look of passion, and her lips tender from his expression of love. He chuckled, taking one more small taste before stepping back.

“Forgive me, love. My answer should be plain enough to see, but I find I can’t speak those words without being slightly selfish first. You see, I’ve been waiting an awful long time to ask you that very question, and I’d be remiss to miss the moment.”

With one swift motion he dropped down to one knee and pulled out the ring he carried with him. The shock in her eyes was clear, and then the tears at long last fell. He barely had his proposal out before she said those perfect words: ‘Yes, Killian. Yes, I will marry you.”

“Thank God for that.” In a moment the ring was on her finger and his woman was back in his arms. This time though, their kiss was cut short by the sounds of an opened door, the shuffle of many feet, and some unexpected commentary.

“Nurse Ruby, is that the handsome prince? Mommy said there would be a prince,” a little girl asked. Killian looked over to the glass doors and felt when Emma did the same. Her gasp gave away his feelings. For it turned out they had an audience and there were dozens of people filtering in. Many of the faces belonged to their friends, but there were also a half a dozen little ones from this floor sharing the magic as well.

“It sure is, honey. And you know what happens next?”

“They live happily ever after?” the girl asked.

“Aye,” Killian said, loud enough for all to hear, but with only eyes for Emma. “They live happily ever after.”

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know it is a bit shorter than the other two chapters, but I just wanted to wrap this up with the cuteness and love I thought this story deserved. The world is a crazy place, and life has been hectic, but it meant the world to me to find this peace again even for a few short hours. Writing this fic this afternoon and returning to this pairing was like coming home in many ways. This has always been an outlet for me to be hopeful and grateful and in touch with the joy that does exist in my life and beyond. It has also reminded me that I have many friends who made my time writing for CS so beautiful. I miss you all. I hope you’re well. I’ll try to stay a bit more present this summer, but just remember you are appreciated and wonderful and epic. Thanks to all of you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day! xE

Just tagging a few people I know were reading this story and always showed such support: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs au #cs doctor au #emma swan #killian jones #ouat ff #ouat fluff #bad idea au #the best bad idea

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sailtoafarawayland · 3 years

Text

Best Left Buried

(A CS Halloweek AU)

SUMMARY: It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone. There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

RATING: T

Happy @cshalloweek, everyone! The prompt that struck me was: Monsters / red - under a spell | mystery | "I'm not going anywhere" | bloodcurdling

This takes place in an AU Storybrooke with Halloween and supernatural vibes. I hope you all enjoy my take!

AO3 - FF

Best Left Buried

I'm new to storytelling, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't follow the rules. I don't want to start at the beginning, or the end. One would think that leaves the middle, but...how about we begin at 'on the way to the end'?

And every story needs a little mystery, don't you think? The stranger on a lonely night, the bloodcurdling scream that no one hears? Like most Halloween tales, we'll need to start with some dark and gloomy, and a woman all by herself on the side of the road.

Well, maybe she isn't so alone after all...

“Everything alright here, Sheriff?” a slow, cautious voice called, cutting through the hazy beam of light that glared from the SUV parked twenty feet or so behind her.

Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots, moving closer.

Arms stretched and gripping the raised trunk of her cruiser, Emma stared down at the person tied up and bent within, knees tucked against the bumper and eyes glaring up at her, narrowed and angry above the length of black cloth cutting into the corners of his mouth.

Well, fuck – old fashioned worked just fine up until the moment a state trooper wanted to intrude on her evening plans.

Before the man could make a sound, Emma twisted her wrist.

His eyes went wide, panic winning out over anger as he discovered his voice no longer worked the way it should, and that no matter how hard he tried to scream, there was nothing to hear.

No matter how desperately he tried to kick the bumper to alert the person approaching them, his body just wouldn't obey.

Arching a brow as if to say, 'did you think I was just gonna let you call for help?', Emma smiled and simply tossed the shovel resting against the bumper over top of him, the thunk of it hitting the back of the trunk resounding in the quiet night.

“Yup,” she called back, letting the 'p' pop from her lips as she slammed home the latch of the trunk, leaving her cargo in complete darkness. “Just clearing up some roadkill. Must be an easy night if you're up this way – Portland run out of Halloween mischief?”

The trooper shook his head, stepping into her space as she turned away from the trunk and leaned casually against it, brushing her gloved hands together as if to rid them of dirt.

“I wish,” the man muttered, adjusting the volume on his radio as it roared with static. “Man, these things never work in this town of yours – must be a lousy signal. Don't know how you guys manage.”

“Small town,” Emma shrugged, “not much trouble to manage. What brings you up so late?”

“We actually got a call in for a missing person, thought I'd head up your way and see if you'd laid eyes on him.”

Emma leaned forward to study the trooper's phone as he held it between them, the screen illuminating her furrowed brow and lips pressed into a concerned line.

“Doesn't look familiar, but I can ask around if anyone's seen him. He dangerous?”

“Nah, don't think so – might be off his meds though – anxiety, apparently. His fiance called in and said he ran out of their hotel room a few days ago during a fight over which direction they should head, inland or up the coast. She mentioned he'd wanted to head this way.”

“I swear, the foliage brings out nothing but crazies,” Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'll keep my eyes open, let you know if we see anything. It's been nothing but TP'ed houses and ding dong ditch the past week.”

“Technology may change, but the classics never get old,” the trooper laughed. “Speaking of, the wife was asking after the recipe for that lasagna you dropped off at the station a few weeks ago. Any chance you could – ”

“I wish I could help you out,” Emma cut in, raising her hands in supplication, “really, I do, but Granny would have my head if I even asked, or worse – she'd stop serving me.”

“Ah, well, I suppose some secrets are best left buried,” the trooper chuckled, flashing her an understanding smile. “Besides, I'd hate to run across you without your caffeine on board.”

“Right on both counts, Dietz,” Emma grinned. “Tell Charlene that Killian and I said hello, and keep safe.”

The trooper waved a gloved hand in farewell before climbing back into his SUV and pulling a u-turn. Emma slid into the driver seat of her own car, watching in the mirror as his lights were swallowed up by the darkness that would lead him safely out of Storybrooke.

Have I captured your attention? It's so good to finally have someone listening. How about we jump back to the beginning now, and I'll tell you a story about a quaint New England town called Storybrooke?

It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone.

There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

Or perhaps I should say red.

If you're just another tourist passing through in October, blinded by the leaves and farm stands filled to brimming with pumpkins and hot cider, then you might not notice that something about this town isn't as it seems. That's what everyone here hopes for, that you'll spend a few bucks on some food and plastic souvenirs and move on up the coast to the next small town with a good story.

But the locals lose their easy smiles when someone looks too closely beyond Main Street, asking questions about things that are best left buried.

They don't want you to ask questions about the occurrences and complaints, the accusations and stories that have found their way to the darker corners of the internet. They frown when curious couch detectives hold up printed photos of people long gone – or should I say 'missing' – directing them instead to a rack of shirts emblazoned with the words 'I survived Dead Man's Peak'. Have you heard the legend of the centuries old ship's Captain whose spirit roams the cliffs? People go up there all the time to take photos...can't be too careful around those steep drops, they say, nothing but cold sea below...

It has an odd reputation, Storybrooke, for missing people and gruesome deaths, most of them ruled accidental – falls from great heights, victims of drowning – but the town makes its living on the backs of all those old legends, witches and vampires and ghosts, so they sell their shirts and coffee mugs, and look the other way when morbid curiosity seekers and ghost hunters make the long drive from their dark apartments and flickering screens all the way to their small town in Maine.

Most of the time.

As long as you don't look too closely and become someone they don't care for.

Because those people...I can promise it's not long before their social media goes quiet. Their camper van disappears unseen from Main Street one night – and just like that, it's as if they had never driven to that quiet town at all. The friendly old lady who runs the diner never saw them, never served them coffee and tucked a mint under their pillow. The sweet librarian never made suggestions on what they might like to check out for their stay. The harbormaster never leased them a boat to take a tour around the bay, and the kindly shrink who walks his dog three times daily never once saw them sipping coffee on the park bench.

It's not until too late that you can see them for who they really are.

How the friendly old woman who owns the diner pulls raw meat from the fridge after closing, arthritic fingers digging deep into the mass of red flesh and drawing it closer to her mouth, her eyes flickering shut with pleasure as she tears hunks of it free and swallows them down. How the sweet librarian locks up at the end of the day and returns to the back room of the Pawn Shop, the knowledge she's gleaned during her studies made useful as she seeks to return her lost love to the world of the living. How the harbormaster grins wickedly in the dark of a warehouse, teeth sharper than humanly possible as his eyes hone in on the soft, pulsing flesh of a young woman's neck. How the shrink sits beside an unsuspecting stranger on the park bench, drawing their sadness and woes from them and feasting, leaving those he speaks to holding darker and more open wounds than only moments before.

You won't see it until it no longer matters, until they have no intention of allowing you to flee to the next town with a story to tell.

But I promise you, none of them have a story quite like Storybrooke. I should know, I was there when it began.

And now...well, I'm not going anywhere.

“So, this is the evidence I needed to see?” Emma grimaced, toeing the bit of faded, rotten canvas poking from the dirt, the orange tarpaulin long separated from the bit of metal that was once a frame.

“This is where it all started,” the man insisted, walking frantically between the trees and gesturing widely to the overgrown clearing. “This was where we'd set up camp, and here, right here – ” He knelt and swiped his hand through a layer of wet leaves, exposing what looked to be an old circle of stones. “This was where we roasted marshmallows.”

“It look's like an old campsite,” Emma agreed, eyes darting to the sun that was only just setting low over the forest, “but there must be hundreds of these abandoned all along the Maine coast. I don't see how it's – ”

“I found this,” the man rushed, desperate to make her see reason. He yanked a mildewed piece of fabric from the ground nearby, waving it between them. “It was my dad's. His name is on the tag. This is the spot, right here, where it all started.”

“Alright, look, Mr. Mendell – ”

“Greg. My name's Greg.”

“Greg, can you just slow down and explain this to me again – one more time, from the beginning, please?”

“Thirty years ago, my father and I were camping in the wilderness. Then out of nowhere, there was a rush of something in the air, and an entire town appeared right beside us.”

“Out of nowhere?” Emma deadpanned, whipping out her flashlight and shining it over the rapidly darkening forest. “Towns don't just fall from the sky, Mr. Mendell.”

“It was like magic, and when we tried to leave the town, she kept my father here – the Mayor. When I tried to get help and get back to him, it was gone – the entire town. Like it was under some sort of magic spell.”

“You're saying magic a lot.”

“I know I sound crazy,” he stammered, running his hands over his close cropped hair as he paced back and forth.

“Yeah, just a little,” Emma snorted, passing the beam of light over his face and watching as his eyes squeezed shut.

“But I'm not. I tried to move on, start a new life, but I couldn't, not until I figured it out – and now I have. It's this town, it has secrets,” he hissed, his hands tightening into fists at his side.

“Okay, sir. I think it's best we get you back to town and maybe give someone a call – do you have any family I can reach out to?”

“I don't need you to call anyone,” he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked as he took a step away from her toward the shadowed trees. “I need you to help me find out what happened to my father – everyone in this town, they're in on it. The Mayor, she looks exactly the same as she did back then. The woman who runs the diner and her granddaughter...they're all the same!”

“Sir, I'm gonna need you to just calm down,” Emma sighed.

“Do you have any idea how many people have gone missing in this town? My father may have been the first, but he wasn't the last. As soon as anyone starts asking too many questions – poof, gone!”

Reaching up, Emma rubbed at her brow with an exhausted huff as she approached the man while he continued to rant.

“There were those two women – the DeVille woman and her friend. They took vacations from work to visit and never came back. That blogger – the one who posted a photo of some strange, purple cloud that went viral. His partner came to meet up with him after he got a concerning text and never found him, then – strangely enough – his partner disappeared as well.”

“So you're telling me that this town somehow magically appeared here out of thin air,” Emma scoffed, “and that we're murdering people to keep it secret.”

“I looked into you – you only moved here recently, so you're safe. You have to do something about it, Sheriff.”

“Here's the thing,” Emma sighed, shrugging lopsidedly. “You're right.”

“What?” the man rasped, some instinct that rises in humans when danger is sensed making his face grow paler with each second that passed between them.

“You're right about the town, about magic, and this – ” she toed the rotted tent again, grimacing. “This was an oversight of Regina's. Why am I always cleaning up her messes...”

“You're in on it,” he mumbled, staggering backwards and as far from Emma as possible, nearly falling beneath the canopy of the trees.

“Quite perceptive, this one,” hummed a disembodied voice from behind him.

Greg spun wildly on his feet, trying to pin down exactly where the voice had come from, his movements eliciting a chuckle from the shadows. With his back turned to Emma, he never saw the blow coming, his eyes slipping shut before the dark, leaf-covered soil rose to meet him.

Emma leaned her weight on one hip, a large branch spinning idly in her hand.

“The troublesome ones always are.”

“Excellent form, love,” Killian praised, and Emma smirked as her husband stepped forward, black leather and dark hair separating from the shadows, his sea blue eyes glimmering mischievously. “I was wondering when you'd just get to the point.”

“Needed to know exactly what he knew.”

“The same as everyone else, it seems – except for this,” Killian pointed out, kicking the remains of some rotted out camping gear. “Why am I not surprised another of the Queen's disastrous decisions has come back to haunt us.”

Emma waved her hand and the forest floor was magically pristine, completely devoid of anything resembling a long-disused campground.

“Problem solved.”

“Well, almost,” Hook smirked, waving his hook at the unconscious man lying between them. “There's still this one to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, toeing at the man's chest with her boot. “Look's like dinner is gonna be late unless one of us heads back now. Rock-paper-hook?”

“Quite humorous,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes as Emma waved a single hooked finger in the air, “but I think I'll tackle dinner. Otherwise, the lad will be eating pop tarts and deli meat from the packaging.”

“Hey, that's protein, and the pop-tarts are pumpkin spice, so that has to count for something.”

“I highly doubt there's any squash in those monstrosities – a balanced meal they are not.”

“Should I point out how hypocritical you're being,” Emma retorted, stepping into his space and matching his grin with her own. “I'll try to be quick, unless you wanted to...” She nudged the body between them with her foot, her eyebrow angled in silent question.

Killian glanced down at the unconscious Greg Mendell, his tongue lingering over sharp fangs as he studied the tremulous pulse in the man's neck. Then his eyes darted back up to Emma, catching the way her pulse quickened and arousal widened her pupils.

“I think I'll take my repast once you return, love.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” she purred, knowing the wait would only make him more voracious. “I'll see you home in a bit.”

“I'll count the minutes,” Hook whispered darkly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss, her tongue swirling around the curved fangs that replaced his canines. His fingers found their place in her curls, and he angled her head with a gentle tug, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her neck. “Now, allow me give you a hand back to the cruiser.”

“Such a gentleman,” she breathed, still battling her racing heart and the desire pooling low in her gut as Hook squatted and lifted Greg's body as easily as if the man weighed nothing, tossing him over a shoulder.

“Shall we?”

They hiked the short distance back to the pull off, the squad car already covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves that drifted down from above.

“You know, I could have gotten him myself,” Emma said, knowing he would have been back with Henry already if not for her. “You'll be that much longer getting home now.”

“Nonsense, Swan. Henry can wait a few minutes on good form. Go on then, pop the boot.”

“It's called a trunk. Who did you even pick that up from? Pretty sure they don't have 'boots' in the Enchanted Forest.”

“You know, I'm not sure,” Killian shrugged, using the motion to slough Greg's still unconscious form into the trunk beside the rest of Emma's things. “Nottingham, perhaps?”

“Do I want to know what you guys have been up to?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you. The man can hardly hold his rum – I think Robin simply likes to include him so he can rob him blind during poker.”

Before Emma could blink, Killian had pulled several lengths of rope from his jacket and quickly bound Greg's hands and feet together, finishing the entire presentation with a strip of black cloth that he rolled tightly and wedged into his mouth, tying it round the man's head.

“So old fashioned,” Emma teased, slamming the trunk shut and leaning against it, welcoming her husband down for another kiss, trying to ignore the way it set her body afire.

“I'll see you at home, love,” he promised, and then he was gone, leaving nothing more than the cold press of his lips and the ghost of his thumb against her chin.

“Look's like it's just you and me then,” Emma sighed, rapping on the trunk twice before fishing for the keys in her pocket. “Let's get this over with.”

This is the part of the story that always makes everyone gasp, although I think if you've been paying attention, the reveal will hardly be as shocking for you as what happened next was for me.

I woke, though I don't remember falling asleep. I was too terrified for that, so like everything else that happens in this god forsaken town, I blamed it on magic. Magic had stolen my voice and ability to move, it had disappeared countless people, my father included, and it was about to get rid of me as well.

And tied up in the trunk of a cop car, there was nothing I could do about it.

Everything was black, and it took me a minute to realize that nothing was moving. I could feel my breath hot and wet around the gag in my mouth. After a moment, the trunk clicked open, swinging high to reveal a starry sky surrounded by a halo of trees.

It was kind of a beautiful view, but you don't appreciate those things when you're pretty sure you're about to die.

And she stood there, blonde hair lit from behind and the edges of her jacket glowing red as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I'm gonna be late for dinner because of this shit. Every year, it's someone new.”

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. As if she sensed my intention and it made no difference at all, she waved her hand and my voice rushed back to me, the gag and the magic that had silenced me both gone.

“Help! Someone help – ”

“There's no one around to hear you,” she snapped, reaching for the shovel that she'd chucked behind me. “Now get out of the car.”

“You're crazy if you think I'm just going to – ”

Her wrist flicked again and suddenly I was standing ten feet from the car in the middle of a field, the ropes that had bound me gone. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, and I wish I could say I'd been quicker to run, but I wasn't, and even if I had, I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered.

My eyes drifted to the ground beside me – or the lack of it. A large hole roughly the size of a person had been dug into the earth, black, loamy soil piled high beside it.

“Please – ” I took a step back as she took one forward, but another wave of her wrist stole any ability I had to move on my own, my breaths shuddering against my rib cage as I stood there like a deer frozen to the road.

I could only watch in horror as she reached toward me, a look of annoyance on her face. Her hand pressed against my chest, and before I could even understand what was happening, she reached through it – pain gripped me, tearing a feral sound from my lips as roughly as she jerked her hand free.

She stepped back, something bright red and glowing caged within her fingers, a heart – my heart.

“Get in the hole,” she sighed, as if she were directing me to fill out paperwork and not ordering me to my death.

I wanted to object, to run and scream, but instead my feet moved, carrying me to the looming pit. I could only stare, utterly terrified, as my shoes dangled over the edge, the soil threaded with roots damp in my palms as I gripped the edge and dropped.

“Please,” I begged, staring up at her where she stood, looming over what was to be my grave. Her face was shadowed by the moon behind her, but her jacket glowed as red as my heart where she held it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm the Savior,” she explained with a tone that said she found the job rather inconvenient. “I protect this town, keep it safe.”

“From what?”

“From people like you, who come and poke your noses into our business. We have a life here, and we just want to live it in peace. So I do my part, we all do.”

“So now you're just gonna what, bury me alive?” I screamed, bile thick on the back of my tongue and my limbs shaking with adrenaline.

“Alive?” she laughed. “No, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

I could feel my heart thumping against my bones as she held her arm over my open grave, the red glimmer moving closer, illuminating the glistening curves of worms and beetles that treaded the freshly disturbed earth.

And then she squeezed.

Pain unlike anything I'd ever known consumed me, and as some non-corporeal part of me rose high above, I looked down and saw the grey ash that fell from her hand to litter my corpse below.

She brushed her palms together, as if they were dirtied by nothing more than crumbs, and then with a tired flick of her wrist, the black soil scattered on the ground tipped itself back into the hole, burying me entirely.

There's an old, scenic Victorian home whose windows peer out over the sea.

Inside, a woman comes home for the evening. She hangs her red leather jacket reverently beside its black companion.

At the table, a husband dusts hot cocoa with cinnamon, smiling as she takes it to warm her hands after an evening in the cold.

She sits on the sofa with her son, watching as he's captivated by the soft glow of the TV, a controller gripped between his hands and an empty dinner plate on the table.

It's a scene fitting for an autumnal New England night – Norman Rockwell for the millennials.

There's no outward sign of the monsters that lurk beneath. There's no blood on her hands, but they're red with it all the same, just as her neck is painted red later that evening as her husband takes his own meal.

Her and every other person in this town – it's all painted red.

So, now you've listened to my story – one more 'tourist' who's taken the long drive up the coast to this damned town, searching for mystery and ghosts.

You've found one, one of many – the only question is, will you linger to hear the rest, or will you flee onward to the next small town with its small stories, grateful that the monsters you sought have passed you by?

Choose wisely, Ghost Hunter – some stories are best left buried.

END

Tagging: @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54 @ilovemesomekillianjones

#Captain Swan #cs halloweek #cs fanfic #CS fic #sailtoafarawayland #best left buried #emma and hook #halloween vibes

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

CS ff: “Christmas Miss-mas” (au)

Summary: It’s been a year since they saw each other, after the previous year’s disastrous events, but what the two remember is hardly what it seems. One basement, three different events.

Rating: T

A/N: Hiiiii @ouatpost. I feel like you should’ve known it was me from the moment I went “Well, this is going to be laaaaate,” because that’s what I seem to do every damn year. BUT! I have this completed and just in the nick of time for the end of 2020! I hope you enjoy! I had much grander visions for this, but thanks to work (we have a trio of new employees we’re trying to wrangle and it’s uhhhhh not going well at all) and a slew of dumb complications (this morning’s was waking up to a pinched nerve in my neck) I was just happy to be able to get words on the page for you, hopefully in an order that pleases you, with some details you shared that you enjoy reading! It’s not as grand as I wanted, but I do hope it’s still to your liking. <3

Thank you @cssecretsanta2020 for another awesome year, and for knocking me back into my writing. You are a rockstar and deserve so many fruit baskets in gratitude.

-x-

Christmas Party 2019

As far as parties go, Mary Margaret and David Nolan’s Christmas Party has always been Emma’s favorite. For as long as she’s been a Storybrooke resident, there’s been a party to go to. Back when she was fifteen and freshly adopted by David’s mother, Ruth, the parties were a little different. They drank sparkling grape juice and hung out in the farmhouse’s basement.

That’s where David met Mary Margaret his senior year of high school, where they officially decided to start dating the week after, and where he asked her to marry him four years later.

When Ruth passed away the year after they were married, David moved back into the farmhouse with Mary Margaret, and the two of them began restoring the house. Now, after all these years, the house is exactly what the two of them have always wanted with the recent addition of a nursery for their upcoming child.

What does any of this have to do with Emma? Well, with David as her brother, she’s expected to be at the party every year. She also offered to help with whatever Mary Margaret needed since she’s due next month and she knows the expectant mother is going to go overboard as usual. And while she’s never had the urge or need to cancel in the past, she fervently wishes she could this year.

For the first time in a year, she’s going to be facing Killian – former best friend, complicated story… the man she thought was the love of her life, if she’s being 100% honest. Her stomach flutters, thinking about how David had casually mentioned Killian was back in town. They’ve done just fine avoiding each other since last year, but with Killian’s own invitation to the party implied, she knows that their streak is likely to end tonight.

In the event that this is the case, Emma has spared no attention to detail for her outfit. She’s strong. She’s independent. And she certainly doesn’t need a man in her life to make it valid. So what if she wants to remind Killian of everything he’s missing out on? The red dress hugs her body, and is probably lower cut than she usually wears around her brother, but she doesn’t care.

Makeup? Perfect. Hair? Flawless. Jewelry? The earrings are from Killian, and she tries to ignore the way that makes her feel as she secures the backing. With one last fluff of her hair and a quick check to make sure she didn’t get lipstick on her teeth, Emma takes a bracing breath and grabs her coat as she walks out of her apartment.

-x-

Alone in a room in Granny’s B&B, Killian stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror with dread crossing his features. He checks his pocket watch one last time, knowing he has to leave if he’s to make it there fashionably late instead of just plain tardy.

It’s been almost a full year since he saw Emma last.

He can hardly remember a time before that where they went more than a week without seeing each other, not to mention talking or texting every day. For years, the two of them had been inseparable, since the first time they met. He braces himself on the edge of the sink as he thinks about the series of parties they’ve lived through together, looking at himself only once he feels the pain fade from his expression.

While he’s always looked forward to The Nolan Christmas Party in the past, he’s sure Emma wants nothing to do with him after what happened last year. He’s still not sure how exactly he went from total euphoria one moment to losing his best friend, the woman he loves, all in the next moment.

Loves.

Bloody hell, but it’s true. He still loves her with every dark corner of his heart, not that it matters much. Etched into his memory is the look she gave him after… just after.

With one last heavy sigh at the lost moments and memories, Killian checks his reflection for the last time. He looks like shit, as he confirms as he glances over his reflection. At least he went for a haircut and shaved down his beard before tonight. Liam had taken to calling him Chuck, after Tom Hanks’ character on Castaway, and asking him if he’d lost Wilson again.

Right. Time to face the past. He slips on his jacket and heads out the door.

Christmas Party 2015

It’s not every day you meet your equal in the basement of someone else’s house, but that’s how Killian and Emma meet.

Emma wanders down to the unfinished basement to quietly raid the cookies she knows Mary Margaret didn’t put out and finds a man sitting on the half-finished bar. By next year, Emma’s sure this area, too, will be up and running for the yearly party and she can’t wait.

But back to the stranger sitting in her brother’s basement.

“Hi there,” she says when she hits the bottom step.

His head jerks up and he lurches off the bar, glancing up to look at the door Emma shut behind her. “Bollocks,” he mutters, hanging his head again and dragging himself back to where he’d been sitting.

“What’s going on?” Emma asks, looking between the guy she still doesn’t know and the basement door. Was he waiting for someone else? Disappointed that it’s not another woman that wandered down here? Or man? She doesn’t know what he’s into, but far be it for her to judge.

“Welcome to the basement party. Population is now two, and you are also stuck down here.” He’s brooding, clearly, but he has to be lying.

Emma jogs back up the stairs and tries the door, surprised to find that the handle doesn’t budge. It’s locked. How is it locked? Why is it locked?

“David!” Emma yells out as she bangs on the door. “David, the door is locked!”

“He won’t hear you,” the man says from the bottom of the staircase. “The speaker seems to be precisely in a location that’s drowning out all sound from the door. And there’s too many people moving around for anyone to hear the ruckus I’ve been making against the ceiling for the last half hour.”

“Fuck. You’re not kidding?”

“Nope.”

“Great.”

“Aye. Well, nice to meet you, lass. I’m Killian Jones. I tagged along with Will.” He jumps off the bar again to hold out his hand to her.

“Emma Swan. Sister of the host. And apparently locked down in my brother’s basement with a complete stranger.”

“You can’t call us complete strangers if we already know each other’s names.”

“That’s flimsy logic, and you know it,” Emma says, crossing her arms after extracting her hand from his. He’s flirting with her? At a time like this?

