#men have bright souls and a gentle disposition if you don’t keep your eyes closed just because you had a bad experience with men

[divinebunni]

i don’t know who needs to hear this but good men do exist, they are soft and gentle and respectful, they hold you when you cry and pet your hair and place gentle kisses over your whole body and learn every little thing they can about you and strive to keep you safe and be a friend as well as a lover and they treat everyone and animals with respect and don’t say misogynistic sexist racist phobic things and they sing with you loudly in the car and let you braid their hair as practice and say i love you without you having to say it first and express their love for you in front of everyone and they look at you deeply and support your every decision and lowest moment and wish nothing but greatness for your health and mental betterment and treat women and men and all with such kindness. good men exist, good men deserve the same love and respect and kindness and support that you would give to anyone with a good soul. good men understand, and they will always be here with genuine hearts

[wistfulcynic]

The Bend of the Arc (4/ 4)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones at first sight. He's everything she despises in a man: arrogant, provocative, and a known criminal associate of the city’s most notorious gangster. She’s determined to put him behind bars, until a shocking event forces them together and Emma discovers that there’s a lot more to Killian than meets the eye.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone reading this story! I’ve been blown away by your amazing and insightful comments, and so touched. You are all thoroughly brilliant and I want to hug you. Contact-free internet hugs for all!

All the love always to @thisonesatellite​ for her ‘splaining, even the cold kind ❤️

Rating: M (smut and language)     Words: 5.8k (of 30k total)   Tags: Modern AU, enemies to lovers, bounty hunter!Emma, criminal!Killian, smut, bedsharing

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | On AO3

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PART FOUR: 

It didn’t take long to prepare for their departure. Neither of them had come with any luggage; Killian simply packed his tuxedo and her dress and shoes into a large plastic bag and tossed it into the back of the Jeep. They had a quick breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen, quickly tidied the rest of the cottage and then were ready to go. 

Emma took a last look around as Killian reset the security system, trying to fix the little space in her memory. A heavy ache of sadness sat in her chest knowing that she would never see this place again, and Killian… she had no idea what might happen between them when they got back. What she even wanted to happen. 

The drive down to the lake was a silent one. Emma noticed that the path they took down the mountain was straighter than the one that had brought them up it, keeping mostly parallel to the meandering line described by the creek he’d shown her, the one she was to follow if she ever needed to find the lake again. 

The motorboat was precisely where they’d left it. Killian turned off the Jeep and tucked the keys beneath the visor, then fetched the jackets and life vests from the back as Emma grabbed the plastic bag with their clothes. She tossed it into the boat before putting on her jacket and vest and stepping aboard, with no need for Killian’s hand this time. Moments later they were underway, rounding the curve of the lake and heading back to the river that would lead them to the larger lake and the boat that had carried them to it, the one Killian claimed belonged to one of his employees. 

It too was right where they’d left it. Emma frowned as she removed her vest and jacket, handing them to Killian who boarded the larger boat with them tucked beneath his arm and stowed them in a compartment beneath the seating on the deck. 

“Don’t you worry, leaving things like this?” she asked. “A yacht, just sitting there, and the keys left inside the Jeep?” 

“Hardly anyone lives out here,” he replied, turning another key to start the boat’s engine. “And those who do keep to themselves. It’s why I chose this place.” 

Emma stayed on the deck of the boat as it purred down the skinny lake—which she soon realised was not a lake at all but a long and winding inlet that opened out into the sea. Land masses crowded the horizon, some clearly islands and others possibly part of the mainland split up by more inlets. Killian steered them gradually to their left, maintaining a more or less straight course in that direction until slowly the islands became less plentiful and a city began to resolve in a blue-grey haze before them. 

“You’d better get below,” Killian told her. “And stay quiet.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Remember that passport you don’t have?” 

“Oh.” 

She went below and curled up again in the bunk where she’d slept the night of their escape, but no sleep claimed her this time. Voices filtered down from above, muffled but recognisable as Killian’s and another that sounded like a woman. Their conversation was short and soon the boat was moving again. Emma waited another twenty minutes before venturing back onto the deck. 

“Aye, love, it’s clear,” Killian said with a smile when she poked her head through the small door. “We’re back in American waters.” 

“So,” she said, resuming her position on one of the padded benches, “you basically smuggled me into Canada,”  

“Basically.” 

He seemed disinclined to elaborate, tension creeping visibly into his posture as they drew nearer to the city.  Soon Emma began to recognise the skyline and about twenty minutes later they arrived back at the marina. 

Killian brought the boat into the mooring they’d taken it from and tossed the lines to a short, round man with a dark beard and an anxious disposition who appeared to be waiting for them. 

“Everything all right, Mr Jones?” he asked. 

“No problems, Smee,” Killian replied. “Thank you for the loan of her.” 

“Anytime, sir.” 

The man nodded to Emma as she debarked and gave her a nervous smile. She smiled back, as warmly as she could manage, then followed Killian across the lot to where his car was parked—another thing just as they’d left it, but with one addition. Graham was leaning against the hood with his arms crossed and his badge prominent, watching them approach with a hard expression. 

He and Killian shook hands, the kind of handshake men exchange when they’d prefer to exchange fists to the face, and then Graham turned to Emma. His eyes raked over her, taking in every detail, leaving her with the uncomfortable sensation that he could see everything she’d done over the past few days—that she had slept with Killian and how her feelings towards him had changed. It made her angry; it wasn’t Graham’s business who she fucked or how she felt about them, and she returned his appraisal with a cool stare. 

“Are you all right?” he asked her. 

“Fine,” she snapped. “Never better.” 

Graham shot Killian another dark look. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got a cruiser waiting to take us to the station.” 