“Ah, but now we’ve got time to get acquainted, it seems,” he says, holding out his arms to indicate the empty space they’re occupying.

She should be disappointed about missing the party, but it’s quickly obvious that all the good food is stashed down here, as are all of Emma’s favorite cookies. And while the bar and surrounding basement might not be finished yet, there’s a good selection of wine and beer already in stock. And, if she’s being honest with herself, he’s certainly nice to look at. She’s curious to see if the personality matches the looks.

Emma finds the cushions for the outdoor furniture and throws them on the floor as she and Killian graze the offerings like a picnic. They pass the time by talking shit about the people they don’t like at the party, and she’s surprised by how easily she gets along with him already.

As the time ticks by, she finds herself laughing, enjoying herself more than if she’d been upstairs getting shitfaced and avoiding said people she doesn’t like.

The music cuts out at 11pm, and while it would be the perfect opportunity for either one of the trapped guests to make noise to get rescued, both of them are fast asleep, stretched out on cushions with Killian’s suit jacket draped over Emma’s shoulders.

At 11:30pm when the last guests finally head out, David heads to the basement to get a fresh box of trash bags and finds Emma asleep with a man he only briefly met at the start of the party.

“Emma?”

She startles awake, sitting up and blinking at David in confusion.

“What are you doing down here?” he asks, noticing that Killian is still out solid.

“Killian and I got locked down here. Your door sucks,” Emma grumbles, just avoiding rubbing her eyes so she doesn’t smear her makeup. “Killian. Hey. Wake up.” With a few shoves of his shoulder, Emma rouses her companion. “David, I’m staying in the guest room. And you’re out of Malbec.”

“Noted,” David says, still very befuddled with everything going on. “Killian? Do you need to crash here for the night? I know you arrived with Will but he left with Belle over an hour ago.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Killian says, sounding more alert than Emma would’ve expected after how fast asleep he was.

“You’re not,” she tells him. “I’ll give you a ride home in the morning.”

It’s this, more than anything, which makes David raise his eyebrows in surprise. He hasn’t seen Emma take this fast to anyone… almost ever. Here she is falling asleep near and offering a ride to someone David knows by reputation alone. (Said reputation is a mixed bag from some questionable sources, so he will do his best to reserve judgement despite his protective instincts firing up.)

Even as David helps Killian get settled on the couch, Emma is puttering around with a blanket and pillow, explaining where everything is if Killian should need it. When David and Emma get upstairs to the entrance to both his bedroom (a single glance shows Mary Margaret face-down on the bed without even changing) and the guest room, he goes to ask the obvious, but Emma just smiles.

“Goodnight, David. Go tend to your wife,” she says with an affectionate smile. She hugs him and walks into the room, closing the door behind her.

What on Earth just happened? he wonders.

Christmas Party 2019

Getting to the Nolan household early means more than just helping set everything up. It also means getting to spend time with her sister-in-law before the chaos of the party begins.

Emma heads straight to the office on the first floor and hangs her coat on the rolling rack they have specifically for this purpose. She takes a deep breath and goes to find Mary Margaret to get the other woman off her feet as much as possible.

As they finish the party preparations, Emma happily listens to the town gossip and the baby updates.

“You know Killian will be here tonight, right?” Mary Margaret’s question is tentative. She doesn’t really know what happened between the two of them, but she’s never pushed. Emma is pretty sure she knows the depth of Emma’s feelings for Killian, so the fact that she a) never told him (notoriously bad secret-keeper that she is) and b) never harassed Emma for any information she didn’t willingly give has been a huge relief.

“I thought I’d heard that rumor,” Emma says, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She can do this. She can come face to face with the man she loves… Loved? She stops herself from sighing, not even sure if she managed to shuffle that into the past tense.

“I just wanted you to be prepared,” Mary Margaret says, still doing her best not to pry even though Emma can hear that note in her voice that screams of curiosity.

Emma just smiles, shaking her head and putting the finishing touches on the charcuterie board she’s been painstakingly assembling. “How’s that?” she asks when she’s done, taking a picture of the whole butcher’s block and going to show her so Mary Margaret doesn’t have to get up.

“Perfect. You know, in another life you could’ve been a party planner,” the other woman remarks, and Emma chuckles under her breath.

In another life, that’s what she wanted to do. But somehow, she found her niche in bail bonds, instead, enjoying the hunt a little more than she thought she would. Sure, it takes her away from home sometimes. She’s a member of multiple hotel preferred programs and top tier in all of them at this point.

There’s something about the chase that’s always thrilled her. It’s something new and exciting at every turn, and there’s something extra satisfying about catching people that otherwise thought they could slip away unnoticed from their bad deeds.

But thanks to her passion for details specifically at social gatherings, Emma easily plays co-host and makes sure to circulate once the guests start arriving.

She’s in the office hanging up Ruby’s coat when she turns and runs directly into someone. Someone that smells far too familiar, who feels familiar against where her hands are braced on his chest. Her stomach clenches for multiple reasons and she thinks about running, but something compels her to look up, to meet his eyes.

“Swan,” he whispers. His hand is on her waist from when they collided, and she can feel the warmth of his skin, longs for the way that hand has touched her with casual intimacy for so many years now.

“Killian.” Her voice is hoarse all of a sudden, and she swallows in order to continue, to say anything to him, to ask him why. “I can’t… I can’t do this,” she says instead, breaking away and exiting the room as quickly as she can.

-x-

He knew it wouldn’t be easy seeing her again, and had all hopes that he wouldn’t be met with hostility or hatred. Her sad confusion, however, may hurt even more. He doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He still replays last year over and over searching for the details that may unlock her radio silence for a whole bloody year but with how that night played out, he can only assume that what happened was a mistake to her.

Emma is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. No matter where she goes throughout the party, he can catch sight of her glowing and schmoozing. She’s a delight, a natural-born socialite without the reputation of one.

Multiple times, he finds her near. He doesn’t move when he notices her, too terrified of scaring her off. But sooner or later she realizes he’s close and swiftly finds herself a new task to attend to, thus leaving him lurking and definitely sulking in a corner.

Halfway through the event, he can’t take it anymore. It’s impossible being in proximity with Emma and not being able to talk to her and interact with her as he used to. Right after the party last year, he got called back to England. His brother, still living in London, had called to alert him of his father’s passing. The next year was an endless battle of selling off the old man’s house and possessions, and also celebrating the birth of Liam’s first child.

Since he was only able to come back for brief moments, Will had sublet his room in their apartment and Killian would stay at Granny’s when he would come back.

He was in town for Emma’s birthday, but he never saw her, never managed to text her, never heard from her…

Tonight? It’s obvious that what’s between them will never be fixed. Along with that, he fears his heart may never mend.

Christmas Party 2018

Emma was right - the finished basement is even better than she could’ve imagined. The difference between sitting down here this time and the first time is that she and Killian aren’t stuck. They’re just hiding out for a bit to escape the party. Around them are the remnants of a bottle of rum, a plate of cookies and chocolates, and way more cheesy potatoes than she meant to steal but she panicked.

“So what are we doing for New Years?” Emma asks as she leans back against the wall behind the bar. Now that the door to the upstairs doesn’t lock, they’ve taken to literally hiding from anyone that might find them. The bar is tall enough that someone would have to come around or lean over it to actually see them which works perfectly fine for her.

“Whatever your heart desires, love. As long as I get my cheeky kiss at midnight, you know I’m a happy man.”

She smiles, thinking of the previous year’s “cheeky kiss” which was truly a kiss on his cheek. There was no one she wanted to kiss at midnight, and Killian was standing next to her. And she couldn’t very well imagine another year without a New Years kiss so she grabbed his face and planted a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek above his beard. He’d worn that kiss the rest of the night.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your kiss,” she remarks, turning to do it again but doesn’t anticipate that he’s turning towards her as well, and instead kisses him directly on the lips.

It was probably out of surprise that they sat there for a few seconds like that, lips pressed together. And then he kisses her back. He tastes like rum and chocolate as his tongue slips out to taste her lips, and she can’t help but sigh into the kiss.

His lips feel like she always imagined they would. She’s been curious in the past but what they have is far too precious for her to mess up with sex, so she never made a move. But there have been lonely nights where she pretended that their snuggling during movies was more than platonic, that holding his hand was something real. She’s woken up to his arm around her more times than she can count but the dream always fades by the time he opens his eyes and brings her back to reality.

This, however, is unearthing every desire and wish she’d ever had for what the two of them could become. This is giving her a vivid picture of snowed-in nights and lazy Sunday mornings. Of interrupting Killian’s work at his little desk in the corner of his room to climb into his lap and do her best to distract him. Of making him breakfast at the loft and giving up in order to be pulled into his embrace and tightly held against him.

As if he can hear her thoughts and is making up for lost time, she feels Killian’s hand snake around her waist to pull her closer, until her legs are thrown over his lap and they’re as close as they can be without her straddling him. The food around them is forgotten; the bottle of rum - thankfully capped - knocked over in their haste.

It’s right when their hands start decidedly less innocent wandering that Emma thinks that they should maybe slow down, especially since they’re still in the basement and the party's still going on above their heads.

“Wait,” she says, her voice husky as her hand caresses his cheek. He pulls back, as if startled to find that it was her he was making out with the whole time. If she had to label the expression on his face, it would have to be named Panic, and she starts to wonder why that might be.

“There you are! What are you two doing down here?” David’s voice from over the bar startles them out of the moment entirely.

Killian scrambles to stand up. “Not a thing, mate. Enjoying your sister’s favorite dish in some peace and quiet.” He at least has the decency to hold out a hand to help her up, but when she’s on her feet he already feels like he’s a million miles away.

“Emma? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, forcing a smile and extracting her hand out of Killian’s and moving around the bar. “Need help with anything?”

David starts talking about wine and crackers and Emma moves on autopilot behind him, walking away from Killian and feeling her heart ice over as she does.

Nothing. It meant nothing to him, she thinks as they climb the stairs and move back to the party. So that’s what she would treat it as.

She doesn’t turn back to see Killian still bracing himself on the bar, his expression conflicted and longing.

Two days later, before she could figure out if things were going to go back to normal, she finds out Killian is gone. His few belongings are in the apartment storage and Will is subletting his room. She had dodged all his calls, but the fact that he left without a goodbye was telling enough.

And just like that, her best friendship and her heart were broken in the same instance.

Christmas Party 2019

He’s not even sure how long he’s been hidden away in the basement, only that he has no desire to make his way back to the party. Surely, there must be a way for him to sneak out without anyone noticing. It was a mistake to attend tonight.

With intent to do just that, to skulk out without catching attention, Killian moves to stand but promptly halts when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. He pushes himself closer to the bar to hide in the shadows, willing the intruder to leave as quickly as possible.

He keeps his head tucked down to avoid being noticed, so imagine his surprise when it’s Emma’s voice that reaches his ears.

“Just had to go and take our hiding spot,” she says quietly, and he lifts his head to see her standing at the opening of the bar, a plate of cookies in one hand, a bowl of cheesy potatoes in the other, and a beer tucked beneath her arm.

She walks a little closer, stopping at the end of the bar and placing down her bounty before sliding onto the last barstool.

Taking it as a cue that she’s not going to run from him, Killian stands and rummages in the small fridge for a beer of his own.

“Not running this time?” He asks as he cracks it open.

“I’m too tired,” she says, propping her head up with the hand not picking at the cookies.

He takes a step closer, grabbing her bottle and popping off the cap.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and hesitates just a moment more before she’s pushing her plate of cookies towards him.

They’re silent for a moment, the music just barely reaching their seclusion.

“You look beautiful tonight, Swan.”

There’s a hint of a smile, but she only dips her head in gratitude as she continues to graze.

“Listen, love. I still don’t know what’s happened between us, but I have been bloody miserable without you this last year. You add color to my life. Without you it’s been… so grey. So underwhelming. I miss you. Please - I’ll do whatever’s in my power to make things right again, but please let us be friends, at the very least.”

“I’m not nothing,” she responds after another moment. She’s looking him directly in the eyes this time and he sees a world of hurt and sadness there.

“What?”

“I’m not nothing. Never was. Never will be.”

“Of course you’re not nothing. Why would…”

And then he realizes it. Realizes exactly what he said at a most critical time between them.

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Emma, that’s not what I meant. You most definitely aren’t nothing. You’re everything. You were - still are! - my everything.”

“Then why did you get so defensive with David?”

“I didn’t want to scare you. I’d finally had you in my arms where I wanted you. I didn’t want you running off.” He winces, giving her a sheepish look. “Which you did anyway, but I promise, love. You misunderstood. I wanted you to have time to process. I didn’t want your brother in our business so soon after that moment.”

“Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you try calling me?”

“I did. Before I left. I wanted nothing more than to see you before I went to London. So when you ignored my calls, I figured it was best to leave it at that. It’s why I stayed away so long.”

“I thought you thought it was a mistake. That kissing me was a mistake,” she admits.

“That kiss was the best bloody idea either of us ever had. It’s everything that came after that should’ve never happened.”

-x-

Hearing Killian admit that kissing her was definitely not a mistake goes a long way in healing Emma’s heart. It’s what helps her ease off the stool and move closer to where he’s standing until she’s right in front of him.

“Not a mistake?”

“No,” he answers promptly.

“Neither of us will be running?”

“Nope.”

“Good,” Emma says, closing the final inches between them and kissing him softly.

At the wrecked noise he makes, she’s lost to it all. What starts as a soft, simple kiss quickly turns heady. Her hands end up along his face and into his hair while his hand is on her lower back, urging her closer.

“Did you drive?” Emma asks, her hand dropping down to his tie.

“Aye. And other than this beer I haven’t been drinking.”

“To my place?”

He doesn’t respond with words, instead bending to kiss her again before they come up with their plan to escape.

In the morning, Emma wakes up to Killian’s arm wrapped around her and everything finally feels like it’s back in place.

Christmas 2020

For the first time since Emma has lived in Storybrooke, the Nolan Christmas Party is cancelled.

Instead, everyone boots up their computers or phones, opting for facetime celebrations instead of in-person ones.

Cooped up in her tiny loft, Emma is just fine with this. A nice little spread of finger foods and cookies is on the coffee table, and Killian collapses next to her, already in his pajamas as she starts the call to David and Mary Margaret.

“Merry Christmas!” the other couple greets while baby Leo babbles happily in David’s lap.

“Happy Christmas,” Killian greets while Emma gives her own sentiments. She snuggles into his side as the call continues, feeling like she’s right where she’s meant to be.

And this time there’s no basement involved.

#cs fanfic #captain swan ff #cs ff au #cs secret santa 2020 #sarah writes ff

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artistic-writer · 4 years

Text

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: Chapter 6

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU.

AO3 - FF - Ko-Fi

A/N: I FOUND MY TAG LIST! But please let me know if you want to be added/removed as its a little out of date.

So, here is ch 6 (or ch 7 if you are on ao3) and i can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with this story. Even if i cannot reply, i read each and every tag, comment and smile when i get kudos. It’s been a time for this update, and I am so sorry for the delay. You know, life stuff. Prepare your emotions because this one is a rollercoaster - my lovely beta @hollyethecurious refers to it as ‘the big reveal’ - Enjoy!

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness@therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @shardminds @thisonesatellite

——————————————————————————————

Racing was fun until it wasn’t. Turning his greatest ability into his career had seen Killian well enough, but at what cost? His father was gone. His brother was gone. Racing had taken everything and everyone he had ever loved away from him, but he held no regret or resentment, because whilst he had sacrificed so much, he had also gained. Wisdom from riders much older than he was, always willing to offer guidance and support to the next generation. Experience from every country he had visited on the world circuit, each culture different from the next and offering him knowledge beyond his wildest childhood dreams.

And Emma.

Emma had turned up, out of nowhere like an angel. She knew the game, she knew the consequences, and somehow, she had known him. From their first touch, she had beguiled him and made a prisoner of his heart. Killian wasn’t sure if he believed in love at first sight before, but he was most certainly under the assumption that he did now. One night had shown him compassion, that there could be light at the end of the tunnel of darkness his life had become, and before the evening was over, he had been sure his heart could be healed.

It sounded cliché; that a man could fall in love with a woman simply by looking at her, but that’s how he felt. Emma was warmth, a wholesome goddess of a woman who had soothed his aching heart simply by scaling the barriers around it. Admittedly, they hadn’t been that high before, but after losing Liam, Killian was sure they would stop him from ever finding love. In a way, he was certain that he didn’t even deserve it.

“Why are you awake?” Emma whispered into his ear. She was tucked up behind him, arm slung heavily over his abdomen where her thumb busily stroked through the hairs on his stomach.

“I’m not, love,” Killian lied groggily.

Emma feigned her surprise with an audible gasp. “Who said that?”

As Killian laughed, Emma tightened her grip and pressed her smile to his shoulder blade, her plump, warm lips kissing him and making him shudder. She had felt the moment he’d woken up, his breathing changing to shorter, shallower breaths as opposed to the long, deep, light snoring she had been listening to. She’d waited, listening to the hitch in his throat that clearly indicated another bad dream, and when he hadn’t settled, she’d decided to let him know she was awake too.

“Why are you awake, love?” Killian asked softly, pulling her arm until she was flush against his back. He loosened his grip and dragged his fingers over her forearm creating invisible patterns on her skin before arching his neck to press his lips to the inside of her wrist. “You have a big day tomorrow,” he mumbled against her skin.

“You’re right, I do,” Emma agreed with a groan as she moved to roll away from him. He was reluctant to let her go, grunting a little when he felt her arm slip from his grasp. “But I can’t sleep.”

“Oh?” Killian was intrigued now and a little worried, so he rolled himself over so that they were facing each other, their faces nose to nose on opposite pillows. “Are you scared?” He teased, knowing full well she was just the opposite, something she agreed with by giving him an audible scoff.

“Maybe a little,” she relented quietly in the darkness.

“Hey,” Killian soothed, shuffling even closer to her and brushing the hair from her brow. He tucked it down behind her ear, enjoying the warmth of her skin on his fingertips and the feel of her ear lifting as she smiled. “You’re going to do great, you’re going to be the best, and everyone else is going to be so jealous of your ability to be better than them.”

Emma snorted a small giggle. “You don’t even know what my new job is,” she told him in a soft voice, her hand combing through the soft hairs on his chest that had now come within reach of her hungry fingers.

“Doesn’t matter,” Killian said confidently, his sex messed hair rubbing the pillowcase as he shook his head. “If you can do whatever it is half as well as you ride a bike, you need not worry.”

Emma was silent, her eyebrows moving in thought as she contemplated his words. Killian was right. She knew what she was doing, even if she and Killian hadn’t discussed the particulars of it in between all of their other, more enjoyable activities. The track was a big place, with a lot of moving parts, so he would at least know that they worked for the same company, and she figured that was all he needed to know in order to open his heart to her so readily. It wouldn’t be her dream job, but she’d never ride again. Neal had seen to that a long time ago, but Emma would be damned if she was going to let that cretin ruin her life now. Especially since the man who was currently bundling her up in his arms and pulling her atop his prone form would have something to say about it if he did.

“Sleep,” Killian ordered gently, rearranging the comforter so that neither of them would get too hot in the position they were in now. Emma stretched out over his body like a cat, a welcome weight covering his entire body and her legs tangling with his when he placed his hand over her spine to hold her in place. Killian pressed his lips to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin and inhaling her musky scent. “It won’t be long before you’re going to need to shower.”

Emma smirked, her lips brushing the super soft hairs on his chest where her head lay. “You’re going to need one too, hotshot,” she said coyly.

“Oh, I know,” Killian said smugly. “And I’m all about showering together to save the planet.”

“That’s good to know,” Emma added with a smirk. “I might sleep better knowing that every time I come around to hear you play the piano or to get fucked on your very expensive bike, which you owe me, by the way, I’ll be doing the planet a service by sharing a shower with you.”

Killian laughed and Emma’s whole body moved, rocking from side to side before he steadied her and encouraged her to tuck her head under his chin. Her hair caught on his stubble but she hardly noticed, the heat their naked bodies pressed together was generating too distracting.

“If I promise to fuck you on the ES1, will you promise to get some sleep?” Killian barely had the words out of his mouth before he was yawning, fingers lightly clawing over the skin near the base of her spine as he rode out the shiver that came along with it.

“I’d do anything for that,” Emma chuckled before opening her mouth wide for a yawn of her own.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head as her yawn overtook her. “Now you’ll have something to look forward to.”

Killian wrapped both arms around her as she laughed out the last of her yawn, holding her more tightly than he had all evening, never wanting to let her go. He knew the morning would be bittersweet when Emma had to leave, but they had already decided that they would see each other again. Killian just hoped that his heart wouldn’t miss her too much, and that his nightmares wouldn’t crawl their way back in without her there.

If Emma thought the night before would make it hard to forget about Killian Jones in a hurry, she hadn’t anticipated the next morning. She’d never been awoken by someone so eager to please her before. Killian had made sure she woke up slowly, gently caressing her body until it had responded before her brain, the soft smile of sexual excitement plastered across her face. His hands were hot but soothing, like the heat of the sun in winter, and he had worked her body into a frenzy with just his touch. By the time Emma had opened her eyes, she was achingly wet for him and he had obliged her whimper of discontent, hooked her thigh over his hips and slipped into her sodden folds just like he belonged.

The shower wasn’t bad either. She’d definitely be up for saving the planet again.

As hard as he had made it to leave, Emma wasn’t about to miss the first day of her new job. Honda was a big name, not only in the racing world, but all over the world, and Emma wasn’t about to ruin her chances at making the best impression she could by turning up late. If she thought the team name was a big hitter, she had no idea how expansive the Honda Team Headquarters site actually was. Vast didn’t even begin to describe the place that seemed to go on for miles and miles when Emma stepped out of her car, the sun in her eyes as it rose above the building in front of her.

Emma slipped the sunglasses she was wearing off her head and gave her hair a shake until it fell back into place. Propping them on her nose so that she could look into the light a bit easier, she tilted her head back, taking in the building in front of her. It was much larger than any team building she had seen before and just like every site so large, it was bustling with activity. Some people she recognized because she had met them before, most of them rubbing shoulders with her father or his company at one function or another, but by the way they hurried across the staff parking lot, she was assured they had no idea who she was.

Emma preferred it that way. Neal had sabotaged her career, but where one door closed, another soon opened and Emma was going to make sure this one stayed open for as long as possible. Emma Swan was a thing of the past, just another name on a long list of riders who never made it to the top, but Emma Nolan (surname check) was a force to be reckoned with. She had worked too hard for anyone to take it away now.

A young man Emma recognized held the door for her as she finally stepped inside the building. He was tall, a little lanky but with a boyish smile that had every woman in his path blushing. Will Scarlet was a damn good rider, maybe a little hot headed, but he got results and the team earned a lot of money in constructors titles because of him and Killian Jones. As she passed him, Emma gave him a small smile and felt his eyes lingering on her a little longer than entirely necessary.

"Thanks," Emma said quickly as she stepped into the lobby on team headquarters and the rest of her sentence was taken from her by the equally imposing inner sections of the building.

"You're welcome, love," Will offered earnestly. Emma smiled wider but only at the familiarity of his term of endearment. She took a second to wonder if he had picked it up from Killian or the other way round. "It looks scary in here, but it's really not," he assured her.

"Easy for you to say," Emma breathed, pulling her sunglasses off and finally seeing the whole lobby without a brownish tint.

"I threw up on my first day," Will told her, removing his pitch-black sunglasses and resting them on the peak of his team-branded cap.

"How do you know it's my first day?" Emma cocked an eyebrow at him and folded her arms over her chest. If he was flirting she would have to give him credit for trying, but would definitely mark him down for his lingering gaze.

"Other than the obvious, you look lost." Will flashed her a toothy grin but was met with an annoyed huff. "Alright, lass, let's see," he began, hand on his chin where his thumb and forefinger toyed with what minimal growth he had there. "Your shirt is new, but you haven't had time to iron out the fold lines yet. You don't have your name badge yet, because they give you that during orientation, so you haven't seen Robin yet, and your hands are tainted with a little bit of black, which means you have worked on a bike recently, maybe a car, but not here, because we have this crazy 'gloves only' approach to maintenance that you don't know about yet, because-"

"It's my first day," Emma finished, impressed with Will's ability to simultaneously be a world-class rider and a detective.

"Exactly," Will said gleefully. "If you need to throw up, the bathrooms are just down that hall on the left," he added, pointing out the route he was describing. "Otherwise, I wish you a pleasant first day, miss?"

He held out his hand and Emma looked down at it with scepticism. He gave her a cheeky grin before retracting his hand and disguising his rejection by rearranging the peak of his cap, laughing a little to himself.

“Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said with a smirk. “I’m Will, by the way,” he added, genuine respect gracing his features.

Emma gave him a lopsided smile and was about to answer with a witty comeback when a man appeared at her side. He was a tiny bit taller than Will from what Emma could see but was dressed a lot smarter than either of them. His pristinely ironed team shirt was a bright white, his name, Robin, embroidered over the ‘HRC’ team logo on his left breast pocket. It was tucked into his equally perfect slacks which were fastened with a matte black belt and Emma noticed they were both wearing black steel toe capped boots, obviously for both their safety considering the nature of the work they did.

“Will Scarlet, leave this woman alone,” Robin said in an exasperated tone.

“It’s okay,” Emma said sweetly, turning to Robin and flashing him a smile. “Mr. Scarlet was helping me find my way, right, Will?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Will grinned.

“Yes, well, I don’t want to hear you were helping Miss Nolan here with anything other than directions, do I make myself clear?” Robin was hard faced as he stared Will down, making the man before him shrink a little. “You know the policy.”

“Yes, Mr. Locksley,” Will nodded in agreement and Emma gave him a sympathetic sideways glance.

“Now, If I’m not mistaken, you have somewhere to be.” It wasn’t a question, or order as such, but from his tone alone Emma knew that Robin Locksley was in charge, and meant business.

She knew his name. Everybody knew his name. Before becoming the team manager for the Honda Racing team, Robin Locksley had an impressive race background, including several championship titles throughout his career. He was older than Emma but probably not as old as her father, with a sun-weathered face that spoke to years on a hot tarmac race track, and made him look older than he really was. Just like her father, Locksley commanded respect, and Emma could tell by the way Will Scarlet scuttled off that Robin had it.

Emma couldn’t see by looking at him, but she knew Locksley had retired from racing after a particularly nasty accident that saw him high side his handlebars and land directly on his shoulder. Leathers were good at protecting most of the fleshy bits of the body, but under his own weight, at speed, Locksley had crushed the ball joint of his shoulder and torn a ton of ligaments to boot. An accident like that could only mean retirement, but not before months, if not years, of physical therapy and surgery after surgery. There were not many riders who would even attempt to race after that sort of life changing injury, and just like Emma, Locksley had pursued the closest thing to racing he could.

“Emma,” Locksley said with a warmer tone that he had used on Will. He sidestepped in front of her and extended his hand, his mouth ticking up at the corners into a thin lipped smile. “I’m Mr. Locksley, but you can call me Robin.”

“Nice to meet you, Robin,” Emma said with a smile, taking his hand and shaking it twice.

“Did Will bother you?” Robin pried, licking his lips and hardening his face back to boss mode.

“No,” Emma shook her head. “He really was just giving me directions.”

Robin raised his eyebrows in and made a sound of surprise in his throat. “Well, okay then, follow me.”

He set off, and moved quickly through the lobby of the headquarters, flashing a smile to the receptionist and anyone else who caught his eye. Emma hurried after him. He knew everyone or at least made it a point to say hello, and Emma knew she was already going to like him. Robin was in charge, there was no doubt about that, but it was also clear that everybody loved him.

“I’m afraid today is going to be very boring,” Robin called out behind him as he navigated the corridors of people. “A lot of admin, HR stuff, you know.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed, barely keeping up with him.

“I’ll take you on a tour, see the facilities we have here.” Robin stopped, turned and gave her a knowing smirk. “I know you’ve already made use of the track.”

Emma paled. “I hope that was okay, I didn’t mean-.”

“Of course!” Robin laughed, interrupting her. “As soon as you get a job with Honda, whether the boring bits are done or not, you are part of the family.” He smiled at her, beckoning her with a nudge of his head. “Come on, let’s get you to Ruby.”

Ruby Lucas was, perhaps, the most beautiful woman Emma had ever seen. She was tall, her mile-high legs as finely shaped as the blood-red lipstick covering her lips, and her dark coloured hair flashed with streaks of claret that made Emma wonder if Ruby was her given name or a more recent addition. There wasn’t a blemish on any part of her that Emma could see, and the way male colleagues were easily distracted by her mere presence gave her a cocky confidence that Emma recognised from every single person she had ever met in racing.

Emma wondered if Ruby Lucas had ever been any closer to a motorcycle race track than as the administration for the team. Certainly, she had the character for it. Motorcycle racing was one of the only sports in the world where men and women were considered equals on the race track, so Emma could think of no reason why Ruby wouldn’t have once been a racer at some point, but the slight limp in Ruby’s step spoke volumes as to why she now wasn’t. It was so subtle that most people would not have noticed, but Emma could tell by the timing of her steps as her heels clicked against the floor that Ruby had, at some point, fallen from the pinnacle of her own career, and just like Emma now, couldn’t venture too far from the sound of an engine.

“Miss Swan?” Ruby smiled, extending her arm and offering Emma her hand. Emma nodded and shook Ruby’s hand with a nervous smile. “Great,” Ruby grinned. “Welcome to the team.”

Killian walked into the garage with a smile for the first time since Liam had passed away. He had finally slept for longer than a few hours, miraculously, and it was all because of Emma. She had the ability to see inside of him, to reach the man who he was before and to help him break the surface of his sorrow, something he hadn’t thought possible. When Liam died, so had a part of Killian, and he never thought he would revive it, but he had. Emma had.

As he daydreamed his way across the smooth screed floor of the garage, the smell of gasoline and oil filled his nostrils, but it was tainted with a cleanliness that showed the importance of the team he worked for. A team mechanic wasn’t just some grease monkey with dirty hands, oil-stained clothes and a beer belly, but instead was a white gloved magic wielding maker of dreams. The bikes wouldn’t run without a mechanic, and the drivers worked closely with them, constantly tweaking and improving on an already very capable factory bike.

Everybody knew that a factory bike was there to be improved but the very best riders knew just how to squeeze every last drop of power out of the machine between their legs. It wasn’t about power; it was the combination of perfect timing and understanding how the bike worked that made riders win. Initiative played an important part too, and teams observed every race, ready to snap up the brightest minds at the end of the season. Killian and Will had made such a great team that they had declined every offer posed to them since signing with Honda, and as a result, they had an excellent working relationship with their mechanics.

Liam had been the head mechanic on their team, and the position had yet to be filled. Killian knew that the team had been holding off on hiring out of respect to him, and he appreciated it, but he knew they couldn’t halt it forever. Even if they hired internally, which they probably would, promoting one of the secondary mechanics, they would have to advertise it externally out of fairness, but Killian knew that there was no one as good as the team Liam had painstakingly compiled and trained himself.

Belle French was a second generation mechanic, having followed in the footsteps of her father to become a specialist in her own right. She had travelled the world with many teams before settling with the Jones-Scarlet duo she currently worked with. Her main charge was Will and it was her duty to make sure his bike was exactly how he needed it to be to perform to the best of his ability. She had answered only to Liam, as much as the cocky young rider she worked with liked to think otherwise, and both Killian and Will figured she would be first in line for the promotion since she had stepped up to be Killian’s mechanic too. In reality, Belle didn’t want the job, and neither did any of the other mechanics.

Killian knew the shoes Honda were expecting to fill were larger than anyone capable, but the season was about to pick back up again, so they needed to find someone quick.

“About time!” Will yelled across the garage as Killian approached. His voice echoed off the pristine white walls as he looked up from tinkering with one of his bikes and frowned. “You’re smiling,” Will said slowly with a narrowed stare. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m happy,” Killian shrugged, the words leaving his mouth before he even realised it.

Will was taken aback and blinked in disbelief. “I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t quite hear you. Did you say you were happy?”

Killian stopped just short of his friend and inhaled, taking the longest breath and assessing his emotions. He wasn’t sure there was a word to describe how Emma made him feel, at least not one he was aware of, but what he was sure of was that he was happy and his grin couldn't hide it. “I did,” he affirmed with a nod.

Will blew out a breath not knowing how to respond to the shock of his team mate’s revelation. He was one of the only people he knew who had seen Killian at both his peak and at the lowest point in his life, so he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to see Killian happy. He didn’t need to know why his friend was happy; knowing that Killian was was enough for him. It would mean lots of things but most prominently it would mean that Killian would be ready to race, and ready to take on their biggest competition; Neal Cassidy.

“Well, I’m sorry to take the jam out of your doughnut,” Will began with a grunt of annoyance. “But Cassidy’s been shouting his mouth off to the media again.”

“What’s he saying now?” Killian sighed, his smile fading as he watched Will pull the white latex gloves off of his hands with a snapping sound before tossing them into a nearby trash can.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Will shrugged. “He’s going to win this season, blah blah.” Will smirked when Killian met his gaze. “Apparently, this is going to be his year.”

“Oh,” Killian added, fake surprise lacing his words. “This year is the year, huh?”

“Yeah,” Will agreed but his smile quickly faded and he averted his gaze to the floor. Like a scolded child, he scuffed his immaculate boot across the pristine floor in front of him. “And,” he began, extending the syllable nervously.

“And?” Killian prompted.

“Nah, it doesn’t matter.” Will quickly decided with a shake of his head. “Did you see the new-”

“Wait,” Killian snapped, halting his friend with a wave of his hand. “Go back. What exactly did Cassidy say?”

Will’s cheeks were tinted with pink and he cleared his throat before he continued. “He was just showboating, playing to the journalists, you know what an utter bastard he is.”

Killian’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he reached up to rub at the patch of skin behind his ear a little more aggressively than normal. He knew Neal Cassidy was a cretin, the lowest of the low, a media hog who liked to shout his mouth off at every chance he could get. Killian knew Will was trying to protect him from something, and given the recent events in his life, and Cassidy’s proclivity for being an all around wanker, it wasn’t hard to determine Liam had been the subject of the media circus.

“Just let it go, mate,” Will said softly, interrupting Killian’s rage and easing it away with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it anyway.”

Killian nodded in agreement, letting the tension out of him with a sigh. He wasn’t about to sink down to Cassidy’s level and bad mouth the man in the pits, putting both his career and the reputation of his team on the line. He had no need. Neal Cassidy did that quite well all by himself, and Killian would enjoy taking his ego down a peg or two by simply taking the title at the end of the season, but right now Killian wanted to just be. Easing back into the race season would undoubtedly be the most normal he had felt for a long time.

“So, what’re you working on?” Killian asked his teammate, half to break up the bubbling rage inside of him and half to distract himself from calling Cassidy and acting on it.

“Oh!” Will exclaimed excitedly. “So glad you asked.”

He spun around and made his way back towards the propped up motorbike with an excited skip in his step. Their bikes were the same, on the outside, and Will was eager to show off the skills of his mechanic, Belle. Will could prattle on for hours about the lass, and the way his face lit up as he told Killian about how she had tweaked this and that to shave seconds off his lap times, reminded him of the effect Emma had on him. She could talk about anything and Killian would listen with as much rapture as Will held for Belle, but there were of course, as Will had assured him multiple times, no feelings involved.

Yeah, alright.

Killian was lost to his little daydream about Emma and the way she looked when she had been asleep in his arms the night before. He could still feel the warmth of her skin on his palms, the way his long, lithe pianist fingers held her tight as she straddled his lap and took her pleasure, hair sticky with her feminine sweat he swore he could still smell every time he inhaled. And the way Emma tasted was insane. Her skin tasted like it smelled, a floral peony and vanilla musk that seemed to get even more concentrate the harder Killian worked her with his tongue. And boy had he worked her.

“Oi! Mate!” Will yelled through grease ingrained hands that cupped around his mouth. “Are you even listening?”

“Aye,” Killian offered slowly. “No,” he added and Will frowned at his antics. “Maybe?”

“Well, which is it?” Will prodded, folding his arms over his chest, one hand tucked under his armpit whilst the long and often broken fingers on his other gripped the bugle of his bicep.

Killian shifted his weight, rocking up onto the balls on his feet and one hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Will, I need to talk to you about something,” he began. “And I want you to-”

“Oh shit, are you changing teams?” Will babbled, panicked.

Killian shook his head quickly. “No, wait, why would you think that?”

Will lifted his shoulders in an over exaggerated shrug. “I mean, Liam was our team mechanic, it stands to reason you would want to be shot of this place, a lingering reminder and all.”

There was a stillness after Will’s words that Killian couldn’t find the energy to interrupt. Every time someone mentioned his brother, or unwittingly reminded him that they would never work together again, just served to dig up the ghost of guilt he thought he had squashed down.

“I’m not changing teams,” Killian assured Will, who audibly sighed in relief. “I think I’m seeing someone.”

Will frowned. “You think?”

“Well,-” Killian began, extending out the syllable but Will interrupted him quicker than he had begun talking.

“Like, a woman or a hallucination?” Will was certain of his words, markedly concerned for his friend. Killian had been through enough for him to have encountered a mental breakdown, holding in rage and self depreciation over Liam’s death for a while now, and Will had no mockery behind his words, just simply worry.

“Wh-what’s wrong with you?” Killian retorted with a deadpan stare of actual concern for his teammate. “Do you wear your helmet too tight?”

“I’m just trying to get all the correct information,” Will scoffed.

“And why would I talk to you if I were seeing things?” Killian teased, a wry smirk playing his lips.

“Uh, because we are mates?” Will looked hurt and it boosted Killian’s mood a little bit when he realized he hadn’t yet been discovered in his ruse.

“Are we though?” He ribbed Will again, hoping the younger man would realise. “Was that a clause in the contract?” Killian teased with a snigger, the snorted laugh finally giving him away.

“Fuck you,” Will laughed, giving Killian’s shoulder a shove. When his friend laughed, a genuine belly rumbling cackle Will had missed, he smiled. “So, why do you think you are seeing this person?”

“What do you mean?” Killian asked dumbly.

“Well, you are or you aren’t, mate,” Will shrugged. “What does she think?”

"She's a keeper," Killian said, his boyish smile reminiscent of a love-struck teen telling all about his first love.

"That's brilliant, mate, really happy for you.” Will nodded at Killian who just gave him a small nod of thanks. “So, does she have a name or…"

Killian was about to speak when the rest of the team suddenly funnelled into the spacious garage, voices hushed as they whispered about the purpose of such a sudden meeting. Killian frowned and shot his teammate a questioning glance that was just replied with a lazy shrug that made him already not care what the interruption was regarding. Belle found them both and beckoned them closer with a crooked finger, both Killian and Will leaning far too close to her than was entirely necessary.

“The new mechanic is here,” Belle whispered.

“Have you met him yet?” Will asked eagerly.

“Not yet,” Belle admitted, shooting a glance between the two men. “Have you?”

“No,” Will shook his head. “Neither has Killian.”

Killian grunted in disgust, his mood instantly soured by Belle’s words. “I’m not exactly thrilled to get to know him either.” Belle and Will were silent. “I’ll do my job, and do as I’m told, but that’s it. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the new guy.”

“Bit harsh, mate,” Will offered tentatively in defence of someone he had never met. “The guy will just be doing his job.”

“Aye, and as long as that’s all he does, we won’t have a problem.” Killian ground his jaw. “We all know what happens when we mix business and pleasure,” he began angrily. “People die.”

Will and Bell shared a glance. Their hearts broke for their friend, who was clearly still dealing with the emotions of losing his brother whilst having to return to work and watch a new team member try and push his way into their lives. Killian needed more time. He clearly still blamed himself for Liam’s death and both knew he would probably do so for a long time, and neither was sure the whole experience hadn’t changed him forever. It hadn’t been Killian’s fault Liam was his teammate, it’s just the cards they were dealt in the racing world, but the whole situation had soured Killian’s outlook on getting so close to another person at work if he didn’t have to. What was the point anyway? He’d probably change teams or retire before they could form any real friendship anyway, so best leave it at the door and keep their relationship strictly professional.

"Alright, listen up!" Robin's voice bellowed off the walls, and Killian cast a sideways glance towards their esteem leader whilst ignoring the way Will patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

Apparently, the team had picked a new head mechanic after carefully sifting through application after application from all over the world. Who wouldn't want to work for one of the biggest race teams in the world? The room still vibrated with hushed what-ifs when the sound of Robin clapping shook everyone from their chatter. All eyes were on him in an instant and to demand even more respect, Robin stood with his arms folded over his chest, eyes darting between the last few stragglers who couldn't hold their tongue. Finally, with a deep breath, he continued.

"Now, some of you may be aware that Honda has hired a new head mechanic." He paused, gauging the room. "This means that some of you will be working with a new face."

Killian knew Robin's words were directed at him. Will had Belle, and before his death, he had Liam. They were the perfect team and Killian had no interest in forming any sort of bond with Liam’s replacement. The mechanic would be a work colleague, and that was it. No invites to barbecues, no socializing outside of the work, and most definitely no track day races. That was if this new mechanic even knew how to ride a bike. The sport had seen a surge in mechanics who knew everything there was to know about a superbike, except how to ride one, except on paper, and Killian didn’t trust these people one bit. How were they supposed to feel what the bike was trying to tell them?

A scoff disguised in a cough left his mouth and as Robin carried on with his introduction, Killian slipped off to the side behind Will and busied himself looking over the bike they had been previously looking at. It wasn’t nearly distracting enough though, his ears perking up as Robin spoke behind him, his fingers idly tracing over the handlebar grip throttle in an attempt to seem busy.

“I know this is not what some of you want,” Robin boomed across the crowd. Again, directed at Killian. “But this has to happen for the team if we are to have any chance of winning the Championship rider and team trophies this year.”

Killian cast a glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Robin for a second to let him know he was listening but to also tell him not to expect too much from him. He would ride, as he always did, and he would most likely beat Cassidy to the Championship, again, but he was steadfast in the idea that he could do all of these things and maintain the minimum interactions required in line with the terms of his contract.

“So, without further ado, may I introduce to you your new Head of Mechanics and Engineering, Emma Nolan.”

The sound of applause filled the garage and Killian’s head snapped up just in time to see Emma - his Emma - walking through the white door to stand at Robin’s side. He couldn’t breathe. All of the air left his lungs and he forgot how to inhale again, his face turning the whitest shade as it drained of all blood, and he dropped the wrench he had been holding. It clattered to the floor at his feet but the sound was lost in the monotony of bravos. He was glad the clapping was so loud because it drowned out the sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces. Stood in front of the whole team, in front of him, was the woman who had promised him she would chase away his demons, hold him at night whilst he slept, and someone he had dreamed of starting a family with, but she wasn’t just his Emma anymore; She was Emma Nolan, Head of Mechanics and Engineering at Team Honda.

Scanning the crowd Emma caught Killian’s eye. He was way back in the rabble of people who had congregated in the garage space to meet her, but his face was completely ashen and so void of colour his lips were nearly blue. Her smile faded away as soon as she caught sight of him, the slight shake of his head and quiver in his bottom lip betrayed his emotions as he turned and walked out of the garage through a rear exit. Emma gulped, her heart sinking like a stone and the pit of her stomach exponentially deepening into a void that seemingly had no end. She felt sick but forced a smile back onto her face so that she could keep up the facade of happiness in front of the team.

In reality, she had been selfish enough to keep her new job role from Killian once she had got to know him and seen how fragile he actually was. She had never suffered a loss as he had before. Sure, her mother had passed away but it was expected, and even her uncle’s death hadn’t affected her as much as she thought it would. She had seen how losing someone so horrifically had broken her father, and her eyelids stung with tears because, without any malicious intention, she had given Killian Jones hope with one hand only to snatch it from his grasp with the other.

“Welcome aboard,” Robin said gleefully, grabbing Emma’s hand to shake and ripping her from her tumultuous musings. “You’re going to be perfect for this team, I can tell everyone loves you already,” he added with a grin before slipping his hand from her and patting her on the shoulder.

Emma simply nodded with a forced smile. “Not everyone,” she muttered to herself.

#sparking the pavement #stp #ch 6 #cs au #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs ff #moto gp au #killian jones #emma swan

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ohmightydevviepuu · 5 years

Text

hello love (a silent kiss from a wish) / CS January Joy

part one of two for the @csjanuaryjoy AO3

When Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

She just--she wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay. And that they would all live, happily ever after.

thanks to @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @optomisticgirl for encouragement and love.

special birthday shoutout to @distant-rose <3 <3 <3

(i would like to note that @optomisticgirl’s epic “Days of Future’s Past” inspired part of this story) (you should read it)

@shireness-says @shardminds @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @carpedzem @jonirobinson64 @spartanguard (for science)

part two will post on 24 january!

the time-slip is a classic and i would be remiss if i did not point other other gems (that i am aware of) in this fandom: a seed of hope by @unfolded73 in time by @justanotherwannabeclassic i jumped across from you (oh what a thing to do) by @bemusedbicycle

this story was inspired by an old sailor moon fic called quirks by vievre (on FF dot net)

one.

Emma Swan was freezing.

She had never, in her entire life, known it was possible to be this cold. She thought she’d understood cold--had endured cold, had survived cold, living on the streets in Minnesota in the winter, camping out in the backseat of her unheated Beetle in Boston, shivering in a jail cell in Phoenix.

She’d been wrong.

“If I could just--lay down for a minute,” she panted, letting Elsa help her to the ground.

“Emma,” Elsa said. “Emma--talk to me. Tell me more.”

Emma wasn’t sure if she was going to survive this. She heard her father’s voice on the other side of the ice wall and knew that he would be disappointed in her. She tried to imagine him saying something supportive and ridiculous and cheerful and exhorting her to have hope, but she--she couldn’t. Hope had vanished at least 20 degrees ago.

Emma was too damn cold for hope.

“Parents don’t always help,” Elsa murmured, but Emma was having difficulty following the conversation from one end to the other. She could hear the static squelching on the walkie from the other side of the ice wall and knew that David Nolan was doing everything in his power to get her out of here. And Hook--

“That has to be very lonely,” Emma said, but the movement of her lips did little to help her stay warm.

Emma wasn’t going to think about Hook, about how she’d refused to let him break down her walls--metaphorically speaking--and how she was now trapped behind a literal wall, made of ice, and wasn’t that one hell of a metaphor?

But she knew that he was probably trying just as hard to break that one down, too. She tried to imagine the pair of them, the prince and the pirate, just to make herself laugh, to move her muscles, but it was cold--too cold for anything to be funny.

“Were you born with magic, or cursed?”

She’d seen some weird shit in her life, and even weirder shit in the year and change she’d lived in Storybrooke. She’d eaten chimera and killed a dragon and led a mutiny of Lost Boys. She’d seen a flying monkey in New York City. But when Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

Fear of loss--because, for the first time in her life, she had something to lose.

Her parents, her family. Henry. Hook.

“I’m very sorry I trapped us here,” Elsa said. “I didn’t mean it.”

Emma knew that, she did--she just wished that she knew everything was going to turn out all right.

That they were all going to live, happily ever after.

She was barely conscious and did not see the glow of the wishing star in the ice underneath her.

two.

He came awake all at once.

Two hundred years shipboard made a man a very light sleeper, and in the years since, Killian Jones had been content to be awakened most mornings by the movements of his still-drowsing wife. She would breathe against his skin, tickling him. He would feel her lips against his back in light butterfly kisses along his spine or her fingers as she traced the designs inked into his arm. He would feel the gentle pressure of her body as she pulled herself closer to him, and hear her whisper: “For heat.” And then he would nod, allowing her the simple fiction and enjoying the way she fit perfectly against him as he watched the sun rise through the filmy curtains of their east-facing bedroom.

He was unaccustomed to the sight that greeted him on this morning, however. He was cold and stiff--”Getting old, babe,” she would say, giggling--and when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a portable heating device on the floor of the Charmings’ old loft.

The loft that no one in their family had occupied for years.

It came to him in phases: the awkwardness of sitting on the floor; the pain in his shoulder and neck; his arm, oddly positioned behind him and over his shoulder. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something-- someone --was holding his arm in place.

Instinctively, Killian twisted--he needed to check, he needed--

When he tried to pull his hand from her grasp, she turned, though she didn’t wake. Emma Swan was curled up on the old too-small couch in the old too-small family loft, his old greatcoat pulled up to her chin and his hand wrapped tightly in hers.

He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Neither was she.

three.

Killian examined himself in the mirror.

He was wearing one of his linen blouses and a pair of leather trousers, his waistcoat discarded on the wash basin. The boots lined up next to the couch had pointed toes instead of rounded and buckles instead of zippers. Though he always protested to his wife that he still ‘retained his youthful glow’, the reflection that greeted him was younger, and harder, and Killian suddenly missed the laugh lines and crow’s feet he had begun to accumulate.

With a sigh, Killian pulled his shirt up by the hem, already suspecting what he was going to see. His skin was largely unblemished, except for his tattoos; the scar he carried from Excalibur was missing. He had not yet been wounded. Killed.

He had not yet asked--begged, pleaded--she had not yet--

Killian closed his eyes and for an instant, he could feel his wife’s fingers tracing the pale silver line in the dark, the way she did on the nights where it still, sometimes, all felt like too much, when one or both of them was restless, when the only thing that kept the darkness at bay was the light they created together. He exhaled, scrubbing his hand down his face.

The sliding door separating the washroom from the living area still stuck--of course it did, he reminded himself, no one had ever bothered to fix it--but he maneuvered it gently, hoping not to wake anyone, least of all the baby. The cot was in its old spot by the alcove and if he had to postulate, his brother-in-law was--at most--three or four weeks old and still well into his screaming phase.

Killian would bet gold doubloons on unloaded dice that there was sleeping Arendellian royalty in the bed at the top of the ladder.

Which meant that the Emma Swan curled up on the couch, under his coat, was not his wife.

He examined her, taking in the gold of her hair in the early morning sunlight, and saw that the strands of silver that had begun to twine around the gold were missing. She appeared to be relaxed--he doubted anyone else would notice--but his Emma slept with complete abandon, and Killian could see that even in repose, in her family’s loft, this Emma was on her guard.

He wanted to touch her. His fingers practically itched. He wanted to smooth away the worry line on her forehead, to run his palm across her cheek, to wind his fingers into her hair. But this Emma still had walls that were miles high, and would not welcome his touch or his breaching of her carefully-constructed boundaries, no matter that he had, once upon a time, literally attempted to tear down a wall between them. He had bruised his shoulders, had blunted his hook on the solid ice and been rewarded with the feeling of the weight of her in his arms for the first time.

And when he’d carried her back to the loft, wrapped in his coat, she’d pulled his hand into both of hers and didn’t let go, clasping and unclasping their fingers, tracing the metal of his rings. He remembered it, they way her hand had felt, small and cold; the way her eyes had softened when she wouldn’t let him leave.

That was last night, unless he missed his guess, and just as he had the realization, she opened her eyes.

Emma startled very slightly--another thing that his Emma had not done in years--and relaxed infinitesimally as she saw him. “Hook,” she said, and smiled. Her eyes were sleepy but crinkled at the corners as she met his gaze; she laughed at him every time, but Killian always swore that the morning sun made them glitter a particularly vibrant shade of green.

And that’s when his breath caught, in that moment, when all he saw was the woman he had married. His True Love. (“Capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’,” she always said, as if he could possibly forget.)

“Good morning, Swan,” he said, kneeling to put their eyes at a level. He tried, and failed, to hold back, restricting himself to brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “Have you warmed up at all?”

four.

The shower at Granny’s was worse than he remembered.

Killian wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the water, or the fact that he missed Emma’s open shampoo bottles and the scent of her around him while he bathed. Maybe it was that the shower in their home was big enough for both of them, a circumstance they frequently took advantage of. Killian reached for his old black dressing gown that was still brand new in this time, and had not been appropriated by his wife. He stepped out of the bathroom, thumbing the scar on his abdomen that wasn’t there, and took in the room: the corners of the sheet tucked in with military precision, the hand-drawn map of Storybrooke tacked to the wall, his books stacked precisely on the wooden desk in the corner.

It was clean. None of the photographs Snow had started gifting them, which multiplied on what felt like a weekly basis, cluttering every surface. None of the detritus his Emma left in her wake wherever she went. When he’d walked through the door and didn’t immediately trip over Emma’s boots, which she would leave wherever she happened to take them off, it felt wrong.

She’d sent him “home”, and that felt wrong, too, but Killian knew there would be no changing her mind and no reason for her to think any other way. Especially not when she’d allowed his touch and then immediately pulled back into herself. Emma had merely thanked him for spending the night, shooing him out the door, and he had gone.

“I’ve slept in far worse places for less worthy reasons, love,” he’d said, conscious of Snow--of Mary Margaret--and David trying not to watch them from their alcove. They were destined to be forever watched, always interrupted, and they’d long ago given up changing the locks. “Far be it for me to deny a beautiful woman such a simple request.”

He’d been there for her, and she’d allowed it, and he had never forgotten how that felt.

But now, in the Spartan room he’d once maintained as his own, there was much else to consider. This wasn’t time travel, nor was it another reality--two things he, unfortunately, had practical experience with. He had not gone through a portal, or been transported by other magical means. It did not match Emma’s and Regina’s descriptions of waking up in the Wish world, or being sent through the looking-glass.

To his best approximation, he had merely woken up in the body of his younger self, on a day that he had already lived.

That left him with two questions: why?

And--perhaps more importantly--where was the Killian Jones that had been meant to live this day?

five.

The bed was warm, and it was that as much as anything that alerted his senses and pulled him fully and completely awake. The bed was warm, and strange, and there was filtered sunlight coming in through flimsy window coverings. He was wearing neither hook nor brace--nor shirt--and he wasn’t alone.

Hook lay sprawled on his stomach, and there was on his back the weight of another person, their arm draped across his neck and a cheek against his shoulder. He tried to remember the last time he had woken up with someone in his bed in the daylight, and when he lost count of the years, he rolled over onto his back.

Emma Swan followed his movement, mumbling to herself as she re-settled her head on his chest, and Hook froze.

Bad joke, that, he thought to himself, when he had just last evening been surrounded by literal miles of ice--when Swan had nearly frozen to death in a spell gone awry.

She was anything but cold at the moment, her breath tickling his skin. Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in some kind of knot, and he had a delicious view of the skin at the back of her neck and the silver chain she wore. They were tangled together in a web of soft sheets and he could feel, from where she pressed against him, that she wore little or nothing beneath her sleeping shirt.

He didn’t belong here.

Though he had often fantasized about what he and Emma Swan could do, should they ever find themselves in bed together, her present reaction to this manner of company would likely end poorly. Emma Swan had carefully constructed boundaries, and this was a violation of all of them.

He didn’t belong here, and Hook knew this couldn’t be a dream. It was too real; he could feel the weight of her against him, and the softness of the mattress under him, and the warmth of the sunlight against his skin. There had been no portal that he was aware of, no other means of magical transport. He did not know what else it could be, other than a curse, and though he would happily kiss her--

Hook exhaled a laugh through his nostrils.

His previous attempts at curse-breaking had not been successful. He would rather enjoy this feeling for a few minutes longer than endure another knee in the groin for his efforts.

But.

He had thought of her, every day of the year that they had been apart, and dreamed of her every night, and this was--

He remembered carrying Emma back into her parents’ loft last night, under the worried and watchful eyes of her family, and of Elsa. He had been easily persuaded to stay, just by the look in her eyes that told him she needed him. Hook knew she couldn’t verbalize it, not yet, but she needed him, and he could be there for her.

And now, Hook found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, with a very familiar yet unfamiliar woman pulling him closer with every breath she took.

Her hand moved, and he saw it: the slender silver band around the fourth finger of her right hand as she absent-mindedly traced the tattoo along his collarbone. Hook watched her, mesmerized by her obvious familiarity with the intricate design, the way the light reflected on the ring, and he noticed something else.

He wore one, too.

six.

Killian stood in his rented room, letting the weight of his greatcoat settle on his shoulders, and realized there was another question he needed to account for.

What now?

Zelena was clearly not an option in this time. Regina was still avoiding as much of the Charming clan as she could as often as she could rationalize it. The crocodile was, for obvious reasons, out of the question. Mary Margaret and David would undoubtedly panic, and then work to convince him that his discarded solutions were viable possibilities, and all of these years later he still stayed away from the convent and its inhabitants whenever possible.

They had forgiven him, but he still had not. Killian felt a pang as he thought of all of the ways he could attempt to change what was about to happen, and the chain of events that would follow. Few knew better than Killian Jones the cost of meddling with the past, however. And there was too much that would be put at risk if he even tried.

But--in the meantime--what if he just enjoyed this quiet moment, and spent a day with Emma Swan? He was turning the key in the lock and on his way down to the diner before he even completed the thought.

“Good morning, Captain.” Granny Lucas greeted him with an appreciative grin, and Killian could not help but smile back as he ordered his coffee.

“Coffee?” Granny’s eyebrows quirked upward. “Finally starting to rub off on you, are we?”

“You know that you can...rub…wherever you wish, Mrs. Lucas,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in the way that she liked.

She flicked her towel at him. “You watch yourself, boy,” she said, the way that she always did, before turning to pour out a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” she said.

“Ah,” he said, caught off-guard. Emma drank coffee, Emma and Dave, who made a pot every day at the station, and he had first gotten into the habit of bringing her a morning fix in the weeks after she had restored his heart to his body. “Black,” he said.

Before that, he had drunk tea.

He checked his phone for the time while he waited for Granny to hand the cup over, and looked up to see her watching him. “Sheriff won’t be here for a few minutes yet,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed.

“You doing okay with that thing?” she asked, gesturing at the device.

Killian ran his finger over the keypad, hovering over the ‘Emma’ button. He shrugged. “Needs must, and all of that,” he said. “Have a hot chocolate ready?”

Granny smiled. “Sure,” she agreed, watching him take a sip. “You know I’m rooting for you two.”

Killian nearly spat out his coffee before turning to face her, one eyebrow raised.

The bell over the door rang and Granny gave him a wink. He put his mug down. “Faint heart never won fair lady,” she said, handing him a cup of cocoa doused in whipped cream.

He turned back toward the door. When Emma spotted him, their eyes met for a moment before she relaxed into a small smile and gave him a little wave, pointing to a booth. Their booth. The one where they ate breakfast every weekend, had family dinner at least once per week, afternoon coffee breaks after quickies in the restroom and the time he had persuaded Ruby and Dorothy to close early, commandeering the old jukebox and dancing with her in the middle of the diner.

Killian waited for her to sit before handing her the mug, careful not to spill, and mindful of the way her hands immediately encircled it and how she touched her pulse points against the heat of the beverage for warmth. “Still cold, love?” he said, wishing he could pull her hands into his, rub his own thumb across her wrist, trace the five-petaled flower tattoo with his finger.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. She gave him another small smile and a shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Only mostly dead, then?” Killian smiled at her, affecting a calm he knew his other self had not felt.

Emma paused mid-sip and looked out the window. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t go through my clothes, looking for loose change.”

Killian chuckled. He understood that reference--

--and he shouldn’t.

Emma noticed. Of course she noticed. Half a dozen emotions flashed across her face before she settled on the easiest one, and Killian would swear she was wishing for another dagger to hold against his neck--bad joke, that--as she asked: “Who the fuck are you?”

seven.

It was a wedding band.

It was a wedding band .

He--

She--??

Hook sat up, dislodging both the dozing woman and the sheets. She muttered a curse under her breath and grumbled as she rolled over to the other side of the mattress, and he saw the ornament on the chain he had just been admiring, and he swore.

Colorfully, describing anatomically impossible acts in several languages and ending with an emphatic “bloody hell .”

She--Emma Swan--his wife --sat up immediately, her expression brimming with concern. “Killian?” She held her hand out, her right hand, putting her palm against his chest and spreading her fingers. She inhaled and exhaled, deeply, and “breathe, Killian,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt himself falling into her rhythm, the metal cool against his skin, his eyes drawn to the ring between her breasts against the thin fabric of her sleeping shirt. They looked--she looked--different. Rounder?

Hook averted his eyes, embarrassed. She looked down at herself, her hand brushing her abdomen, and back up, guiding her face with his palm until he was looking at her again.

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself leaning into the pressure of her hand against his cheek.

Shaking his head, Hook found he wasn’t quite capable of speech.

His eyes closed. “Killian,” she said, her voice gentle. “Killian, look at me. Did you dream about Excalibur?”

He shook his head again, still uncomprehending. “I don’t--Swan--I’m not--”

“Come back to me, Killian,” she said, and it was a command. “Here and now, babe, look at me.” Her hand was back on his chest, her breathing rhythmic and soothing. “Tell me something you know is true.”

He looked at her. Finally, he said, “I think we’re going to have a bit of a problem there, love,” and laughed.

The sound was more than somewhat unhinged, and Emma’s hand fell away. “Okay,” she said. Her expression had changed into something he was more intimately familiar with: suspicion. “Tell me the last thing you remember, then.”

Hook caught her hand in his, finding himself suddenly unwilling to let her pull away. She surprised him by immediately lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me.”

“The ice wall,” he said. “Last night, you were trapped in a wall of ice and you nearly froze to death. We took you home, to your family’s loft, with a woman called Elsa. I didn’t want you to be alone, so I stayed. When I woke up--” he shook his head “--I was here.”

Emma’s mouth was open. For a minute, she said absolutely nothing, until the confusion on her face cleared. “Oh,” she said. “ Oh, oh, shit--”

She took a few deep breaths of her own, closing her eyes before she looked at him again. “Hook?”

He nodded, and her fingers tightened around his.

“Our second date,” she said, and smiled.

Hook laughed; this time, there was a trace of humor in the sound.

“Aye,” he said, rubbing his finger against the silver ring she wore. “I don’t suppose you ever found the champagne?”

eight.

Hook bathed--showered--letting the hot water steam up around him as he chased his own thoughts in circles. The shower smelled like her.

It was distracting.

Though it was far less distracting than the ring he couldn’t bring himself to take off.

“Swan, we should talk,” he’d said, and Emma laughed.

“I find,” she said with a smirk, “that when my husband says that to me, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

He glared at her. “Poor form, Swan,” he said. “Using a man’s words against him.”

She’d called him ‘Hook’ as if there was a distinction. Perhaps there was; perhaps that’s what happened when a man woke up years into his own future. That’s what she’d said: “Oh, shit,” in her typical state of eloquence. “That was real--you really--” She’d laughed until she was nearly in tears, until he’d needed to steady her with his arm and she’d smiled at him, as though she expected nothing else. “You’re in our house,” she’d said finally. “In the future.”

Perhaps, in that instance, he was no longer the same man he once was. Hook wanted to know, and yet he didn’t. He rubbed the ring again--”It’s real,” she’d said, “I promise”--and thought maybe that was all he needed to know. That, and the way she’d smiled, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk after,” she’d said, his wife said, and smiled a smile that lit up the entire room. “You can use the shower. Pretty sure you’ll find everything you need.”

But he didn’t belong here.

Hook kept repeating that to himself, like a touchstone, but everywhere he turned, he was contradicted. There was his soap in the shower next to the open, flowery-scented bottles that were Emma’s. A razor on the wash basin, a straight-edge with a shaving brush, stood solitary amidst the cosmetics. Everything he needed, indeed. The soap was the same kind he’d gotten into the habit of using since the curse, from the washroom at the inn, with its clean scent of citrus and hint of spice.

It mingled well with the open bottles that smelled like Emma.

He wrapped himself in a towel, a luxurious sheet of soft fabric that covered him past his knees, and dragged his thumb against a six-inch scar bisecting his abdomen. The closet held boots and jackets and waistcoats; his brace and hook were on the table next to the bed. On the shelf was the chest he had carried with him on the Jolly Roger across the centuries.

And Emma Swan wore his brother’s ring on a chain around her neck.

There were pictures dotted on every surface, small miniatures depicting him or Swan or Henry or some combination of all three. Pictures of himself and Charming, of Snow White and Emma, of the four of them together, of the wedding-- his wedding. To Emma Swan.

Hook had never given much thought to the future. He had lived the majority of his unnaturally long life with only one goal and a single-minded focus on its achievement.

He had never seen a sunset so perfect.

Hook dressed himself, buckling his brace and selecting a blue shirt and a black waistcoat and, after a moment of hesitation, a jacket. Clothing was armor. It was the facade he chose to show to the world. He had never been less certain of what a day might bring in his entire life and he did not intend to face it in nothing more than the low-slung trousers of soft fabric in which he had awoken.

And a gentleman would never parade himself about in a state of undress.

“Hey, sailor!” Emma’s voice easily carried up to where he stood. In their bedroom. “Breakfast is ready!”

nine.

She was angry.

That was an emotion with which Killian was intimately familiar. Hers, and his--because the Darkness had left its mark upon each of them. Killian’s already-short fuse was, occasionally, shorter than it ever had been. Emma sometimes retreated behind walls that were taller than ever. They fought it as they had everything else--together--and kept the same rules, always: always talk to each other. If that didn’t work, then talk to someone else.

And when all else failed, there was Archie, who called it “post-traumatic stress disorder”.

“Fucking post-traumatic savior disorder, more like,” Emma always said, her body brimming with frustration. But her hand didn’t shake anymore and that was, itself, a victory.

Somehow, they got through it. Together.

But all of that was to come much later.

For now, Emma Swan was angry, and she repeated her question.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Killian watched her, calculating the best way to answer her question. Honestly, for a start.

“My name is Killian Jones,” he said, and her eyes narrowed, assessing him, until she nodded.

“Killian Jones who suddenly learned what Netflix is?” she asked.

It was her favorite movie. He could practically recite it as well as she could at this point.

“Killian Jones who has had more opportunity to familiarize himself with Netflix, yes.” He smirked. “And all of the pleasures of ‘Netflix and chill’.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m not the Killian Jones with whom you are currently acquainted,” he admitted.

Emma’s hand went to her forehead. “What the actual fuck?”

He wanted to reach for her hand. He wanted to, but he didn’t. “I can’t properly say, but I woke up this morning in our--in your family’s loft. That is not where I went to sleep last night. I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own home.” With his wife, whom he missed more and more. It wasn’t--

She didn’t--

It wasn’t Emma , he realized. She was exactly as he remembered, and he loved her now just as he had done then It was the way his fingers itched, and his sudden understanding of why.

“Holy shit,” Emma muttered. “You’re--”

“From the future,” he finished. “Aye.” He rubbed his finger against his ring--the wrong ring--to stop himself reaching for her hand.

“When?” Emma said.

“I really shouldn’t say,” Killian hedged. “Several years from now.”

“You’re still in Storybrooke? You--you stayed, in Storybrooke?”

It was the Darkness again, or rather the magic that had come with it. Though he had no aptitude and even less interest, he retained just enough of it that he could feel her, his Emma, because of the bonds they shared. Like a warm sunlight against his skin, nothing more, but he had gotten so used to it that he felt chilly in the shade. The feeling was enhanced by physical contact.

Only this body had not yet been subject to the Darkness.

And this Emma did not--yet--love him. Not the way she would; not the way she did .

“Aye,” he said, looking directly at her. “I’m still in Storybrooke. My entire life is here.”

His Emma loved to touch; she needed it almost as much as he did. Their fingers intertwined, her body flush against him as they walked, her hand splayed against his chest as they lay on the couch or in their bed, against his heart. As though she needed to remind herself--to remind both of them--that it was still there, and still beating.

Her eyes widened for an instant before she looked away. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. “Listen to me, love,” Killian said. “You and I, we’ve done this part before. Just answer me: Am I telling you a lie? Because I’d rather not have to do the whole bit with the flying monkey and the brig to prove to you I am who I say I am.”

“David doesn’t have bologna,” Emma said, and Killian could hear acceptance in her words, perhaps with a hint of a smile.

“A fact for which I remain eternally grateful,” Killian said.

She smirked.

He smiled.

“So,” she said. “If you’re here, then my Hook--” She blushed and cleared her throat and started again. “The Hook from this time is--where? There? Where you came from?”

He shrugged. It was the most likely explanation.

“And you’re not, like, I don’t know,” Emma said, “worried? Upset?”

He shrugged again. “Why should I be?”

“And that’s it?” She was incredulous. “You’re just going to, what, stay here?”

“I could give you a ‘hope’ speech, if you want. I’ve got a fair few memorized by now.” He laughed. “Let’s just say, darling, that you and I always get back to each other in the end.”

In New York, in Camelot, in the Underworld, in Neverland.

Always.

That’s what it meant to be True Love--capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’--to not give up, to never stop looking. To always make the choice, and choose each other.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Killian said. “He is yours. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

She bit her lip and looked out the window. “I believe you,” she whispered.

#csjanuaryjoy #csjj #january joy 2020 #cs fic #cs january joy

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alexandralyman · 5 years

Text

Bite Me

Halloween may be over now, but if you’re still in the mood for a bit of darkness then I’ve got this not so little CS vampire AU you might be interested in.

Once upon a time Emma Swan was a princess. But that was before she died and was reborn as a vampire, forever thirsting for human blood. Now she works nights as a bounty hunter, chasing down bail jumpers with her enhanced senses and she's out on the hunt after a mysterious dark-haired man whose blood calls to her like none before. Can she resist taking a bite?

Now a few little notes about this, it has an open ending but I’m considering it a complete one shot, I just needed to get the creative process flowing again and this was the idea that came to me. I’m using “Rogers” as Killian’s alias, which I know is touchy for people who didn’t like S7, this is still a Captain Swan story though and no S7 characters appear. It’s a vampire AU, so there’s biting and blood drinking but I don’t think it’s super graphic or heavy on the gore factor.

Words: 8300, Rating: M AO3 Link FF. net Link

bite me

Once upon a time, Emma Swan was a princess.

Not one that was famous, or noteworthy, or of any great importance. Her royal house had been a minor one and was long forgotten, from when what was now Germany had been ruled by a collection of provincial dynasties and grand duchies, but she'd been born a real, actual princess, in a castle nestled deep in a forest of ancient myths and folklore that warned pretty young maidens not to wander alone in the woods after dark.

She'd died as a princess too, in the arms of the man who'd hid his sharp teeth behind a lazy smile and lured her away from the safety of the tall stone walls to take both her virginity and something far more precious from her on one moonless night, centuries ago.

Her life was supposed to have been a fairy tale, of balls and banquets and happily ever after with a handsome prince.

Now if was a horror story, of blood and death and a thirst that could never truly be quenched.

Emma Swan was a vampire, and she was on the hunt.

For a bail jumper, not for blood (although she'd take a little of that too, a girl had to eat, after all) just another scumbag who hadn't shown up for court and disappeared into the night. Bounty hunting was the perfect job for a vampire, she was a predator at heart, and she could set her own hours and work exclusively after sunset without raising any suspicion. And if a skip was a little paler once she'd brought them in and collected her reward? Well, no one ever noticed the tiny little bite marks on their necks.

She hadn't drunk for days, too preoccupied with her latest case to hunt for mere food. Not that it was ever that hard to find sustenance, Emma wasn't a princess anymore but she'd been bestowed many other titles by men over the years, a doll, a looker, a fox, a babe. It wasn't difficult to entice one into the woods, or an alley, or back to her apartment for "coffee,", letting them think they had been the one to seduce her and then turning the tables on them once they were alone and there was no one to hear them scream when the sexy, flirty blonde turned into a stone-cold bloodsucker. Sometimes she just drank, piercing a vein with teeth that went pointed and sharp as fangs at the scent of the blood moving just beneath the surface of the skin, rich, red elixir that was thick on her tongue and gave eternal life to the dead and damned. They stopped screaming then, Emma could make it feel good, so good that they surrendered willingly into her embrace and would let her drain them completely dry if she wanted to, although she hadn't done that in years. Too messy, to have to find a way to dispose of the body afterwards, and too complicated these days to have meals suddenly go "missing."

If she wanted to play with her food then she'd take them to bed first, on the nights when the need between her legs equalled her hunger and it was even more satisfying to fuck and feast, sometimes doing both at the same time.

That's what *he* had done, coaxing her thighs open with his pretty lies and false promises on that night so long ago, stealing her innocence before sliding his fangs into her slender neck, only he hadn't stopped when her heart did.

Either way, Emma made sure they forgot exactly what had been done to them and they woke up in the morning with nothing more than a headache from the blood loss and what they thought was a dream of a beautiful woman with lips stained crimson and skin as pale as moonlight.

She didn't dream, not since her last one turned into a nightmare from which she'd never woken up.

The bar where they were supposed to meet sounded like a dive (The Dark Hollow? Seriously, what kind of name was that?) but it was surprisingly upscale, sleek and modern, the kind of place where all the liquor was top shelf and the staff could double as models. Still, Emma turned her share of heads when she walked in and she could hear heartbeats around the room speed up as the men (and a few of the women) took her in. Tight dress, towering heels, tousled curls, she was dressed to kill and more than capable of actually doing it. The urge never fully went away, but tonight she'd have to settle for the satisfaction of only capturing her prey instead. She quickly scanned the dim interior and zeroed in on a man sitting smack dab in the middle of the room, seated alone at a table for two. As if he sensed her arrival he looked up from his phone, meeting her gaze and giving a smile that was the most dangerous thing in the room after her.

John Rogers. It was almost certainly an alias, probably a bit of identity theft on top of the charges of stealing from his employer, Gold Enterprises. He had dark hair, just the right amount of stubble on a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes as blue as the midday sky.

Not that Emma had actually seen the midday sky in person since the day she'd died, a perfect, clear day where the sun was warm and the gentlest of breezes had stirred her long skirts about her ankles as she walked into the forest without knowing that she'd just lost blue sky forever under the thick canopy of the trees and the shadow that lurked on the path ahead.

The memory made her falter for a moment before she pushed it away and strode right up to his table, putting a swing in her hips that made his heartbeat stutter and skip a beat. Emma was a vampire, but she was still a woman and it was gratifying to have such an effect on him, even though she was only here for the bounty and the unofficial bonus that had been offered by the owner of Gold Enterprises to bring him in and face justice.

"Anna?" he asked, getting to his feet at her approach. Emma smiled and nodded, she'd used an alias as well on the hookup app where she'd finally found a profile picture that matched his mug shot. His smile grew even wider. "I'm John. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He had an accent, something that hadn't been listed in the police report and the sound of it sent a tingle right down her spine. One of his hands was unnaturally stiff, covered by a black glove that matched his black jeans and black vest. The missing hand had been in the report, with a notation that he wore a prosthetic but there'd been no info about how he'd lost the limb and no one at Gold Enterprises knew the story either. He pulled her chair back and waited until she was settled before sitting back down in his own seat, he might be a thief, but he clearly had some manners. There was a glass in front of him already, half-filled with a dark amber liquor that carried the rich aromas of burnt sugar and heavy spice.

Rum.

Emma ordered wine, she could eat and drink like an ordinary human, but her body took no nourishment from food and nothing could truly slake her thirst except human blood. Everyone tasted slightly different, some people were sweeter, like smooth chocolate or ripe berries, and some were more savoury, like a sharp cheddar or perfectly rare steak.

John Rogers looked like he'd taste like the rum, sweet and spicy at the same time.

And damn, if she didn't want a drink of him.

"More wine?" John asked, after she'd finished her second glass and they'd shared a plate of artful little hor d'oeuvres that did nothing except whet her appetite for something else instead.

"No, I'm good," Emma replied, pushing the empty glass away and eyeing the vein that ran along the inside of his wrist when he reached for the last canape.

"What's the matter love, a bit worried you'll find me too irresistible after another libation?"

From another man it would have come across as smarmy, but somehow he pulled it off. She ran a foot teasingly up his calf under the table, watching his throat bob with a heavy swallow. The honey trap was the easiest way to corral a skip, since Emma found most men couldn't resist a pretty face and the thought of getting lucky even when they should be lying low. John Rogers might be more attractive and have a larger vocabulary than the average deadbeat, but he wasn't any different than the rest of them and when she leaned forward and rested a hand high on his thigh she could hear his blood pumping even faster through his enticing veins, pooling a few inches away from her pointed nails.

"Who says I want to resist you?" she murmured in his ear. The muscle under her hand twitched and he quickly tossed back the last of his rum.

"Well then, I suppose I just have one more question. Your place or mine?"

Normally she'd invite whoever she was tracking back to her place and then take them to the nearest precinct instead, minus a pint or two of their blood. The Rogers case was different though, since whatever it was he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises (the police report was strangely vague and just called it "something of value") hadn't been found after the initial arrest and stringing him along for a little while longer might be the only chance to recover it. There was just one hurdle, a not insignificant one, to her plans.

But the reward would be worth it in the end.

She slid her hand the tiniest bit higher. "Why don't you show me yours?"

There was a flush on his whiskered cheeks as more blood rose to the surface and if Emma still had a pulse, it would be racing with anticipation.

"If the lady insists," he said, voice a low rasp that curled enticingly between her legs while he pulled out his wallet and carelessly tossed a few bills on the table without even looking. They rose in unison, ignoring the knowing looks from the neighbouring table and making their way to the door with his hand settling on the small of her back to guide her. Outside the night air was cool, the sky a deep indigo and plush as velvet while the pavement was slick and the sidewalks damp. It must have rained while they were flirting over overpriced drinks and puff pastry, Emma should have heard it with her vampiric senses but she'd been too focused on John Rogers and the ancient dance of predator and prey. He clearly thought he was the hunter, seducing her into going home with him with his dark good looks and silver tongue, getting what he wanted and then swiping onto the next girl on the app without a second thought. His hand moved, brushing her hip and she tensed, wondering if he was going to cop a feel and grope her ass right outside the bar. Or try to, anyway, since she could break all his fingers before he could blink. But then it was pulled away as he went to shrug off his jacket, draping the soft leather over her shoulders instead.

"While I must say that you cut quite the figure in that dress, it's a bit of a walk to my flat and there's no Swyft drivers around right now."

She realized with a jolt that he'd given her his jacket because it was cold. Emma was dead, she didn't get cold, or hot, not anymore, and she wasn't used to anyone being concerned if she did. She'd been cold when she died, wracked with chills as her life slowly dripped into her murderer's mouth and he hadn't bothered to cover her, dress still hiked to her waist and pale legs splayed open as he drank at his leisure. The twin scars that were left on her neck were a reminder, to never trust anyone again.

John didn't care, not really. He just wanted to get laid.

That's what made her cold, not the nip in the air, cold and hard under her crimson dress and fuck-me heels even as she gave a kittenish smile and thanked him with a delicate hand brushing his chest. She was the real hunter tonight, for his bounty *and* his blood, and she was going to get both.

They walked together like lovers without a care in the world and eyes only for each other, each carrying their own secrets behind the flirty looks and sly innuendo. Emma could see perfectly for blocks and scent everything in the air, the exhaust from cars that had driven by hours earlier, the smell of chicken noodle soup being heated up in one of the apartments above them, every note in the perfume a hooker on the corner was wearing (lilacs, white tea and middlemist flowers) as well as other, more hidden odors, like the drugs in the hooker's blood from when she'd shot up not too long ago, the refuse running through the sewers deep underneath the asphalt and that there was something dead in a nearby dumpster. Too large to be a rat or a raccoon, it was rotting away unseen underneath old coffee grounds and moldy bread.

Most of all she smelled her prey, the metal of his jewelry, rings on his fingers and a necklace just visible at the open collar of his shirt, the fainter scent of whatever shampoo he used still clinging to his dark hair, and the more recent smell of the food they'd just eaten at the bar mixed with rum on his breath.

And his blood.

Always the blood.

He smelled good enough to eat.

John's flat was a small apartment in an older, nondescript building not far from the harbour. He put his key in the lock and opened the door with an offhand, "Come on in," that solved a major problem for Emma. Thanks to his careless invite she was able to cross the invisible barrier and step over the threshold, her stiletto heels making no noise on the floor. Inside it was shadowed and dim, but she could see everything perfectly and took a quick glance around. Couch, coffee table, TV, nothing out of the ordinary but there was also nothing personal about any of it. There was no mail left sitting out, no photos on display, no knicknacks or any kind of hint about the life of the man who lived here and while his scent was present, it was shallow and recent and hadn't had time to fully permeate the space. The apartment was probably a temporary residence, a safe house where he could hide from both the cops and Gold Enterprise's extensive private security, hopefully with whatever he'd stolen from them.

A lamp switched on with a faint click and bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. "You know, I was just about to delete that app when your message popped up."

"Were you?" Emma asked, turning to face him and taking a step back as she did, deeper into the apartment and encouraging him to follow. And follow he did, reaching to pluck the jacket from her shoulders and dropping it over the arm of the couch. His voice was pitched low, intimate, still thinking that he had the upper hand.

"Aye. Never quite found what I was looking for on it, until I met you."

Emma would have said it was just another line, a bit of flattery to help get her out of her dress and into his bed, if it wasn't for her extra little superpower. Vampires had more than just a thirst for blood and eternal youth, they also had special gifts that had given rise to the host of legends and superstitions about the children of the night. Some could jump so high and for so long that it looked like they were flying clear across the sky, some could control and command animals, like a female vampire Emma had met once in the 1920s who kept a pack of spotted dogs to do her bidding, and Emma herself had discovered not long after being turned that she could tell when humans were lying.

John Rogers was being sincere.

Maybe that was why she gave into the impulse, not to bite him, but to kiss him, closing the brief gap between their bodies to press her lips to his. He reacted instantly, mouth opening to match the movement of hers, hand pulling her to him so that they were pressed together from shoulder to knee and a deep groan rumbled in his broad chest at the contact that she felt echo through her right down to her toes. Their noses bumped and their tongues met, she sucked a little too hard on his bottom lip but the rock of his hips to press the hard outline of his erection to her stomach when she did it again told her that he liked it a little rough.

"Fuck," he gasped when they broke apart, pupils dialated with lust and cheeks flushed nearly scarlet under his stubble.

"I think that was implied," Emma laughed. She never slept with skips, but there were hours left before dawn and her thirst was quickly being matched by the growing ache between her legs, one almost as insistent as the urge to feed.

"A gentleman never presumes such a thing," John said with a wink and a grin, another line

that should sound cheesy as all hell and Emma had heard a lot of cheesy pickup lines over the centuries, but somehow he was just enough of a charming bastard to make it work. She almost didn't want to turn him to the cops in at the end of the night.

Almost.

By the time they stumbled into the bedroom Emma still had her heels on but her dress was on the floor somewhere out in the hall, left in a tangled pile with his discarded vest and belt. His shirt was barely clinging to his shoulders, open down the front to reveal a muscular chest covered with a thick dusting of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared into his boxer briefs. The jeans were undone too, she'd been a bit careless with her strength and hoped he didn't notice that she'd accidentally twisted the button right off before tugging down the zipper. Since his eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd let out a strangled gasp of pleasure when she slid her palm over the bulge of his erection and gave it a good squeeze, she was pretty sure he hadn't seen the little bit of metal rolling across the floor and disappearing under the bed.

She gave another squeeze, just to be sure, and certainly not to hear that delicious noise bubble out of his throat again.

The room itself was like the rest of the apartment, as impersonal as a hotel. Bed, check. Emma could smell that the sheets were fresh and clean, which was a point in his favour. Bedside table with a lamp on top, check. Generic Ikea dresser, check.

A ship in a bottle.

Her eyes narrowed over John's shoulder. It was sitting on the dresser next to some loose change, an actual ship in a bottle. The ship itself was finely detailed, the hull painted with yellow and blue stripes in perfect lines, miniature sails raised on tiny rigging that must have taken hours to set into place. It almost looked real.

For a moment she wondered if that's what he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises, but she dismissed the thought just as quickly. A major corporation wouldn't go to such lengths to recover a kitschy bit of bric-a-brac, it had to be something like a confidential client list or important files. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, still far too dressed for her liking. Emma went to finish peeling the shirt off his shoulders, only to be stymied when it wouldn't slip off one wrist.

Right, or left, in this case, his missing left hand.

"Ah," he said, when he saw her looking down at the gloved prosthetic. "Long story, which I'd rather not get into now, but if it's a dealbreaker for you, I understand."

He said it easily enough but he was tense, she could see it in the ripple under his skin as muscles tightened and cords flexed while he braced himself for her answer and she wondered if that had happened before, women walking away after discovering he was different.

As someone who was also different, albeit in a way that wasn't so readily apparent on first glance as a missing limb, Emma felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew was it was like to lose a part of yourself and never get it back.

"It's not," she assured him, reaching out and grasping the prosthetic as gently as she could. They stayed like that, his chest rising and falling for a few quiet breaths and his long lashes resting against his cheeks until he opened his eyes and instead of a cocky smirk or another come-on, he gave her an unguarded, boyish smile that reminded her of the suitors who used to come pay court to her in her father's castle, when her life was still full of laughter and light.

"Just who are you, Anna?" he whispered, and if her heart wasn't silent and still it would lurch at both the longing in his voice and the sharp reminder that she wasn't that starry-eyed princess anymore who nothing of the evils that could lurk behind a man's pretty words. Who was she? She was death incarnate, the wolf in sheep's clothing with blood on her lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she countered, flip and flirty, knowing that he didn't, not really. Not if he knew.

"Perhaps I would."

The sentiment was nice, but Emma wasn't the sentimental type so she simply reached behind her back and flicked open her bra, letting the cobwebby lace fall to the floor before thumbing her underwear down her hips and sitting on the edge of the bed to slide the silky bit of nothing off one leg and then the other. The lack of a hand didn't slow him down one whit, he had his shirt completely off and his pants down with speed and dexterity that was impressive even to a vampire. He'd invited her in but she was the one beckoning to him now, sliding back on the duvet and crooking a finger with her tongue just poking from between her teeth. He crawled forward after her on his knees, dark hair falling over his forehead in a careless sweep as his head dipped down and hot breath touched her cool skin.

Lips closed over her nipple, already hard and pebbled with anticipation. She felt it tighten even more when he swirled his tongue around it and flicked the tip before sucking hard. He did the same to her other breast, callused fingers tracing delicate patterns on the inside of her hip and she widened her legs, expecting him to settle between them and get on with it like most men did after a bit of foreplay. But he clearly had something else in mind first, moving lower and lower down her body until that warm breath was hovering right over where she ached the most. The blue eyes looked up, reminding Emma of the sky she never saw anymore and had almost forgotten as he waited for her to give him a sign of assent.

A hand on the back of his head was enough and she quickly found herself clutching a fistful of inky hair as his mouth descended and he began to feast. Damn, Emma thought to herself, he was good at this, really fucking good, circling with his tongue and increasing the pressure on each pass until she was a writhing mess, hips rocking against his face and desperate for more. Just as she was about to fall over the edge he backed off, using only the softest of licks and the faintest of flicks and if he didn't finish the job then she literally was going to kill him.

"Patience," he whispered at her needy whine, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "We've all night, love."

All night, but nothing more. That was all she could ever have now with a man.

His beard scraped against the delicate skin, a shocking contrast to the gentleness of his mouth as he went back to his task, working her up again with lips and tongue and fingers. Pleasure sparked along every nerve, building to the peak at a torturous pace until finally, finally, he sucked hard on her clit and shoved two fingers deep inside her at the same time. Emma's back arched and her jaw dropped from a silent scream, it looked like agony but it was pure ecstasy, her thighs flexing and tightening around his head until the climax finally faded and she went limp against the mattress, boneless and spent. John went up on his knees, looming above her and she didn't even care about how smug the bastard looked, he'd more than earned it. His lone hand wrapped around his erection and he gave it a few slow pumps, raising an eyebrow and asking another question without words.

Emma answered by letting a bit of her vampire strength loose again, flipping him onto his back and pining his wrists to the bed while she swung her leg over him and straddled his lean hips. He blinked up at her in surprise, face still deliciously damp, his pulse fluttering against her thumbs as rapid as a hummingbird's wings. The hard ridge of his erection was now trapped between them, twitching hot against her stomach while she leaned down and let her breasts brush his chest, scraping her teeth on his neck and making the skin redden before tasting herself when she pressed her lips hungrily to his. The urge to taste him was almost overwhelming as her fingers tightened on his wrists, holding him down, her teeth begged to sharpen behind her kiss, but as he said, they had all night. Or almost, since she couldn't linger too long in his bed and risk the sunrise.

There was also the not so insignificant matter of dropping her alias and turning him over to police custody to deal with, but she'd worry about that later.

Emma was more interested now in the way his stomach muscles clenched when she shifted her hips, the drag of his lips between his teeth and the sharp inhale when she almost, but not quite, took him inside. It was her turn to smirk, teasing and torturing him until she was sure he was about to beg for relief.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Anna?"

She faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "What?"

"Your Happy Ending. The app?" he clarified at her confused look.

Right, the dating app. It had launched with this whole cheesy fairytale theme and commercials about meeting your charming prince and living happily ever after and all that bullshit, but it had quickly morphed into just another hookup app instead, where people got off and got out.

A happy ending.

Life (and death) has taught her that there was no such thing.

"I found you," she said. It was supposed to be flip and flirty, but for some reason it came out far too serious for a one night stand who was looking up at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

The air in the room thickened with tension that only increased as she sank down on him, slowly, inch by inch. Her hands spread flat on his chest to brace herself and she relished the stretch and burn until he was finally buried to the hilt. Emma was dead, had been for centuries, but she felt alive again with a living pulse throbbing inside of her, a heartbeat thudding against her palm and the spreading warmth from the friction as she started to ride him. His knees bent behind her, large feet planting on the bed and finding the leverage to start meeting her moments with his own upward thrusts while she threw her head back and closed her eyes. Their tempo increased of its own volition, a heavy and hot slide of rigid flesh against yielding softness that hovered deliciously on the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Emma could hear his blood pounding through his veins and the call to her most primal need was almost too much. She fell forward, latching onto his neck with enough force to leave a bruise and only just managing to stop herself from breaking the skin to get to what lay underneath.

"Do it!"

His voice was thick as honey and dripped with promise while his arm wrapped around her back and he turned his head to the side, baring even more of his long throat.

"Bite me!"

It was an invitation Emma couldn't resist and her fangs came out, piercing straight into the plump vein throbbing against her lips. An obscene moan spilled out from above her while her mouth flooded with his blood, warm and rich, like cocoa made fresh on the stove. It was full of life and went straight to her head like alcohol used to but better than any drink or drug could possibly be. And not only did it taste amazing, it briefly tethered them together even more than where they were joined so intimately, letting her feel everything he was currently feeling.

Lust.

Longing.

The sensation was overwhelming, he was still inside her, still rocking up with heavy thrusts even as she took deep pulls from his neck that had to be draining his strength. It would be easy, so easy, to take a little too much, drink a little too long...and then there was a surge that was almost her undoing as he came undone, the blood flowing even harder as he came and the echo of it triggered her own climax, both of them trembling with his body still locked in hers and his vein still open in her mouth until his loud gasp for air and his sluggish heartbeat broke through the haze of blood and sex like a dash of icy water. Emma forced herself to let go, sealing the wound on his neck before it could scar or before she could give in to the worst of her urges whispering seductively in her ear, the dark desire to turn him into something no one should ever have to become.

To make him like her.

"You knew I was a vampire."

It came out harsh and biting, an accusation, not a question. Once the post-coital and post-feeding bliss had faded and she'd realized what had just happened, Emma had stood up and silently gotten dressed before turning to face John Rogers again, still lounging in the rumpled bed with an amused look as if he didn't have a care in the world and wasn't missing a few pints of his blood.

"I had my suspicions, aye. Confirmed once I saw in person that you don't breathe anywhere near as often as you should and you have no heartbeat or pulse."

She folded her arms across her chest, somehow feeling completely exposed even though he was the one who was still naked, arm propped behind his head and sheet draped low across his hips.

"Most people don't notice that. And even if they did, they don't know vampires are actually real."

A dark brow lifted and he gave her an arch look. "When you lived as long as I have, you learn a thing or two."

Emma snorted at that. Lived as long as he had? "John Rogers" was definitely a false identity, but whoever he really was, he didn't look older than thirty-five. Her skepticism only seemed to amuse him further and he gestured showily along himself, the sheet dipping down even lower with the movement. Fresh with his blood she flushed and looked away, which was stupid considering they'd literally just had sex, but she needed to distance herself from that so she could do what had to be done.

His voice lost that honeyed mirth and went more serious and flat. "Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

"How?" she spit out. "You're not-"

"-A vampire like you?" he finished. "No, I'm not. In fact, I'm the opposite. I've been magically cursed with eternal life."

That was not what she was expecting, not that Emma even knew what the hell she thought he was going to say, and she stared blankly at him for a few seconds.

"Magically cursed," she repeated at last. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Says the undead vampire who just drank a considerable portion of my blood," he pointed out, and she flushed again with said blood.

"Fine," she said, conceding the point. "You were magically cursed. How?"

His smile curled into something different and for a moment Emma thought she heard the crash of waves upon a shore, the scent of salt in the air and the kiss of the wind on her skin.

"Now that is a rather long and unhappy tale, but let's just say that I once took something of considerable value from a man I considered too cowardly to fight back, and he was, then. Only people sometimes change, don't they, and not always for the better. He came back years later and he was no longer the snivelling coward I'd humiliated in my own arrogance, he was something different, something no longer fully…human. He took this-" John held up his stump of a wrist, "-as punishment, and cursed me with eternal life so that I would always have to live with what I'd done. I can't die, and believe me, love, I've tried."

That got Emma's back up at once, a familiar feeling settling between suddenly tense shoulders. "So is that what the whole 'bite me" thing was about? You've got a death wish and you thought a vampire was your answer?

She was moving before he could say anything, tossing clothes onto the bed in a blur and avoiding his piercing blue gaze. "Get dressed. You skipped out on your bail and there's a warrant for your arrest. I'm taking you in."

"Anna-" he tried to protest.

"Emma," she corrected. It would be on the paperwork down at the station, he was going to find out anyway. "Emma Swan, bailbondsperson. You've got five minutes."

She stormed out of his bedroom and shut the door behind her, needing to put some space between them. Not that it helped much, he might be out of sight but his blood was racing through her veins and she could still feel the echo of his body inside hers. This was why she didn't get too close to skips, they all had some ridiculous sob story and claimed someone else screwed them over.

Her fingers crept up to the scar on her neck and groped blindly for the small patch of maimed skin. Don't trust anyone.

Emma shut out everything else except that. The long years of practice made it quick, if not easy.

She hated that it wasn't easy.

It was both too quiet and too noisy in the small apartment. She could hear the hum from the refrigerator, the rumble of pipes in the walls, the footfalls from someone walking around above and the whistle of a breeze coming through an open window in the...

"Shit!"

Emma wrenched the door right off the hinges when she flung it open and rushed back into the bedroom, hearing everything except his heartbeat. Sure enough, a window stood open and the gauzy curtain was fluttering like a sail. She leaned over the sill and saw an iron fire escape attached to the side of the building that led down to the street, when a pair of headlights suddenly sprung to life from a parked car that fishtailed as it pulled away from the curb and took off in a squeal of rubber that made her wince. As keen as her eyesight was, the angle was all wrong for her to catch the license plate and all she got was a glimpse of the driver, clearly him, looking up at the window with an expression that wasn't angry at her deception, wasn't smug at having tricked her, it was just resigned.

And then he was gone.

She spent the next few days cursing herself for her own carelessness in letting him slip away every time she woke when the sun set, she should have kept her guard up and stayed while he got dressed, or at least left the door open, she was a vampire, for fuck's sake, not the naive princess who had died all those years ago. She could handle being in the same room with a naked man for five minutes.

His profile was still up on Happy Ending but the picture had been changed from the mirror selfie he'd used before to one of a swan, something Emma knew had to be a deliberate jab that she'd definitely felt when she first saw it. Her stakeouts at his apartment had been fruitless and his scent was quickly fading, it was clear he wasn't coming back. Not that there was much to come back to, she'd searched the place thoroughly and there was only a few clothes, some barely touched toiletries that were so new the Target receipt was still crumpled up in the trash, and the ship in the bottle.

The ship was now sitting on her coffee table, since it was the only thing that seemed like it might have some sentimental value to whoever John Rogers really was. Or maybe Emma was just kidding herself and he was nothing more than a thief and a liar.

Gold Enterprises had doubled the reward for his capture and every bounty hunter in three states was now out looking for him. It was only a matter of time before someone tracked him down, and while Emma had a lot of advantages over her human competition, she had one big disadvantage in that she couldn't go outside in the daylight. All of her speed and strength were completely useless from dawn until dusk and it grated at her, always a reminder that she was different from everyone else.

She was currently cooped up alone in her own apartment, waiting for the sun to finish dipping below the horizon before she ventured out in search of new leads. She'd woken up a bit early from the deathlike sleep that was her own eternal curse, which happened from time to time. It was because of the dream she'd been having, of a woman she didn't recognize, dark haired, beautiful, dressed in the clothing of another time and holding a large knife with a jagged blade in one hand and a bright red object in the other.

"Take me away," the woman whispered. "Forever."

When she lifted the knife and pierced it straight through the red thing Emma realized it was a human heart, blood flowing between the woman's fingers and the scent of it hit Emma even in the dream, making her fangs sharpen and jolting her awake.

She was musing on it when her phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification and she snatched it off the table in a blur with sudden wild hope flaring where her heart didn't beat that maybe it was him, messaging her through the chat function on Happy Ending. It quickly turned into a frown of disappointment when she saw it was actually just an email, framed against a photo of the castle where she'd grown up that she'd found online a set as her wallpaper. She thumbed the email open, the frown freezing on her face when she saw what it was.

"Gotcha!" she said out loud to the empty room, shooting the ship in a bottle a triumphant look before jumping to her feet and going straight to her laptop. When she'd first taken on the Rogers case she'd entered his mug shot into a facial recognition program that would auto search the Internet for potential matches. On TV or in a movie it would have spit out a near instant result, but real life didn't work that way and it had been running quietly in the background ever since, going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of umpteen social media pages, news archives and alumni pages looking for a match. It was a heck of a lot more expensive than a simple Google image search, but the bounty would more than cover the cost and once Rogers had snuck out on her, Emma had to admit that it was personal now, so she'd paid extra for the highest level of data.

And it had returned not one, but *two* potential hits. Emma clicked the first link and watched eagerly as the page loaded, scrolling down until she reached the picture.

And stopped dead. Literally.

It wasn't actually a picture, it was a drawing. Of a man who looked exactly like John Rogers, sketched out in what was probably charcoal on a yellowed piece of paper. They had the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, same smile that promised danger and excitement both in one fell swoop. But the resemblance wasn't the reason why Emma could feel his blood rushing hot in her ears, it was the other sketch displayed next to his, of a woman with a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders and a large pendant around her neck, staring wistfully out at the viewer from the page.

It was the woman from Emma's dream.

"Milah."

The name fell unbidden from her lips as she quickly scanned the site the images were posted on. It was for an antique and consignment shop in Bermuda, and the pair of drawings were up for sale either individually or as a set. The listing stated that they were believed to have been done by the same artist, and were approximately three centuries old.

"Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

His voice whispered in her ear while she clicked on the other link with a numb finger, not sure what to expect. It opened in a separate tab as a wall of mostly text and the picture itself was little more than a thumbnail. Emma enlarged it to get a better look, even though her vampire sight was more than enough to confirm that it was a perfect match.

This one was a photo, and like the one she'd fed into the program it was another mugshot. She wasn't really surprised that he'd been arrested before, what was surprising was that it was clearly much older than the crisp, digital image that had been taken of John Rogers after he'd been hauled out of Gold Enterprises's downtown headquarters. It was in black and white, faded with age and a corner had been torn away. But it was still him, although he was clean shaven and his hair was cut much shorter, in almost a military look. The placard he was holding read:

STORYBROOKE SHERIFF'S DEPT 52-07-20 B&E, VANDAL, THEFT JONES, KILLIAN

Jones, Killian.

Rogers, John.

Quickly, Emma clicked back on the charcoal sketch. Sure enough, there, just where the drawing ended at the man's waist, smudgy and indistinct, were the remains of a name. The "K" was still legible, as were the "a" and the"n."

Killian Jones.

Pieces were rapidly clicking into place as more of the puzzle started to come together. It hadn't been Emma's dream at all, it was his, a memory carried in the blood and passed along when she'd drunk from him for so long and so deep, a memory of a dark haired woman named Milah. The knife and the heart didn't make much sense, but dreams were funny that way. John, no, Killian, had said he was cursed with eternal life, and the sketch and the old mug shot certainly seemed to confirm that he actually was telling the truth about that.

Emma went back to the mug shot. B&E, that was shorthand for breaking and entering, vandal, probably a charge of vandalism, and theft. The 52-07-20 took her a moment longer, until she realized it was the date. He'd been arrested on July 20th...1952. In some place called Storybrooke, wherever that was.

Maine. After a few more clicks she learned that a grad student named Henry Mills was doing an in-depth research project on the history of a small fishing village named Storybrooke, in Maine, and posting parts of it on his blog as he went. The entry with the mugshot had gone up the day before, explaining why the facial recognition program had only just found it. In July 1952 there had been a break in at a local pawn shop that was the talk of the town, if this Henry Mills was to be believed, where windows had been smashed and "an object of value had been stolen," to quote the pawn shop's owner.

His blood was still warm in her veins, but it suddenly ran cold as Emma read the name of the pawn shop where the theft had taken place.

Gold & Son Pawnbrokers

Gold Enterprises.

That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

An object of value had been stolen.

Killian had told her that he'd taken something of considerable value from a man who'd later taken his hand and cursed him with eternal life. He'd been arrested four months ago for stealing something of value from Gold Enterprises, and apparently had also stolen something of value almost seventy years ago from Gold & Son Pawnbrokers. It had to be connected, but why, and to what end?

The Rogers case had started out as just another skip, but now it was a mystery that had gotten under Emma's skin as an itch that had to be scratched. Or maybe it was because Killian Jones's blood had turned out to be as potent as a drug and she was desperate for another taste of it, of him, and while she wasn't a princess anymore and hadn't been since the night she'd followed Baelfire into the woods and never went home again, she felt more alive than she had in years as she packed a bag and prepared to set off.

She locked up her apartment and headed down to her old yellow Bug, already anticipating salt air and sea breezes at her destination, it would be a welcome relief to her vampire sense of smell from the city stench. Her tight, honeytrap dresses were left behind in favour of more practical jeans and boots, and she'd also changed her profile photo on Happy Ending to send a pointed message back to the man whose taste still filled her throat and made her mouth water.

Crimson text on a black background.

I don't bite...unless you ask me nicely.

A red leather jacket the same shade as fresh blood was slipped over her shoulders and she tossed her bag into the backseat of her car before typing in an address into the Google Maps app and checking the estimated time of arrival. It would be a long drive, but since she didn't need to stop for food or bathroom breaks, just for gas, Emma would reach the little town of Storybrooke Maine just before the sun rose over the ocean.

Her prey had slipped from her grasp once, but the hunt was far from over.

It was just beginning.

#cs fic #cs ff #my fic #captain swan #bite me

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kazoosandfannypacks · 1 year

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Every Crappy Morning by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1K words Summary: When Emma and Killian find themselves running late for Regina's coronation, Emma's surprised by her husband's calm demeanor. Author’s notes: This one's a bit of a missing moment from the season 7 finale. I hope you like it! Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

This morning wasn't quite going like Emma had planned. She'd planned on getting herself and her family up early, getting to Regina's coronation early to greet the guests in attendance- give them a chance to dote on the new royal baby before the ceremony started.

But the problem with schedules and plans is that newborns rarely stick to them. Sometimes they end up keeping you and your husband up until three in the morning, giving you a late- and groggy- start to your morning.

And as soon as they did get up that morning, later than they would've liked, they got changed and had a quick breakfast.

"I think we can at least make it in time for the coronation," Emma said, picking up her daughter, "not as early as I'd've liked, but I'm sure they'll understand."

"Aye," Killian said, putting an arm around Emma, "how's our little princess doing?"

Before Emma could answer, Hope volunteered a response of her own. Unfortunately, Hope's response was to spit up all over herself and her mother.

"Great," Emma thought, swearing under her breath as she looked at the stain on her dress- a dress her mom had made a huge deal about, one that they'd spent three afternoons with a seamstress making sure was perfect for the coronation, one that was now ruined.

"Regina didn't happen to teach you a 'vomit stain removal spell,' love, did she?" Killian asked, taking Hope from her arms.

"No," Emma snapped, a little annoyed with her husband's attempt at humor, "I've gotta change."

"I'll get her cleaned up," Killian said.

"Alright," Emma sighed.

She ran upstairs to change, racking her brain to figure out what dresses she had that she could wear for a coronation. Mary Margaret had said she could dress however she wanted, that it was an event to celebrate the United Realms, and the real world was one of those realms. But Emma knew how important it was to her family that she at least try to dress the part- and deep down, she enjoyed the ballgowns, at least a little.

Begrudgingly, she pulled a dress out of the closet. Unlike the former dress, it wasn't the latest in style in the Enchanted Forest- it had been years since it was in style in this realm- but it was better than nothing, and at the very least, this one was pink and shiny. She quickly changed, then looked in the mirror, still thinking she was missing something.

Emma noticed her red leather jacket, hanging on the back of a chair. She threw it on over the dress, half jokingly, and looked again in the mirror- and though it didn't quite go with it, with the way her morning had been going, she felt a little more comfortable once she'd slid her arms into her familiar armor's sleeves.

"This'll have to do," Emma thought, "we're late enough as is."

She grabbed her phone on the way out the door and sent her mom a quick text, explaining that they were running late but were on the way.

When she got downstairs, she found Killian, having cleaned up Hope and wrapped her in a fresh blanket, now rocking her gently and humming a lullaby.

"Ready to go, love?" Killian asked, looking up at Emma and smiling.

"I think so." Emma said, "how do I look?"

"Beautiful as ever, Swan" Killian smiled, as if the mere opportunity to compliment Emma was a delight to him.

"Then let's get going," Emma said, "we're already late enough as is."

They hurried out of the house, Killian carefully buckling Hope into her carseat as Emma set the diaper bag in the opposite seat, then opened the driver's side door.

"I'll drive," Emma said, "we're already running late."

"Are you saying I'm a bad driver?" Killian asked, already willingly taking the passenger seat.

"You're a great driver," Emma said, "you're just a little more… careful."

"One does not drive fast and take chances when hauling precious cargo, love," Killian said, "and there's nothing in all the realms more precious than you and our daughter."

"Alright, Captain," Emma rolled her eyes, knowing it wasn't gonna hurt anyone to drive five miles over the speed limit- or the ten miles over it she'd have to go to make it to the coronation on time.

"I still can't believe we're so late," Emma thought, knowing it would be a close call to get to the Enchanted Forest before the ceremony started, "I could've magicked us there, but it's not good to teleport with a child. I hope we get there before Regina does, and that no one bats an eye that we're a little late. It'll be alright, I'm sure."

She glanced over at Killian and noticed that he didn't seem nearly as stressed as she was- in fact, that he was smiling at her, smiling the way he did when he clearly had something on his mind.

"What?" Emma asked, glancing at him with a smile to mask her state of exasperation.

"Your dress," Killian smiled, "you wore that color on our first date."

"Our first date?" Emma asked, "Killian, that was years ago."

"And?"

"I don't know," Emma shrugged, "I just didn't expect you to remember.…"

"How could I forget?" Killian asked, "it was a moment spent with you- and every one of those is a treasure."

Emma smiled a little, and tried to coyly hide her insecurities behind humor, "even this morning, when I was a frantic mess covered in baby spit?"

"You mean when you almost managed to get us out the door on time, despite being up all night with a crying child?" Killian asked, "and when I looked up at you and saw you, my princess, my wife- and our daughter, our little princess- and I thought to myself, 'Killian, how did you get so lucky, to get to call such a rare treasure yours?' And when we got to spend another moment longer together, with just each other and our daughter, because of that 'frantic mess and baby spit?'"

Emma couldn't hide her flustered smile.

"So what you're saying is," Emma asked, "that even though this morning was crappy, you treasure it because it was spent with me?"

"Aye," Killian smiled.

Emma couldn't remember anyone in her life who'd ever made her feel this treasured.

"Ya know what," Emma said, "this morning started with your groggy 'good morning' and sleepy smile. When our little princess caused a little mess, you were right there to help take care of it. You've been so great this morning, and always. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Nor I without you, love," Killian said. He placed his hand on Emma's shoulder, "I want to spend every 'crappy morning' with you."

Emma glanced over at him and smiled, reflecting a hint of his own smile back into his blue eyes. "I want to spend every crappy morning with you too."

#once upon a time #ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #hope swan jones #fanfiction #cs ff #kazzy writes #once upon a time season 7 #missing moment #fluff

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snowbellewells · 1 year

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Self Promo Sunday: "Moonlit Ghosts"

I thought that for the weeks in October (and maybe even into early November) I would post some Autumn/Fall/Halloween-themed fics I've written over the years. Our particular fandom and ship has a wealth of fall/Halloween fics really, but hopefully someone might enjoy these contributions of mine - most have a few years on them now, so they might even be ones people have missed or not seen for a while...

Anyway, this first one is a little one shot with some Halloween-tinged feels. There are a few small mentions from 6a episodes of the show, but nothing major as far as spoilers. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: The Storybrooke crew has enough time and peace to plan a little Autumn revelry aboard the Jolly Roger for the kids of the town. The young Author, the librarian, and Emma and Killian, work together to provide some Halloween thrills and chills as well as a haunting story...

Can also be read on AO3 or ff.net if you would prefer...

by: @snowbellewells

Moonlight trickled down a lovely, filtering illusion of brightness amidst the night's shadows, illuminating the surface of the water and glancing off the copper sides of the lanterns Belle had hung around the deck, burning low for effect. Grinning widely in spite of herself – a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous quirk to her smile, Emma Swan waited in the hall below decks, just past the stairs up from the crew and captain's quarters on the Jolly Roger, where their special guests couldn't see her. The elegant old girl bobbed gently with the rise and fall of the waves where she lay at anchor a mile or so out of Storybrooke harbor.

The children circled on the floor around Belle's seat at the stern were wide-eyed, rapt, and silent at the story she wove for them, the lights flickering intriguingly over their faces. Not a single one fidgeted or spoke, their eyes focused on the petite librarian – familiar to them in her pretty skirts and high heels from everyday life in their little town, but transfixing to them tonight in the dark, flowing garb of a gypsy, the moon and pale glow of the wavering lantern flames glancing off the golden hoops in her ears and the rings on her fingers and bracelets clanking together on her arms while she gestured in telling her story. Shadows played over the upturned little faces as well. It said something about just how immersed in the little nighttime cruise Belle and Henry had dreamed up as a fall community event, and Killian had all too enthusiastically agreed to, that even as the story of a horrible cursed monster who chose exile and his strength over love concluded and Belle paused, the sadness in her eyes only visible to those who would know to look, that they didn't recognize her story was in truth woven more from fact than fiction. Belle paused and gestured for a bashful Henry waiting in the wings to join her. Emma couldn't help but smirk even more, adoring the young man her little boy had long since become, as he flushed and looked to Violet seated at his side on an old barrel and she urged him forward with an enthusiastic grin.

Belle's natural storytelling gift had been so evident that no one else would notice she clearly needed a moment to compose herself once more and a pause to gather her still raw emotions. But she looked up at her grandson from where she sat as Henry came to stand at her side, Emma could see her mouth a "thank you" to him, which he responded to with a quick squeeze of assurance at Belle's shoulder. Soon he was beginning to read his own story, voice just a bit shaky at the start. Emma knew that Henry was more than a bit anxious, as he had not read any of his works aloud for an intended audience before, and she smiled fondly at her lanky, dark-haired son, bespectacled, and wearing his school uniform with a maroon and gold striped scarf in an effort to look like Harry Potter for his costume. He cleared his throat and his ever-deepening voice had soon wrapped them all up in his own tale, just as Belle had done before him. He will never have a more captive audience, and her maternal pride in his gift wants this moment, this recognition of his talents, for him.

Her eyes flitted over to find Killian at the helm, one arm propped on the ship's wheel, looking at ease and happy with the scene set before him. He wasn't actually steering them anywhere while they sat at anchor, but he still looked the very picture of dark, dashing pirate captain in the red vest and black leather duster he had brought back out for the occasion, appearing more dangerous Captain Hook than he had for some time. It had been all she could do not to snicker and pat him on the cheek when a few of the little girls had been too meek to talk to him upon boarding the Jolly and their wide, guileless eyes had lingered uncertainly on his curved metal appendage. Unable to bear the hurt puppy look on his face for long, however, Emma had plied him with caramel apples on sticks to hand out as snacks, and felt herself fall for him even more to watch her pirate charm and befriend every last child, even the most shy and uncertain – those ones most of all, if the truth were told.

Startled out of her reverie and the loving perusal of his face, her eyes tracing its strong, handsome lines beneath the stars, Emma's attention was pulled abruptly back to her son, focusing in on the words he was reading to make sure she didn't miss her cue. Henry's writing had set the mood perfectly; an atmospheric tale of an abandoned navy cutlass much like the one they were all on at that very moment, drifting on the open sea, empty and alone except on quiet nights when a bright full moon shone down on the ghost of the mad captain's sweetheart, a pale, white shadow haunting the deck where her faithless love and mutinous crew had all died, doomed to walk the site of her heartbreak forever.

Drawing a deep breath into her lungs and calling on every bit of poise and composure she could muster, Emma topped the steps and with measured gait began to glide across the rough wooden planks to the bow, hoping to convey the solemn, otherworldly, floating quality of a restless ghost. They had powdered her hair white earlier that afternoon, and her mother had applied thick, pale stage makeup – something that had been used in a production of The Christmas Carol at the school at some point and had then wound up with Snow – to Emma's face, neck, and hands, getting into the bonding moment of a mother helping her daughter put together a Halloween costume, even if it was a decade or so late. Those spots were all that really showed beneath the high-necked, long, bell-sleeved diaphanous gown Emma wore, which Snow had tearfully drug from some trunk in the loft when Emma had first mentioned the whole idea.

Now as she progressed the length of Killian's ship slowly and she heard him call out lowly, "Avast, me hearties, look there!" to their youthful audience and gasps of shock and surprise at the appearance began to repeat, she knew the effect was working.

She almost broke character to shoot a concerned look over her shoulder as Killian's voice sounded oddly strangled, stumbling halfway through his well-rehearsed and overly cheesy line, but he continued more softly yet. "Yonder at the bowsprit, it's the ghost of the ship's lady!" as Emma stayed her course, pausing like an eerie statue to look out over the moonlit waters.

Henry's story continued to its end, everyone playing their parts, and though she badly wanted to turn and see the children's final reactions and Henry's face at the choruses of "Again! Tell it again!" and the hearty clapping, she didn't want to break the illusion.

It was only when she heard Belle announce it was time for popcorn and hot apple cider below in a real pirate's galley, where both her parents waited to serve the refreshments dressed as a ship's cook and first mate, and Emma heard the excited hoots and hollers of excitement and all the pairs of little feet moving to follow Belle's lead, herded at the rear by Henry and Violet, both blushing and Violet clearly impressed, moving to the stairs below deck, that she ventured a glance behind her and relaxed her stance to lean against the ship's railing.

She was startled when she did so to find Killian right at her back, a tormented look of pain emblazoned across his face. "Killian, wha – " she began to ask, concern creasing her brow, fingers reaching up to brush soothingly across the scar on his cheek. The movement was aborted and her words knocked from her by the fierce way he lurched forward and clutched her to himself tightly. His grip was almost desperate, and Emma's confusion and concern only grew as he held on, the trembling in his wiry frame plainly felt throughout her own and his heart pounding as though he had run for miles to reach her. Though she couldn't really think what it was, she knew now that the distressed note she had heard in his voice during the story, that catch which had made her think something was wrong, had been all too real.

Finally, he released his grip a bit, took a step back and tilted his head to stare into her eyes. "Emma, love, I just…" he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and almost wild, as he pulled her in again, whispering against her hair "I just need to hold you for a moment. Seeing you that way – as a wraith, a shade – it ran my blood cold. I was not prepared for that."

It nearly stole the breath from Emma's lungs to see the raw anguish on her True Love's face. For a second, it genuinely did look as though Killian had seen a ghost, and Emma's heart ached for him at the fear she knew had been awakened once more, that he would again lose the one person he loved most in the world. There wasn't a thing she could do to take the awful, sinking sensation away, but she tried all the same. Running her fingers through the gentle curls at the nape of his neck, she aimed to soothe, squeezing his back and whispering, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. It's just a costume. You saw it earlier."

He shook his head, the strangled little noise in his throat twisting her gut in sympathy. "I know that, Swan. But that for a moment…you were so pale, almost unreal… for a moment it seemed as if you were already gone…"

She merely nodded, running her hands up and down his spine and out over his shoulder blades; anxious to provide even a bit of calm. Slowly, she felt the tremors between them begin to subside. Killian blew out a deep breath, and Emma could sense him steadying himself and bringing himself back under control.

Resting his forehead against her, Killian placed his hook under her chin, fingers smoothing her windswept hair back off her face in a gentle caress. "I cannot lose you, Emma," he whispered hoarsely, voice controlled once more but still fervently sincere, wobbling the slightest bit as he added, "I won't survive it, not this time."

Shaking her head, Emma reached across to press her hand over his heart, eyes drinking in his beloved face and swearing with all she had, willing both her love and herself to believe. "You won't have to, Killian. We'll find that third way."

He nodded, rubbing her upper arms to chafe warmth back into them in the chilly night air off the open water. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke, merely stared into each other's eyes – not wanting to lose the soft moment together, however it had come about, and turning to look out over the waves back to the lights of Storybrooke in the distance. Then, laughter and the rush of exuberant voices began to drift toward them again as their young charges began to climb back above deck for the short voyage home.

Reminded that they weren't alone and their passengers needed returned from their Halloween excursion, Emma gave one last squeeze of the hand to her pirate, whispering quickly before moving to help get them underway. "It's because of you that I finally know we deserve this future together," she vowed, "and I intend to have it."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @sotangledupinit @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @blackwidownat2814 @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @anmylica @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @stahlop @justanother-unluckysoul @wefoundloveunderthelight @artistic-writer

#self promo sunday #ouat ff #cs one shot #moonlit ghosts #ouat 6a divergent fic #ouat missing moment ff

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charmingturkeysandwich · 4 years

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CS FF Flashback: Fireworks (that went off too soon)

It’s Independence Day here in America, but considering there’s a uncontained deadly virus, I have three incurable autoimmune diseases, and I could give birth to a fairly large baby at any moment, I’m not exactly out enjoying myself. But I was reminded that one of my favorite CS stories I’ve written is appropriate for today, so I derived a little joy from rereading that. Maybe it might bring you some smiles, too.

This one is M rated but not explicit, and has two chapters, one of Emma’s POV & one of Killian’s. He’s basically Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy, and she was his best friend in college. Years later she hears one of his songs and it changes her perception of the past by a lot - and alters her future, too.

It was the fourth of July

You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks

That went off too soon

And I miss you in the June gloom, too

It was the fourth of July

You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks

I said I'd never miss you

But I guess you can never know

May the bridges I have burned light my way back home

On the Fourth of July

Read on AO3.

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan #keisha writes #keisha is miserable and needed to revisit some joy #PSA don’t set off fireworks if you live in my neighborhood #pregnant lady rage is real

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seriouslyhooked · 2 years

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Enchanted

CS AU oneshot where Emma and Killian meet at a parent/teacher conference (Emma is a single mother and Killian is helping raise Liam’s daughter). Instalove and fluff ensues as they make the most of the moment and fall under each others spell. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome back to another installment of the Captain Swan Mixtape. I think about this series of oneshots all the time, and I have been hoping to get to that amazing and hard to fathom milestone of 200 chapters forever. At long last, I have the path in mind, beginning with this chapter. This song, ‘Enchanted’ by Taylor Swift, was requested ages ago (literally years and years back), but I finally found an idea to go with it, and I’ve run with it as best I can. I would have loved to make this a longer, more detailed story, but I hope you will all enjoy this meet cute and the fluff that ensues. Thank you all for reading, and let me know what you think!

I knew I should have taken a cab. Freaking train delays. I swear these lines get slower and slower every year. And now I’m late to school. God, why is that still so stressful?!

The thoughts clamored through Emma’s head as she made her way up the stairs at a midtown subway station. She was practically running, dodging New Yorkers and tourists alike to get out into the last of the daylight, but the damage was done. She was hopelessly and undeniably late. Still, she needed to try and make up some ground. The parent/teacher night at Misthaven Prep was starting in a matter of moments, and she was already bound to be the fixation of the evening. She hated to add ‘absent’ to the list of unkind descriptions all the busybody class moms had been creating for her.

Through the grace of something like a guardian angel or fairy godmother, Emma made every other crossing light, hustling as fast as she could the last two blocks to Henry’s school. Any other day she’d be worried about her outfit. Dark wash jeans and her red leather jacket may be perfect for perp pick up, but they were not exactly the uniform of academy mothers. It had simply been one of those days though, and she was honestly lucky to get here at all. As it was, she had to miss dinner with her kid, something Emma truly cherished, and she was frustrated at the change in her itinerary even as her anxiety crept higher and higher.

When she rounded the corner and saw parents still filing in, Emma let out a sigh of relief. Thank God, she’d made it. Just barely, but she was here. She schooled her breathing, trying to calm the chaos of this early evening sprint, and made a bit of progress. That respite only lasted a few seconds though. As soon as she walked through the wrought iron gates and brick façade of the old, but pristinely kept academy, the whispers began.

“Oh, so she did come after all. Will wonders ever cease?”

“But look what she’s wearing. Red leather? What kind of message does that send?”

“And jeans no less. Non-designer.”

“The woman wouldn’t know designer if it slapped her senseless.”

“Wait, are those… converse?”

“What in the world is a converse?”

“A tennis shoe. No – worse – a sneaker.”

That last revelation caused a certified twittering among the judgmental Moms behind Emma. As if anyone in the world, with money or not, was unaware of what a Converse was. That was a universal name, and she was pretty sure even celebrities deigned to wear them now and again. But these mothers were completely over the top and almost laughable in their disdain, trying to climb higher in their little social strata by putting her down on all levels. The constant insults thrown her way stung, but Emma tried her best to ignore them, crossing into the threshold of Ms. Blanchard’s classroom after wandering through the maze that was Henry’s elementary school.

Scanning the classroom for some sort of haven, Emma noted that there were seats to the side and in the middle. Excellent. The best place to fade into the background was off to the side. Despite the beliefs of many, the back of a room wasn’t the place to get lost, and the first time she’d chosen the back at Henry’s 3rd grade open house, the whispers continued. When Emma overcorrected for the 4th grade showing and sat in the front, she was expected to participate and her answers sparked more comments than they merited. Now, with Henry in 5th grade, her only hope was to shrug off her jacket and pray for mercy while claiming a seat to the side and in the center row. Thankfully, mercy came in the form of a petite woman with a dark brown pixie cut.

“Good evening parents, guardians, and distinguished guests. Welcome to Misthaven’s parent/teacher conference. I’m Mary Margaret Blanchard as you all know, and it’s been my absolute pleasure to teach your children so far this year.”

“Of course it’s a pleasure!” A voice screeched out, like nails on a chalkboard, and terribly timed. Mary Margaret had only just begun her welcome, but it didn’t matter to this self-absorbed socialite. “My Bartholomew is a prodigy and a predetermined master of many things.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing and fought valiantly to ward off an eye roll. The ‘prodigy’ in question, aside from having a laughable name in the modern era, was also the son of one of most annoying women alive. Zelena Gold thought the sun rose and set in deference to her and her wealthy family. Her own lineage was of questionable origins. She was ‘descended of some of the world’s most remarkable people.’ And that wasn’t paraphrasing, that was a direct quote Emma could recite from memory for how much she’d heard it. No telling if those people were royals or robber barons. Emma would guess they were run of the mill harpies, but she knew better than to say that.

Zelena’s husband, who notoriously went by only his last name, was seated beside her, glowering but dressed with precision and opulence in mind. Gold’s money came from nearly everything, and his reputation across the city stemmed from a reptilian coldness and calculated nature. It was clear he held no affection for his wife. Indeed, if he cared even remotely for his child it would be shocking. Like most of the men here, care for their sons was more about preparing an heir and securing a legacy than genuine love. It all gave Emma the creeps. How someone could have children and feel so little was beyond her, but she’d seen it over and over again. Hell, she’d been dropped off at a fire station without so much as a note as a baby. She was well versed in rejection and parental abandonment.

“Our class is blessed with so many talented and intelligent students this year,” Ms. Blanchard replied with calm in the face of calamity. Henry always talked about how much he admired his teacher, but Emma could see why. She was handling the mess, but not debasing herself to do so. “And that actually brings us to some exciting news. The 5th grade learning modules are adding a new unit this year centered on being mindful citizens and caretakers. Research shows children who practice their empathy and giving to others when they are still young are much more likely to –,”

“More likely to waste their time working with no earnings of note or to form a tiresome save the world complex.”

Ah, Arthur King, new money millionaire, tech titan, and if Emma had to guess, B-list embezzler. She hadn’t done any actual research into that, but there were enough rumblings in her work and plenty of red flags just in King’s mannerisms for her to be on alert. She gave him five years, maybe ten, before the world came crashing in on him for some reason or other. Guys like him always had a monumental crash and burn moment.

“My son doesn’t need elementary empathy bootcamp, Ms. Blanchard. He needs order and routine. The only way he’ll take over King industries someday is if Malcolm learns a little discipline.”

“Misthaven blends the best of both, Mr. King, I assure you.”

Emma was impressed. Mary Margaret was firm but still polite enough to get away with it. Disagreeing, or even holding steady against people in this sphere was a dangerous game. Emma wondered if this world was familiar to Mary Margaret beyond teaching experience. It wasn’t easy managing people like this, and it seemed to take a lifetime of fancy lessons and feisty in-fighting to get a handle on the dos and donts of Manhattan’s elite.

“It better be the best for what we’re paying,” another woman said.

“Well, what some of us are paying.”

Emma didn’t look away from Mary Margaret, watching as Henry’s instructor let her mask slip, and a pronounced frown formed at her lips. Her eyes filled with concern and then a not so small amount of anger. The judgment in tone and the subtle way the snarky voice sounded towards her told Emma all she needed to know: this grouchy and gauche group was united in one thing, a deep disdain for students like her son.

Henry was actually a prodigy, testing at a remarkable percentile in math and reading while also taking to nearly everything else he tried with ease. He was the only 5th grader she knew with a command of piano, painting, and Plato. Seriously, her kid was reading Plato at 10, and Emma was just along for the ride. When the chance to come to Misthaven presented itself, she said yes, knowing Henry would be better served in a school with the most competitive academics. The downside was the closed-mindedness. So far it wasn’t an issue for Henry in the classroom. The kids were still kind at this age and he had a great teacher who had compassion and care. These parents though… they were ruthless and resentful.

Don’t let them see you sweat, Emma. They’re no better than you. You’re worth just as much as they are. You are enough. No one can take that from you.

It was painful that she’d had to resort to these affirmations, ones she learned at the instruction of the only caring case worker she’d ever had. They were the only words to get her through high school, and even they couldn’t keep her enrolled the whole time. She’d run away at 16, and only after having Henry did Emma finish her GED. She’d managed to earn her BA in forensic science last year as well, after working and trying to balance everything she could for Henry through the course of his young life. But these people didn’t care about how impossible that had seemed until it was done. If anything, majoring in a relevant discipline aimed at helping her ‘little detective business’ was something to be mocked and not encouraged.

While she silently counseled herself to stay strong, the door opened, completely rerouting the energy of the night. All eyes flew to whoever was brave enough to interrupt, and Emma was caught immediately in the sight of the man before her. Wow, he was… well she didn’t really know how to phrase it. He was so…

“Sweet Lord in heaven, that man is the sweetest sight for the sorest eyes.”

The whispered words came from of the mothers behind her. It was completely out of the realm of speak for this group. This woman was southern, and her assessment didn’t blend so easily here, but Emma agreed with this southern transplant. She might not have said it quite like that, but to claim otherwise would be a lie. Handsome was putting it mildly. This man was gorgeous.

Dark features and deep blue eyes were the first things Emma noticed about him. The combo was known to be lethal, but this guy took it to a new level. It had been ages since a man made Emma feel anything more than mild interest, but this was instant and incandescent. Like lightning slicing through a first summer storm, crackling and tantalizing but dangerous too. The feeling was so sudden and compelling that it almost stole her breath. Her heart rate kicked up, her senses locked in, and though she never did this, she started to tune out her surroundings and focus solely on him. The rest of the world seemed of little importance in this moment. She was preoccupied with a man so hot it was sinful.

During her blatant perusal, Emma took in everything she could, and she was struck by his commanding presence without speaking a single word. Swagger was what people usually called it, but now she knew the word was overused. Emma was certain that a term like that was made for a man like this, who even in a moment of potential embarrassment was cool and collected. His body was fit, and his clothes made that as clear as possible. This was why people paid for custom suits. The classic charcoal gray garments were made for him, transforming that roughish and rough appeal that he’d no doubt always possess into something more presentable.

Emma pictured him at the end of a conference table, stories above the city, in one of the downtown skyscrapers. He’d fit there, exuding the command and power of a competent corporate captain, but then she had a flash of something else, an image of him in a more relaxed setting. Dark lighting but with a warm glow, hair mussed, eyes smiling. Casual and honest, transformed from who he was here to something even more tantalizing. She felt caught in the fantasy, wondering if there was more to this mysterious stranger. Then he spoke aloud, cutting through the tension.

“Apologies, lass. You must be Ms. Blanchard.”

Oh God that voice – that accent – this had to be a set-up of some kind, right? She almost searched around for hidden cameras, but that would have required looking away, and Emma wasn’t so sure that was possible. Like the rest of the room, she was caught up in the moment too tightly. She prided herself on calm and control. She could only hope the staring was coming across as mild interest and not something far more awkward.

“Oh, um, well, yes. I am… sorry, and you are?”

“Rather late, as it were. Continue, please.”

Dismissing the question about his identity, the man looked around the sea of chairs for an empty spot. Emma’s stomach flipped against her will. She knew the only remaining seat was the one beside her. His eyes scanned the crowd of self-absorbed parents until finding it. He made his way there. Emma watched as he took a seat, and she was stunned at his ability to look so good while perched in these silly school desks. She also noted his being here alone. Was he a single Dad? Or maybe part one of those families with multiple children across grades? Automatically she looked to his left hand. No ring. But that didn’t mean all that much in this city.

Focus, Emma. You’re not here to ogle. You’re here for Henry. Henry comes first. Always.

The thought pulled her back to attention. She looked to the front of the room and over to Mary Margaret. Most of the other parents had failed to do so yet, and Emma heard some whispers flitting through the room. Interesting. Whoever he was, it seemed his reputation preceded him. Unable to stop herself, she stole one more glance at the stranger, but this time he was looking at her, with that fire and emotion in his eyes she’d only just imagined. Emma was frozen, but not in fear, instead in fascination. For someone who she’d just clocked as in control and constantly cool, this man had changed direction. She could clearly see the effect she had on him. His expression spoke openly to his interest and attention. It was almost alarming how candid he was being, but all Emma felt was honesty. And heat. Definitely a scorching, raging inferno kind of heat.

“Have we met before, love?” he asked her, his voice a rumbled whisper meant only for her ears. She shivered, then prayed it wasn’t obvious.

“I don’t think so,” she replied, certain that there was no way she’d ever have forgotten a man like this. Still, Emma felt lucky to get anything coherent out at all when the general instinct she had around him was to be totally tongue-tied.

“It’s the strangest thing… I feel as if I know you, but you’re right. There’s no chance that I’d forget you,” he said, as if reading her mind. His eyes took in her features again, his gaze sparking new awareness and prompting swarms of long dormant butterflies to take flight through her chest. The blatant approval and consideration would usually be a turn off, but for the strangest reason, Emma was intrigued and desirous for more.

“Killian Jones,” he murmured before offering her his hand. She stared at him for a second, stunned at the formal greeting, but charmed all the same.

“Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” he murmured in reply, the rough tones of his voice washing over her as his thumb ran the softest trace against her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Is he seriously talking to that charity case?”

Zelena’s lack of manners could only be matched by the shrillness of her voice. It achieved it’s end goal, however, shattering the moment and causing Emma to retreat. She pulled her hand back from Killian, offering him an apologetic smile. His look was far darker, filled with anger on her behalf, and while Emma was touched, she shook her head slightly, trying to tell him it wasn’t worth it. Her gesture did the trick, and though he still seemed displeased, Killian sat back and offered only a cold look to Zelena and Gold. The latter actually had the sense to look shamed, and Emma was amazed to hear the man offer a mumbled request.

“Excuse my wife, Jones. She forgets herself.”

Stunned at her husband’s words, Zelena lost the ability to continue with her judgments aloud, and thankfully Mary Margaret took the opportunity to refocus. Emma shifted her attention to Henry’s teacher once more, grounding herself in the good of this situation. Despite hostility from other parents, her kid was going to get the best that any education system had to offer. She could only imagine how much he would learn, and she knew with his boundless curiosity there would always be more questions and queries.

Ms. Blanchard also clearly had the patience and temerity needed in a truly great teacher. When sharing the efforts of the students so far this term on a particular biology project, she gave great detail but also remained mindful of time. She then managed the question and answer portion of the night with an almost acrobatic skill, deflecting the ridiculous and circling back to the positives. Everything came back to the kids, and that told Emma that she’d made the right choice, no matter the hardships.

Soon enough the bell rang, signaling the end of the parent teacher session, and the start of the ‘tours and treats’ portion of the evening. The mothers who ran the school’s PTA treated this evening like a theme party, and Emma could only imagine what was in store. She stood, gathering her things but thought to herself about what to do next.

Do I really need to go? I know I should, but…

“If it’s an out your seeking, Swan, I might have just the thing.”

Despite her pretense at being unaffected, Emma never lost track of Killian throughout the conference. Her constant awareness of him was undeniable, but so were the nerves that took hold with someone so attractive nearby. She’d been good at tamping down the need – yes, need – to look at him during the meeting, but now she was helpless to resist. She watched as the last few parents left the room, and then steeled herself for impact. Sure enough, when their eyes met, her heart skipped.

“Why am I not surprised you were the type to ditch class?” Emma asked, going on gut, since she still knew nothing about him. He laughed and she melted a little more, longing to linger in the delicious sound.

“Probably because you’re as bright as your boy. Henry, right?” Emma was shocked and then a bit on edge. How did he know her son? Sensing her discomfort, Killian answered freely. “My niece, Arabella, speaks of Henry often. Quite a pair they make. He appears to be the brains, and Bella the brawn.”

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused on the teasing until she heard another laugh. They both looked to Mary Margaret who was still standing there.

“I hate to be that person eavesdropping. I know, seriously uncool, it’s just… well it’s very accurate. Henry’s the mastermind and Bella handles business.”

“Henry’s not in trouble, is he?” Emma asked, knowing deep down that her kid was better than that, but feeling the compulsion to check all the same.

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Mary Margaret said, looking at the two of them before something sparked in her eyes and her smile grew wider. “I’m sure Mr. Jones is happy to elaborate. As for skipping out? Normally I advise against it. But in this case, it seems right to make an exception.”

Without another word, Mary Margaret left the room, headed to places unknown and Emma was stunned. Was Henry’s teacher trying to give them alone time? Like a set up? Oh Jesus. Could she handle that? The nerves came rushing back, but then Killian took her hand and all that energy flared to something new, something warm and brilliant and blissful. Just like before, her senses lit up, and her body filled with this aching sense of familiarity. Her heart pounded an unsteady rhythm, but her eyes glanced back at him, seeing the earnest desire shining in his bright blue eyes. Whatever was happening, he was with her in it, and clearly he was interested in seeing this through.

“What do you say, Swan? Do you trust me?”

……

“Do you trust me?”

The question may seem mild enough, but Killian knew, even from this most basic of introductions, that trust was a rare gift bestowed by Emma Swan. He couldn’t blame her, as he felt the same. The world was full of people who took advantage and played the game. They had motives centered in self-interest and many tried to hide that side of themselves until they’d taken you in and used you in ways you hadn’t expected. Knowing how many people had tried to take advantage of him over the years made belief in others often untenable. He had a handful of people he considered himself close with. His brother, Liam, his business partner, David, and his niece, Arabella rounded out the top of that list. That a girl of ten (even if she was going on thirty) was ranked so highly spoke loudly enough about his connectedness to others, but what could he say? He’d been burned before. Badly.

But Emma’s different. I know she is.

The thought flitted through his mind, mirroring the bevy of reflections he’d been processing since meeting her half an hour before. The last place he ever expected to be struck in love was a parent teacher conference, but Liam had begged him to attend in his stead, and Killian couldn’t refuse. Now he was more grateful than he could ever put into words. Never before had he been so glad to be driven to distraction.

Emma was a breath of fresh air and a vision amongst of sea of preening peacocks. With golden hair, jade-colored eyes, and a face and a figure that would haunt a man’s dreams, she was so far beyond stunning. But it was something far deeper than beauty that called to him tonight, something in her manner that couldn’t be denied. He prided himself on being a smart man. One didn’t achieve his kind of success without a brain to build an empire, and as he looked at Emma, he saw a warrior. Strong in the face of resistance, bright in the dark swirl of catty Manhattan moms. She was a marvel, and he was desperate for her reply.

“Yes.”

The answer seemed to surprise Emma almost as much as it encouraged him, but before she could regret it, he took her hand in his once more. He reveled in the sensation of rightness being close to her like this, and when instinct guided his way, he didn’t second guess. He kissed her hand in what some may call an overtly flirtatious move, but the magic of the moment called for something out of the ordinary. He clocked the flush of pink that stained her cheeks, the color that graced her features, and the change in her expression. She was flustered, but happy, and he was proud at sensing what she needed even if she didn’t know herself. Anyone who knew him would hardly recognize him right now, so enchanted by a woman he’d just met, and yet Killian had never felt more himself.

“Thank you. I swear, I won’t let you down.”

“Good.”

With their meaningful agreement, the two of them made an exit from the school, faster than expected, thanks to Emma’s helpful insights. She explained the tendency to check for escape routes as part of her work, and he was intrigued at a woman who chose private investigation for employment. He had no doubt she was brilliant at it, but there was little time to get to the particulars. Soon enough they were out in the New York nighttime, with the hustle and bustle and noise, and he had precious little time to lead them to their destination. Ah, and there was the rub. Because despite his show of confidence, he still wasn’t exactly sure where that destination would be.

“If we’re still in the ‘brainstorm’ phase of this little adventure, I should just say that my babysitter’s got class in the morning. I’ve only got about an hour before she’ll expect me back.”

“I’m in a similar predicament,” he admitted, thinking of his housekeeper, Mrs. Potts, and her duties at home. The older woman would never dream of faulting him for staying late tonight while she watched Arabella, and if she knew it was to pursue a woman like Emma, she’d volunteer for endless service, but he’d like to see Bella before bed. She may be growing up far faster than he wanted, but she still loved a goodnight story from her father or her uncle when the time came.

“What if we split the difference?” she asked him, humor in her eyes as she watched his surprise. “I’ll handle dinner, you handle the date.”

“Ah, so this is a date?” he quipped, his smile so big it nearly hurt. Emma blushed again. She hadn’t meant it that way, but no matter. He’d take what he was given and be glad for it. “Good to know. In that case. I’ve just the place.”

“So do I.” Pulling out her phone she opened an app and then smiled. “And she’s right on time.”

Emma’s confidence was beautiful, even if her words confounded him. He was so taken by her command of the situation that he followed her lead. Her destination was close, in fact, it was a food truck nestled among a crowd of others in a park only half a block away. The crowd was insane here, and on a Tuesday no less. This pop up dining experience had seemingly just begun. Some trucks were still arriving, and windows were all starting to ascend. Killian stayed close as Emma skipped the line at the most flamboyantly decorated caravan. He expected a fight, this was New York after all, but he watched in amazement as many others from the queue greeted Emma warmly. No one took any issue with her approaching the front. Interesting to say the least.

“Okay, I am definitely hallucinating,” a smiling woman with long brown hair jested from inside the truck. “There’s no way that Emma Swan is at my truck tonight. Not when she had a date with the most dreadful people in our fair city.”

“Change of plans,” Emma said with a smile before nodding back to him. The woman looked over and her eyes went big, and then she let loose a wolfish smile.

“And what a change it is. Frankly, he looks like a way better date.”

“I like to think so,” Killian offered in an attempt to pivot from being openly ogled by Emma’s flirtatious friend. “Killian Jones.”

“Ruby Lucas. So, tell me, Killian, what are your intentions with my girl, Emma?”

“Ruby.” Emma’s mortification touched him, and as much as he may like to laugh, he held back in the pursuit of easing her mind.

“They’re completely honorable, but tragically fleeting in the short term. Emma’s agreed to a date, as you’ve surmised, but we’ve only a bit of time before the clock strikes twelve.”

Ruby looked to Emma for clarity and Emma explained the need to get back to the kids. Ruby looked poised to continue her questioning, but she thought better of it, calling back into the truck to her coworker to grab two ‘Emma Specials.’ Before it should be possible, the food was ready, and Emma was bidding her friend goodbye. He took the bag from her grasp, searching for a place to sit, but there was none.

“Don’t worry, this is made for on the go consumption. It’s why she named it for me. Because I’m always on the run.”

Killian was delighted to find she was right, and the grilled, cheesy goodness was beyond anything he could imagine. The layers and flavors, bursting with creativity and unexpected combinations, were amazing. This was quite possibly the best meal he’d had in this city, and it had come from a truck of all places. Equally amazing was how much he enjoyed this on the go approach. He’d always believed a woman should be wined and dined in a more upscale setting, with space, and time and ambiance. But this felt more real, and the difference in the start of this story only confirmed to Killian that it was truly something special.

Emma’s incredible culinary insights also set the bar high for his portion of the night’s events, but he was assured of his choice. Just like with dinner, timing was everything and luck would hopefully be on his side. The place was nearby, and Killian was certain Emma would have never been there before, two obvious reasons for going. It was also a hidden gem of this city along the lines of Ruby’s truck, just in a different way. Ten minute’s walk brought them to the place in question, a stone building nestled among concrete and cement. From the outside, the location was nondescript and some may even say uninteresting, but there was something truly incredible waiting through the doors. The lights in the main room were still on, a good sign for his efforts. Killian clicked the buzzer on the intercom outside and heard the crackle of an old system. Silence. He clicked again. Same thing. One last time and he had the desired effect.

“We’re closed. Opening is tomorrow night.”

“Graham, it’s Killian.”

Immediately the buzzer connected, and Killian pulled open the bronzed grate that had been barred over the doorway. With a hand at the small of her back, Killian led Emma inside and they walked into the front room. It appeared, at this juncture, to be any other run of the mill gallery, but Killian knew better. He’d been here many times before and he’d never left without a substantial shift in mind and body.

“Didn’t take you for the gallery type.” Emma’s words pulled Killian’s attention, and her smirk prompted one of his own.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Killian looked to the familiar voice and found Graham. His old friend from college had laughter in his eyes, and a knowing smile on his face. With a glance at Emma and then back at Killian, Graham raised a brow. Killian gave a subtle nod and with that the two of them acknowledged all that they needed to. Killian had never asked for a favor like this before. The woman beside him must truly be something, and Graham was happy not to pry.

“I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Emma said after she and Graham had been introduced. “You’re clearly closed, and an opening is a big deal.”

“We are, and it is, but Killian knows me well enough by now to realize that the show has been ready for days.”

“Weeks more likely,” Killian muttered. Graham grinned.

“No comment.

“So what happened? You just finished before the deadline?” Emma asked, curious at the exchange.

“Nope. I planned it this way. Few people realize that, except for Killian. My other patrons would never let me hear the end of it. They like a bit more theater and drama from their artists. But I like the calm before the storm. Debuts are the start of a marathon. It’ll be nonstop for weeks. Tonight is quiet. Peaceful. How my art was meant to be.”

“And you’re sure we’re not putting you out?” Killian’s heart clenched at Emma’s thoughtfulness. She didn’t know his friend at all, but she was conscious of his feelings, and empathetic to his needs in the situation.

“I’m sure. Besides, friends don’t put you out, and Killian is the best kind of friend. He won’t tell you this, but I only had the chance to create this place because of him. He believed in me long before I did. The least I can do is help him impress a beautiful woman.”

“Watch it, mate.”

Graham laughed, shaking his head but giving them permission to look for as long as they wanted. “I’ll be here all night. It was a pleasure, Emma. Hope to see you again.”

She thanked him, but the idea of seeing Graham again was quickly replaced when they walked to the next room. Emma and Killian were both immersed in the most astonishing exhibit he’d seen in ages. Graham’s expression was based in multimedia, from sculpture to painting to light work, and he’d out done himself this time.

Entitled ‘Memories of Maine’ the show spanned three different rooms. These areas told the story of a place Killian had never been but that instantly felt sacred. It depicted the region with depth and detail and wonder. It was difficult to know where to begin, but slowly, and naturally, he and Emma walked together side by side. They were captivated by the same bursts of color and glass and light. One particularly beautiful wall bore a three-dimensional scene of waves along the shoreline. Shards of hand blown glass, shells, plastic and metal were woven together or jaggedly juxtaposed with meticulous attention to detail. Up close every component rebelled against its surroundings, but from afar, it looked like sea foam and soft laps of the sea on a sunny summer day.

Another sculpture of substantial height and size reflected pine tree canopies. The scent of it was heavy in the air, and not synthetically, but naturally. Killian knew there were hidden pine trees somewhere, lending their essence to the art. A cool breeze could be felt of indiscernible origins and it moved the eye to paintings on the wall of lifelike leaves. Foliage en masse, with the decay of summer looking more alive than ever before. Then the lighting changed, and an illusion of snow appeared. The paint changed too, with new swirls and texture. All it once there was that familiar feeling that came when fall kissed the world goodbye and the first frozen flaked made contact.

As stunning as these pieces were, they were two of more than a dozen central works. Killian never knew the how of Graham’s creations. There were too many amazing skills needed and countless hours of dreaming and crafting for Killian to make sense of it. But the end result was always something he admired. It said something then, that in the midst of such extraordinary talent, he was still ever fixated on Emma. Watching her experience this all for the first time was a revelation in itself. Her amazement was childlike, and the innocent expression of delight and surprise felt healing. He knew in his heart that she knew burdens. Whatever those burdens may be, and whatever scars remained because of them, the two of them shared that past of pain and trial. But this was a place outside of that. This was a place of hope and of beginnings.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Emma said finally, after close to thirty minutes of quiet and reflection. She looked to him, eyes lit up by the world around them, but focused just on him.

“Which part, love?”

“All of it. This place. Tonight. You. I keep thinking…”

She trailed off and he stepped closer, taking her into his arms as he’d wanted to from their first meeting. She didn’t resist, instead melting into him, like she found comfort in the embrace. The feeling of being home coursed through him, and as he gazed upon her, he knew. This was the face of his forever. It may take time to convince her, but he would be damned before he let Emma get away. Whatever it took, he silently vowed to be worthy of her and her love.

“You keep thinking that the other shoe will drop, or you’ll wake suddenly and realize this was mere imagination.” His articulation of her thoughts had her eyes misting slightly as she worried her lip. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, smoothing out that particularly tempting show of tension. “But it is real, Emma. I swear to you, it’s real.”

He couldn’t be sure which of them moved first, but he wanted to believe they chose together in that moment to seal this discovery with a kiss. It was everything he’d hoped and more, charged with a rush of warmth and need but a knowledge that it was simply the first of many. He was lost in her and found there too, already addicted to her nearness and her care. Her taste was pure intoxication, the subtle sounds of her satisfied sighs music to his ears. It was the makings of a memory he’d cherish always. When they finally broke apart sometime later, he was amused to find the ceiling above them was a swirling sea of stars. It was the perfect space for this stolen moment. A surreal start of something spectacular.

“I hate to say goodbye,” she murmured, a slight frown threatening to appear before he kissed her quickly again. When he pulled back she smiled, despite herself.

They both knew that the time had come to go back home. They both had responsibilities to attend to, namely two children who meant the world to them. For Emma, there could be nothing more important than her son and Killian understood that. He had learned just how fierce her love for Henry was tonight, and he was awed by that love. That she was a great mother he had no doubt. He only hoped that someday there’d be space for him too in the life she’d fought so valiantly to make.

“Then we won’t. I’ve never been a fan of farewells. Besides, this is hardly over.”

“You seem pretty sure of that,” she joked, her resistance feigned and not meant in earnest. Her hands ran over his chest lightly, a dizzying display of inclination. Their comfort with each other already had to be fated. Two parts of one whole, two souls finally finding their anchor.

“That’s because I am.”

“So what do we say then? If not goodbye?”

“We say…” He thought about it, and at first he thought no words would do this justice. But ultimately decided to go with what he truly felt and to express those feelings with conviction and honesty. “We say it was enchanting to meet you.”

“It was,” she agreed, humming out a sound of affirmation.

“We say the best is yet to come.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“And then we say, until tomorrow, love.”

“Tomorrow.”

And with that promise, and a final kiss, the two of them departed from this sacred place together, knowing that the enchantment was destined to linger, and that the love that sparked this evening would fill a lifetime with happiness and joy.

…………………..

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?" 'Cross the room your silhouette Starts to make its way to me The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks Like passing notes in secrecy And it was enchanting to meet you All I can say is, I was enchanted to meet you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you The lingering question kept me up 2 AM, who do you love? I wonder 'til I'm wide awake And now I'm pacing back and forth Wishing you were at my door I'd open up and you would say, "Hey" It was enchanting to meet you All I know is, I was enchanted to meet you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew That this night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Post-Note: So there we have it! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. To the lovely reader who asked for this so long ago, I hope this story finds you and I am so grateful for your suggestion. With my muse as quiet as it has been, it’s been wonderful to find things that inspire me. I am not sure when I will have another chapter update, but in the meantime, I am wishing you all well and hope you have a great start to your summer!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195, Part 196, Part 197

Tagging some friends who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @teamhook

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #captain swan oneshot #cs fic #cs #cs au #cs ff #cs fluff #cs first date #cs oneshot #captain swan mixtape #cs mixtape #enchanted #ouat ff #ouat fic

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

CS ff: “Contact”

Summary: Killian makes an accidental discovery about something Emma really enjoys...

Rating: E

Warnings: Spanking, ahoy!

A/N: Oh, what’s that? PWP no one asked for? Written ages ago now for @phiralovesloki in hopes to make grading a less daunting task for her. There’s more to follow. Smut ahoy, so keep that in mind.

Read it on Ao3!

-x-

It happens on accident the first time, as good things sometimes do, during a quiet movie night while Henry is at Regina’s and her parents occupied with their son. Emma was on her way to the kitchen and quipped something on her way out. Killian, being Killian, swatted towards her behind; rather than making a quick contact or missing, as he figured he would, his hand solidly connected with her left ass cheek and she moaned.

Unbidden. Unrestrained.

Killian Jones has had many an erection in his life. None have ever sprung faster than the moment that sound came out of his wife’s mouth. They’d looked at each other for a second, eyes locked as they decided how to proceed. But whatever was in the kitchen was forgotten as Emma rounded the couch and draped herself over the arm of the chair, her rear in the air and waiting.

“Do it again,” she said.

With no hesitation, Killian brought his hand back up, swinging it back against her clothed ass. Again, the moan that came out of her mouth had all of the blood rushing to Killian’s cock. He leaned over, pushing her hair away from her ear with his hook.

“Let’s see, love, how that feels when I’m buried inside you.”

Clothes had been shed, and when his hand hit her bare flesh that time, opposite cheek?

To say it was good would be an understatement.

It becomes a treat on special occasions. They set up the whole evening around the idea that this is how it will go. It’s the same kind of concept: Quiet night, wine, a movie that is quickly forgotten when Emma lays across Killian’s lap.

He rubs gently to start. Once across the right globe, once across the left. She wiggles in anticipation, and Killian grins. It’s the anticipation that she enjoys the most – he can tell.

“Push these down, love,” he says quietly, his fingers tugging at the band on her leggings.

She obliges, only moving the fabric down enough to expose what he wants.

“No underwear?” He hums, making the question rhetorical.

And then he waits until just before the moment she’s about to ask for it. He cups his hand, bringing it swiftly against her bare skin. She jolts against his lap, her moan muffled by the pillow she’s holding against her chest. The move is instinctual, a hip thrust against his lap, and it’s just the beginning. He repeats the motion against the other cheek, pausing to rub each one to sooth again.

Round 2. With a little more pressure this time, Emma rides out the sweet pain as she writhes in his lap. Round 3. He repeats the process again with steady and careful motions. Round 4. He makes sure to soothe the skin again as she shifts to get her hand between them, pleasuring herself. After Round 5, Emma moves her face from the pillow.

“Yellow,” she tells them. Their code. She’s reaching a pain threshold but she wants to keep going. So it’s time to change the game.

“Let’s shift,” he tells her, urging her up and repositioning her over the arm of the couch like she’d been the first time. He helps her remove the leggings the rest of the way, urging her legs a little wider. She’s glistening with her own arousal and there’s so many things he wants to do at that moment, but he sticks to their game. Pushing down his own jeans and underwear and shucking them off, he gives her a moment to rest.

Before he slides into her, he starts the next round. It’s not as intense from this angle, since he can’t achieve the same cupping technique and tension, but it just means that when he spanks her as he enters that she pushes back instead of jerking forward, and he gets to slide deep inside of her as she clenches around him.

“Heaven,” he murmurs, trying to keep focused. He slides out, thrusting a few times before he delivers the next hit. His whole palm is open, coming down on her left cheek and grabbing it, relishing the way she moans and shudders. With how red each globe is, he eases off, instead focusing on delivering her more pleasure than pain.

It doesn’t take long. She reaches for her own clit, leveraging up against the arm to change the angle and help them both along. It’s a matter of thrusts later that she clenches tight around his cock and he stills, the pleasure finally overtaking his whole body.

They both pause, catching their breath and coming back down. As Killian pulls out, he carefully bends and places a kiss against each perfect cheek of his beloved’s rear end.

From there, they continue their night. They clean up and return to their normal spots on the couch, with Killian’s hand ever-gently rubbing against her arse through the end of the movie.

“Same time next week?”

Her response isn’t verbal, it’s a swift slap to his ass as she exits the bathroom, grinning as Killian groans. “I thought maybe we’d try something new.”

#captain swan #cs ff #pwp #sarah writes ff #smut

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artistic-writer · 5 years

Text

Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: E :: Ch 4

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E (it’s time!) Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU.

AO3 - FF - Ko-Fi

A/N: Ch 4! SMUT TIME! Ahem. Contain your thirst, ladies. Wait, no, don’t. This chapter is going to make you realise that you have a new fetish. Just saying ;) Many thanks to @hollyethecurious who agreed to beta this, and to @doodlelolly0910 who regularly listens to me ranting about wanting to write when my fingers don’t want to work. And @darkcolinodonorgasm who understands how relevant real-life race rules are :D

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree @effulgentcolors @shardminds

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It was odd. When she had agreed to dinner, she was imagining something that had reflected his pay grade, maybe with a candle burning between them and a security guard at the door. She had known what it was like to date a racer and she was sure that they all thrived on the attention they got from fans. Killian Jones was not like Neal, she could tell that as soon as he had opened his mouth, but the picture the media had painted of him was flawed at best. There were women hanging off his arm in every photo, and she expected him to be a bit more confident.

What she didn’t expect was for Killian Jones to be a gentleman, in every sense of the word.

He had picked her up, just like he had promised too, on time and with a dashing smile that made her stomach flip into knots. All coherent thought had left her, and the only thing she could focus on was how blue Killian’s eyes were and how warm his hands were on the small of her back as he had led her to his car. He had opened the door for her, kept the conversation light and cheery, and totally ignored the look of confusion on her face when he had driven them to the race track where she has beat him not five hours earlier.

“May I show you to your table?” Killian offered her his hand after he had opened the passenger door of his car.

“You may,” Emma nodded, wrapping her fingers around his and allowing him to pull her out of the car. She frowned, looking around the deserted pit lane before turning to Killian once more. “Are we here for a reason? At the track. The track I beat you at.” She gave his hand a playful tug, stopping him from leading her down the pitlane anymore.

“Very funny,” Killian told her with a shake of his head. He turned, the tips of his ears that slight pink hue that Emma had noticed earlier and already enjoyed seeing.

“I can imagine it’s very painful,” Emma teased. “The memory of her, I mean.”

“Ah,” Killian rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you enjoying your new bike?”

“She’s not as fast, but she’s pretty to look at,” Emma stifled her laugh, letting him lead her further down the pit lane.

It was after dark and Emma felt the flutter of butterflies reappear in her stomach. Killian’s silence made her nervous, but when he turned to give her a quick, rakish grin, she relaxed a little. She was excited, more than she ever had been before, the smell of his aftershave wafting down wind and enticing her after him as he rounded the small corner that led out onto the track.

Killian stopped, turning to face her and blocking her view of the start line behind him. He let go of her hand, something Emma missed instantly, and dipped his head to catch her eye. He smiled, warm and inviting but laced with something Emma had never associated with the man stood before her. Killian Jones was nervous, all of his bravado gone, and she watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Your table,” Killian announced, stepping aside and motioning to what was behind him.

It took Emma’s breath. Lit by the floodlights over the start line was a small table, draped with a pristine white tablecloth and with two chairs placed opposite each other. There were two huge glass vases each with a deep red candle inside, both lit and casting a soft shadow over the table with their gently flickering flame. Two wine glasses accompanied the cutlery set out beside each plate and a huge bottle of what looked like champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice.

“Killian Jones, this is-,” Emma began, dumbfounded by the effort he had gone to.

“It’s nothing,” Killian assured her with a gentle grip on her bare elbow.

“I-,” Emma stuttered as she advanced on the table before her. It was more than she had ever dreamed of, from anyone, so small and intimate yet with such a personal touch, she almost forgot they were both standing at the start line of the raceway.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Killian offered softly, darting around her to pull out the chair for her.

Emma took his offered hand once more, letting him guide her to the dining table with a smile. She sat, all of the hairs on her arm standing on end when Killian lightly brushed his fingers over her shoulders and brought her back to reality.

“Are you alright, lass?” Killian asked, noticing the way her body shivered under his touch. “Are you cold?” Without waiting for her answer he pulled out a blanket that was hanging over the back of her chair, holding it by the edge and letting it unfold under its own weight. He gave it a shake before wrapping it around her, making sure to tuck it in down her back.

“I never expected this,” Emma said suddenly as she smoothed out a small wrinkle in the table cloth. The material was silky smooth under her fingertips and her eyes darted around, taking in everything set out before her.

“What did you expect?” Killian took his place in the seat opposite her and leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table.

“I don’t know,” Emma laughed, blinking in disbelief. “I thought-”

“That I was exactly the man portrayed by the media?” Killian surmised, reaching for the bottle of champagne and giving her a smile. “That I couldn’t win the heart of a pretty lady?”

Emma blushed, her lips ticking up at the corners. “Well, not to bring it up again, but you couldn’t win a race, so you know.” Emma licked her lips, her waterproof lipstick staying exactly where it was when she pouted her lips and rolled her eyes sideways.

Killian narrowed his eyes at her playful remark, loving the way her nose wrinkled just a little when she was smiling. He wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle, ignoring the ice cold glass against his palm, before he pushed the cork with his thumb. It popped, making Emma jump. “I didn’t let you win, you know,” he assured her, leaning forward to pour her some champagne. “That really was all you.”

“I know,” Emma smirked, watching the bubbles in her glass dance up and down. “I’m a great rider.”

“And yet, I’ve never heard of you,” Killian teased, lifting his gaze away from his own glass momentarily as he poured.

“How do you know?” Emma shrugged, reaching for her glass and lifting it to her lips. Her blanket slipped from her shoulders and she saw Killian’s eyes dart to her exposed skin before she took a sip of the alcohol and the tiny bubbles fizzled on her tongue. “You’ve raced Moto2,” she shrugged. “Maybe we crossed paths once.”

“No,” Killian said vehemently, shaking his head and swallowing the champagne in his mouth. “I would have remembered.”

“Well, you don’t even know my name,” Emma suggested sweetly. “So maybe you’re wrong. Maybe I’m not worth the effort of all this.”

Killian smirked and rested his glass back onto the table in front of him before leaning back in his chair. Emma watched, the impossibly handsome man getting even more good looking as he changed position and nervously licked his bottom lip before tracing the pink flesh with a single fingertip.

“I would have remembered,” Killian reiterated after a moment's thought. “Because when you see something so beautiful, you’re changed forever.” He stared at her, his eyes the bluest shade of a thousand seas Emma had ever seen, and she felt her throat go dry and her stomach drop. “Your world is altered in an instant, and you can’t go back to before, when it was dull and grey, because the light is where you want to be, with whatever took you there.” He paused, holding her gaze so intently Emma thought he might burn a hole right through her. “So, despite not knowing your name, love, I feel like this,” he stopped again, motioning to his start line dining table, “is worth the effort. You are worth the effort.”

Emma coughed a little, covering her mouth as she cleared the dryness in her throat. “Good line,” she rasped through another coy smirk. “How many women have fallen for that Killian Jones charm?”

Undeterred by her bristled response, Killian grinned. “None so far, but there is a first time for everything.”

“Ah,” Emma nodded, not believing him.

“What, love?” Killian read her instantly. “You think between races, parties, sponsors, testing, and my family I have time for dating?”

“You don’t?” Emma pried innocently.

“Did you? When you raced I mean?” Killian pried back.

“Stop deflecting my questions back at me,” Emma told him sternly, unable to tear her eyes away from his when he simply stared at her and raised his eyebrow to accompany his playful grin.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your race days?” Killian asked, reaching for his glass once more. Condensation covered his fingertips and he gripped it harder so as not to drop it.

“It’s not a first date kind of story,” Emma said with a sigh. “Maybe after a few more,” she said, downing what was left in her glass. “Maybe after some actual food.” She looked around but there didn’t seem to be any food of any sort nearby. She couldn’t even smell anything but the stench of burnt rubber and oil, so she looked back to Killian with a questioning expression. “Is there going to be any food here tonight?”

Killian smiled, again humoured by her. “This is a race track, love, not a restaurant.”

“So, where’s the food?” Emma asked him, pulling the blanket around her arms a little tighter. The sun had gone down hours ago, and if she had known she would be sitting out on a track she might have worn something a little less revealing.

“Oh, that’s back at my place,” Killian smirked.

Emma tilted her head to the side and gave him a narrow eyed stare. “Presumptuous much?”

“I don’t know what you are expecting, lass,” Killian said innocently, pushing himself to his feet and tucking the chair back under the table. The wooden legs scraped on the asphalt underneath them, but they both ignored it. “But I am a world class motorbike racer who couldn’t just invite anyone back to his home. I mean, what if you were some kind of crazed fan.”

“I’m not.”

“Or someone who had broken into this track compound just to see if they could beat me in a race,” he continued as he approached her with a wry grin.

“I didn’t and you’re forgetting I did beat you,” Emma reminded him, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled slightly when the chair snagged on a rough patch of the track, but Killian was there to right her when she threatened to topple sideways.

“I’m sure I will never forget it, what with how many times you mention it,” Killian smiled at her.

“Had I mentioned it?” Emma frowned, pursing her lips. “I don’t remember.”

“Alright,” Killian huffed in mock annoyance as he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go, miss?” He prompted with a genuinely honest smile that turned her stomach over again.

“Swan,” Emma said softly as she mirrored his smile. “But my friends call me Emma.”

“And am I a friend yet, miss Swan?” Killian looked up at her, his face a picture of childlike innocence as he gave her his best puppy dog eyes and lifted their joined hands to his lips. The feel of his lips on the back of her hand were like a brand, emblazoning the feel of themselves forever onto her skin.

“You’re getting there,” she smirked as a ripple of excitement passed through her. “When you are, I’ll let you know.”

It took less than two hours for Emma to realise that Killian Jones was nothing like what she had heard through the race circuit and media. He had gone out of his way to make her feel special, despite his own reservations. Clearly, something had happened to him before and she understood it completely. There wasn’t a rider out there who hadn’t come across an over zealous fan, and as a female rider, Emma had encountered her fair share of weirdos and stalkers, and as she polished off her last glass of wine, she was sure she was turning into one herself.

Sat across from her on his huge, L-shaped couch, slouched back against the cushions with a mellow grin on his face, Killian was more appealing than ever. Under the buzz of drunkenness, Emma had begun to appreciate him much more than she had before. Killian was something, a real specimen, highly athletic with muscles that bulged underneath the luxurious material of his clearly expensive shirt and drew her gaze every time he moved.

Two shirt buttons undone was not enough for Emma to fully appreciate it, but the chest hair that she could see was thick, and black, and cried out to be touched, it’s silky texture shimmering in the light of his lounge. More wine, food and some beers had taken their toll on him and he had almost succumbed to the pull of sleep, only snapping himself awake when Emma had moved and plopped herself down on the cushion beside him.

“Miss Swan,” Killian had squeaked in mock surprise, his hand finding her bare thigh almost immediately. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Can you see me though?” Emma cocked her head to one side before flopping it to the opposite. “You have glassy eyes.”

“That’s because you made me drink more than I normally do when entertaining a woman,” he laughed.

“Oh really?” She leaned into him, her breasts pushing against his shoulder and her hand resting on his chest. “And how often do you entertain women?” She teased, her finger slipping beneath where the two sides of his shirt were buttoned together to finally feel his chest hair.

“As a matter of fact,” Killian began, lifting his hand to point an accusatory finger at her humoured expression.

“Yes?” Emma prompted, knowing his words had probably been stolen because her fingertips had brushed over his nipple.

“I haven’t,” Killian admitted, blinking his eyes closed. “I mean, I don’t-”

“Right,” Emma droned out with a grin.

“No, really,” Killian nodded, his head a little floppier than usual. He sat himself up as he cleared his throat, his fingers tightening their grip around her thigh. “It’s been a while.”

“Hmmm,” Emma hummed, resting her chin on his shoulder. “You’re telling me that a guy as smokin’ hot as you, hasn’t had a woman in a while.”

“You think I’m hot?” Killian giggled.

“Shut up,” Emma scolded, pulling her hand from his shirt and giving him a playful slap on the chest. “Seriously,” she urged. “Why no women?”

Killian took a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as he contemplated her question. Why hadn’t he? Race rules, team duties, the loss of his brother? None of those could explain the gaps of time between race seasons when he still chose not to entertain a woman. He liked the attention in front of the cameras when he was Killian Jones, World Champion. But when he was home, and he was just Killian Jones the man, what mattered most to him was finding the right someone to share his time with. Someone who cared about Killian Jones the man more than his title or wealth.

“Come on, tell me,” Emma nudged him with her elbow, shaking him from his reverie.

Killian turned to look at her, really look at the woman beside him. He had known her for less time that a working day, and yet, he felt like he had known her his entire life. She was gorgeous, there was no denying that, and any man would have been lucky to spend time with her. She was intriguing but also funny, witty beyond comprehension and she made his skin come alive with her little touches here and there. His body’s reaction to her was obvious and he would be a fool to ignore it.

“How about a tour first?” Killian suggested with a nudge of his head. “Come on,” he urged, standing up on wobbly bare feet and offering her his hand for the second time that evening. “I have something I think you’re going to really like.”

Emma took his hand, letting him pull her from the couch, their bodies crashing together unexpectedly. She blushed and he gasped a breath at the contact, his fingers gripping tightly at hers by their side like he wasn’t sure what to do. Emma looked up at him through her lashes, lips gently parted to help feed her starving lungs since her heart had sped up in her chest, with eyes that had darkened instantly with the desire that Killian fuelled inside of her. Emma could feel his rapid heartbeat against the palm of her hand pressed to his chest and she didn’t mistake the darkness in his own eyes when she caught his gaze.

“Where is it?” She almost whispered, her eyes flicking to his lips.

Words failed him and all Killian could do with his last vestiges of will power was step back, blinking himself back to reality. Emma missed the contact immediately and was reluctant to release her hold on his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to her own reality. Killian gave her a friendly smile, squeezing her fingers and tugging her arm gently until she decided to walk with him.

“This way, love,” he told her softly. He licked his lips and turned around so he could see where he was going, a relieved sigh escaping his mouth silently as he exhaled a steadying breath. He wasn’t lying. It had been a while and he wasn’t about to risk his career with a woman who insisted on name formalities. Even drunk he wasn’t that much of an idiot.

“What is it?” Emma asked excitedly, her bare feet padding across the warmed flooring as she almost skipped after him.

“You’ll see,” Killian smirked, reaching a door at the end of a darkened hallway. There was a lock on the door and before she had time to ask him what he was doing, Killian had released her hand and was going to work unbuttoning his shirt.

“Here?” Emma raised an eyebrow, shifting her weight a little to watch him.

“Stop objectifying me, woman,” Killian said with a grin. “I know it’s hard, but please try,” he added as he finished undoing the line of buttons on his shirt and pulled the edges open.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Emma promised weakly, unable to stop her eyes roaming the thatch of glorious, dark chest hair that adorned his torso. Her hands itched to feel it, to trace the shape of his nipple as it pebbled under her touch, but she refrained, instead spying the small, silver blunted key hanging around his neck and giving him a confused look. “You wanted to show me a key?”

“No, love,” Killian grinned boyishly as he lifted the thin chain over his head and held the key in his palm. “This key opens this door,” he motioned behind him. “Behind which is something I think you are going to really appreciate.”

“Is it a sex dungeon?” Emma laughed.

“I’m not that exciting I’m afraid,” Killian laughed with her, feeling like it was the most natural thing he had ever done. “But I do want to share it with you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Emma mocked, swaying her hips a little as she circled him and leaned back against the white panelled door. The wood was cold against her body, the thin material of her skimpy red dress barely enough to keep her warm, but she didn't even notice as soon as Killian shortened the gap between them leaving barely an inch between their bodies.

“Turn around,” he rasped darkly with a coy smirk.

Emma complied without hesitation, rolling her body against the door until she was facing away from him. Her hands spread out beside her head and she pinched her eyes closed, the thrill of what was coming next causing the welcome flutter in her stomach once again. Her chest heaved up and down, the wooden door cold against her bosom, and when Killian stepped forward and pressed his body against hers, she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips.

“Easy,” he whispered into the back of her ear, setting every hair on her neck on high alert as a prickle ran over her skin and they stood to attention. Killian slipped his hand between them, poking the key into the lock and twisting it slowly, enjoying the way Emma gasped when his bare chest pushed against the patches of skin her barely there dress revealed. “Ready?” Emma nodded, unable to form words. “Good.” Killian nuzzled his nose into the patch of skin behind her ear, inhaling her scent and letting the fog of his breath affect her even more. “Close your eyes.”

Emma couldn’t stop the giggle of excitement that tumbled from her mouth when she heard the door latch click open and then felt Killian’s hands covering her eyes. Her hands found his forearms, gripping on for dear life as he walked her into a room that she could tell was huge just by the way the sound of her laughter echoed off the walls. It smelled clean but not antiseptic, not a single chemical smell to be found but instead the familiar, metallic smell of engine cleaner and lubrication spray mechanics often used to clean parts with. Her enthusiasm heightened, Emma shuffled her feet forward on Killian’s tender instruction until he stopped her and she felt him smile against her neck.

“Alright,” he announced, pulling his hands away from her eyes and sliding them down her body until they rested on her hips. He let go of one briefly to flick a switch but it returned to the warmth of her body quickly. “Open your eyes.”

Emma peeled her eyes open, ignoring the blinding whiteness of the room and blinking to adjust her focus. It was nothing like what she had imagined would be behind such a mundane looking door and all she could do was gasp, her heart stopping dead in her chest.

“Wow,” she breathed, stepping from his embrace in shock.

The room was filled with motorcycles, each on its own dedicated display stand like they were in some sort of museum. The more Emma looked around, the more variety she saw, from some of the rarest antique classics to some of the most sleek looking modern constructions, her heart was a flutter with each and every one. But there was one, sitting alone in the middle of the collection like a giant black and yellow wasp, that caught her attention and well and truly held it.

Emma gave Killian a quick glance over her shoulder before stumbling forward on legs that were shaky from a combination of alcohol and disbelief. The centre piece to Killian’s collection was none other than one of the rarest motorcycles to ever exist, requiring even the most professional of riders to complete a two week course before even being able to own one. Killian followed her with a proud smile, simply watching her appreciate the bike like he knew she would.

“Is this?” Emma gasped in shock.

“Aye, love, it is,” Killian confirmed. He loved the way she reacted, a girlish giggle falling from her mouth as she reached out and hovered her hand over the cold, matt black and yellow finish of the bodywork.

“Killian,” she paused, wide eyed when she turned to look at him. “This is an Ecosse Spirit ES1.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian grinned in boyish glee.

“One of the best handling, lightest, most powerful F1 inspired motorcycles to ever exist.” Her rambling was cute and Killian took another step towards her with a nod.

“Aye,” he agreed with amusement.

“Don’t these cost like $3 Million?” Emma frowned, turning back to the bike one more time to make sure it was really there.

“$3.6 Million, actually,” Killian clarified, finally reaching her and grabbing her hand. Emma tried to resist but he pushed her, coaxing her that final step forward until her fingertips brushed over the yellow and black paintwork. Killian laid his hand over hers, flattening her palm to the machine’s huge fuel tank, watching her features turn from shock to satisfaction. “There are only ten in the world,” he told her, moving her hand over the curve of the tank and along the supple leather of the rider’s seat. “And only one in this colour.”

Emma was stunned to silence. The Ecosse ES1 was unattainable to most people, its huge price tag and strict purchase requirements putting most people off of anything more than photos. Emma had admired the concept since its inception, intrigued by the combination of a superbike and an F1 car in one package, something that would most likely never be affordable to many teams, let alone one person.

“Wow,” Emma repeated, moving around the bike deliberately, putting the machine between the two of them. “Can I see you on it?” She looked up to meet his gaze, the shock in her eyes evident but laced with something else Killian hadn’t noticed before.

“Is that a turn on for you?” Killian smirked, lifting his leg over the back of the bike and settling into the softness of the seat. His toes stretched out instinctively towards the floor, but the bike was firmly fixed in position on its stand and would not topple over.

Emma bit her bottom lip at the sight, her fingertips caressing the taught fabric over Killian’s thigh. “You know,” Emma began salaciously. “I’ve always wanted to fuck on a bike.”

“I don’t believe you haven’t,” Killian told her, patting his lap, unable to take his eyes off of her as she hitched up the skin tight dress she was wearing. When she was done, she set one foot on the peg of the footrest and lifted herself up and over the bike until she was sitting astride Killian’s lap, facing him.

Emma slid down the fuel tank, her open thighs on display to his hungry gaze as Killian smoothed his hands up them in an attempt to steady her. Her skin was soft under his roughened finger tips and he sucked in a steadying breath through his grin. When she was settled they were almost eye to eye, his breathing catching in his throat when she raked her nails over the definition of his chest and abs that were hidden under his chest hair.

“Never,” Emma rasped, her arms coming up and resting on his shoulders. She buried her fingers in his raven locks, cupping the back of his skull in her hands, her lips millimeters from his as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I’d like to,” she told him and felt his fingernails dig into the skin of her thighs in restraint.

“Love,” Killian said huskily, resting his forehead on hers. “I don’t even know if we are friends yet.” He let his lips skim over hers so softly they were almost not there, his attention focused more on searing the imprint of them into the beating pulse point of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her much smaller frame, hugging her to him as he ravaged her neck, following a path down the perfect column until he stopped, fogging the swell of her heaving breasts with his words. “Are we friends yet, Emma Swan?”

Emma felt her nipples harden at his words, her name on his breath laced with sweetness and a darkness that made her skin hum. She laughed, clutching his head harder so he couldn’t leave her skin alone for a second, torn between letting him continue his assault that was clearly heading south, or finally tasting his lips on hers. The latter won out and she pulled his head up, crashing her lips into his with a force that knocked him backwards for a second, his own feverish return delayed until he heard her moan down deep in her throat and his resolve snapped.

“Yes,” Emma panted between kisses, the feel of his lips on hers like a ray of sunshine in a rainstorm. They were soft and even though his kisses were forceful, they were like a caress on the exact right side of painful that made her flood her panties with a sudden wetness that she hadn’t felt for a long time. “Say my name,” she insisted through her haze, tearing her lips from his so that he could focus on her instruction.

“Emma,” Killian rasped in a gravelly voice, chasing her lips. “Gods, it’s Emma,” he sighed, almost wrenching his shoulders out of their sockets as he aided her in pushing his shirt from his back. “Such a beautiful name.”

His lips were back on hers in an instant, the hunger behind his kiss evidently taking its toll on his body. Emma smirked against his lips when she felt him harden, the already minute space between their bodies disappearing as his erection pressed up into the apex of her thighs and he rolled his hips, eager to feel her pressing down on him even more. Emma shifted forward, rolling her own hips forward and downward, letting his length press up into her folds even more, an action that had him growling out loud in frustration.

Without even asking, Emma knew exactly what he wanted. She reached down between their bodies, working on the button of his pants, fighting with the material that had been pulled taut by his erection. When the button finally popped open, Killian let out a sigh of relief, tearing his lips from hers and moving his mouth to her shoulder, nibbling at the flesh there as his hand tore the thin strap of her dress aside. He grazed his teeth over the joint, fingernails scraping down her upper arm in his attempt to get as close to her as possible, his lips finally finding the swell of a breast and peppering her chest with more aggressive kisses.

He held her as she involuntarily arched backwards, his hands splayed out over the expanse of her back as he rested her against the curve of the fuel tank. His lips never left her skin, hands tugging down the material of her dress to expose his prize and a satisfied groan escaping his throat when Emma’s nipples hardened even more as soon as the air hit them. She palmed them, grabbing the flesh roughly and sliding even further down the bike until she was sure Killian could feel the dampness between her thighs against his rock hard length.

“I don’t have-,” Killian began hoarsely, sliding his hands to his groin and finally freeing his hardness despite his mind’s protest. He pumped himself a few times to relieve the ache in his balls, the skin shifting over his sensitive head and making him hiss. “We should stop,” he ground out, his body fighting his own words.

“What? Why?” Emma asked in a daze, grabbing the sides of his scruffy face and lifting his chin so she could look in his eyes.

“We can’t be careful here,” Killian said, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and tasting her skin. He pushed out of her hold and latched onto one of her nipples, pulling the bud between his lips and humming against her flesh in content. He clawed down the side of her body, gently scraping his nails over her ribs and leaving her nipples for a second so he could kiss the sensitive skin underneath the swell, the faint lines of her bra still lingering on her skin.

“Where?” Emma barely managed, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Killian let her go with a growl, ignoring the mutter of protest as he lifted her off his lap and sat her back on the very top of the smooth, yellow fuel tank. She giggled as he grabbed her thighs, pawing the flesh in protest of his own idea, swinging his leg back and dismounting the bike all the while mindful of his raging erection rubbing against the fabric of his underwear as he moved. Emma watched him intently, worried for a second that he might leave her, before he moved to the side of the bike and hauled her up into his arms.

Her lips were on his before a second had passed, the urgency of her need for his return clear by the way she grabbed at his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist. His muscles rippled under her fingers as he moved in long, determined strides to somewhere else in the house that Emma had yet to see. Teeth clashed and tongues duelled, hot, sloppy kisses giving each of them a renewed sense of passion as they headed to Killian’s bedroom and he kicked open the door.

Emma giggled, squealing in joy as Killian reached his huge bed and as soon as his knees touched the frame, tossed her onto the mattress. Emma hit the comforter with a bounce, righting her half naked body just in time to brush her hair away from her face and feel Killian tugging on her ankle. She flopped back, hair fanning out around her head as Killian lifted her leg to his face and kissed her ankle, caressing her heel in both hands like it was a delicate egg. The scruff on his chin, with its small, ginger hairs glinting in his bedroom lamplight, tickled her skin and she yanked her foot from his grasp with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Emma snorted a laugh, watching his dejected expression. “That tickles!”

“Oh,” Killian sang, kneeling between her legs as he climbed half way onto the bed and reached for her dress. The material was bunched up around her waist now, having been pulled down then upwards, but it was easily maneuvered back down over her hips with a forceful tug. “You shouldn’t have told me that,” he growled with glee, shedding the remains of his clothes at the bedside before diving naked onto the bed and rubbing his scruff over the silky smooth skin of her stomach.

“Killian!” Emma cried out, pulling her knees to her chest and trapping him against her body.

His name on her lips was enough for him to take pity on her, and as his teasing turned into kissing, he felt her body relax once more as she stretched out like a cat beneath him. Emma’s body felt heavy as she let all her limbs fall to the plush, cotton covered comforter and cast a quick glance down her body to where a very talented Mr. Jones was currently worshipping every inch of her naked body. Every kiss made her wetter, every brush of his fingers over the jut of her hip bone made her squirm and finally, as he dipped his tongue into her navel, Emma could take no more.

Hooking a crooked finger under his chin, she dragged his head upwards until he paused over her cleavage and their eyes met. His made her gasp, the previously bluebell spark almost totally gone and replaced by a stormy, lustful grey that made her nipples harden even more on each of her breasts. Emma pulled his head and he had no choice but to follow, climbing over her body like a tiger stalking prey and seizing her lips once more. Emma’s body reacted without a beat, her back arching up and off the bed until their bodies were pressed together, and her legs wrapped around his waist.

Killian broke the kiss to catch his breath, pushing himself up by his arms and looking down at the petite blonde beneath him. She was a marvel, curved in all of the right places and skin so soft to the touch it felt wrong to caress her with such race roughened hands. Not that Emma minded at all. She was loving the feel of him, any part of him, and he had come to realise, in this short extra curricular activity, that he would never be away from her for too long before she was changing things in her favour.

Emma, true to form, rolled them over in a move so smooth, it almost felt choreographed. Truth was, it wasn’t. They were just two people who fit well together, in any position they found themselves in, one always teasing the other, in the bedroom as well as the race track. Like right now, as Emma repositioned herself into a straddle and ground her wetness down onto Killian’s bare length in an attempt to really drive him insane.

“Emma, Gods,” Killian ground out through gritted teeth. He slammed his head into the mattress, the chorded muscles in his neck straining and his fingernails digging into her thighs spread eagled over his length.

Emma simply smirked at the pleading nature of her name on his lips, bracing her hands on his chest and sliding herself up and down, coating his cock with her essence. “This is what you did to me, Killian,” she rasped accusingly through a coy smile. She leaned forward until her lips were level with his ear, smirking against the shell of the pointed flesh. “You made me so wet,” she sang into his ear like a siren and Killian thought he was going to come there and then.

“You feel amazing,” he growled, kneading the flesh over her hip with a forceful grab.

Emma sat up a little, setting her weight down on his length, pinning it to his stomach. She could feel the throb of blood rushing to his erection and with a sly smirk, clenched her inner muscles knowing full well he would feel her. “Just wait until you feel the inside,” she added darkly.

Killian sat upright suddenly, hands holding her to him as he kissed her again. It was more ferocious than before, more needy, a silent plea for Emma to end his torment and fuck him until he saw stars. His hands buried themselves in her hair, cradling the curve of her skull and holding her mouth to his as his tongue explored. Emma moaned, the sound nothing more than a whimper that sent a fresh surge of blood to Killian’s erection and made it bob against the hardness of her clit between them.

It was too much, her grinding alone almost getting her off. Emma felt her arms tingle, her legs beginning to shake before she pushed her weight forward and Killian held her as they both fell back on the bed behind him. “Get it,” Emma commanded, sitting back upright and clawing lines into Killian’s chest. “Get it now.”

Killian didn’t need to be told again, half rolling himself sideways until he could reach the bedside table. There were three drawers but he went to the middle one, rummaging around behind his socks until he pulled out a small foil wrapper that Emma snatched from his grasp as soon as he rolled back into position underneath her. With a salacious grin she shuffled down over his thighs, trapping him in place and, for the first time, taking in the size of his member as it bobbed against his stomach.

“Don’t worry, love,” Killian smiled slyly, one eyebrow rising on his head. “It won’t hurt.”

“Pfft, please,” Emma dismissed, tearing open the wrapper and making sure the condom was fitted in the right way. She pinched the tip, seating it on the velvety smooth head of him before taking him in her grasp and rolling the latex slowly and deliberately down over his shaft. “You think this is the biggest thing I’ve ridden in my career?”

Killian couldn’t take her teasing any longer and grabbed her behind the knees, yanking her entire body up until she was seated back across his groin. She let out a small squeal of shock, before relaxing and letting him position his length at her entrance, just the tip of him enough to give her that burning stretch she hadn’t felt for so long. A gasp and a furrowed brow told Killian he had hit the right spot, inching into her a little further with a gentle pull down of her hips. When Emma was fully relaxed, his entire length inside of her, he bent his knees up behind her and let her recline against his thighs, content that her smug remark had been thoroughly seen to.

“No,” Killian ground out as Emma began to cant her hips, swiveling them forward and back, rocking on the hardness inside of her with a soft whimper. “But it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever ridden, period.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Emma sighed with a nod of her head and a bite of her bottom lip. She changed her rhythm, rising up and then sinking back down onto him with a force that bumped her clit just right. She repeated it, only this time Killian met her half way, thrusting up into her and expelling all of the air from her lungs.

“Yeah, that’s it, Emma,” Killian grunted. “Ride me, there’s a good girl.”

She was so wet, slickness easing each of his thrusts, and Emma wasn’t sure she could even make any more lubrication until Killian had said those words. She felt the warmth pool in her stomach and the tingle inside of her walls that signalled her imminent orgasm. Normally she would have taken much longer to reach euphoria, but Killian was perfect, in all the right places, and she chased down her pleasure intending to firmly grasp a hold of it and never let go.

Again she switched it up, falling forward until her hair framed both of their faces and they were breathing in each others air. Emma clawed at his cheeks, the bristles of his beard soft under her fingertips as she began panting in a new rhythm of breaths that made Killian even harder inside of her. She was close. He could tell because of the muscles inside of her, contracting as she ground her clit against his pubic bone over and over, a thin sheen of sweat covering her entire body.

She let out a squeak, smashing her lips into his despite their need to breathe, and her movements became staggered, her hips moving erratically suddenly because she was about to come. The angle was right, the pressure on her clit was just perfect, and when Killian felt the muscles in her thighs tense up, her took it upon himself to extend Emma’s pleasure. She let out no protest when he wrapped his arms around her body and plowed himself into her core, the spongy walls there tightening with every thrust that prolonged her orgasm. She was numb, unable to do anything but cry out in ecstasy, her wails on the verge of crying because of the sensitivity following her release.

It wasn’t long after she had gone completely stiff on top of him and Killian slowed his movements to shorter, more forceful thrust, that he came, spilling his seed into the latex barrier between them. He kept thrusting, even as he began to soften, content to feel the pull of her inner muscles as ripples of euphoria still made her core flutter with activity. Finally, he let her go, softening his hold on her and brushing her hair aside so he could kiss her shoulder, his lips pecking tenderly at the sweaty flesh like a soothing balm on a burn.

“Oh yeah,” Emma panted, weakened but still able to lift herself to meet his gaze. Killian smiled expectantly, one hand drawing lazy circles over the base of her spine whilst the other divested himself of the spent condom, mindful not to let anything spill out as he discarded it on the nightstand.

“Yeah, what, love?” Killian pried, repositioning so that he had one arm behind his head and could take in the beauty of her straddled across his body.

Emma shook her hair away from her face, tucking some strands behind her ear before pressing her lips to Killian’s with a content hum. “Now we’re friends,” she chuckled, grabbing his face between her hands and pulling his smile to hers once more.

#stp #sparking the pavement #ch 4 #cs fic #cs au #cs ff #cs fanfic #moto gp au #Killian Jones #emma swan #smutty smut smut

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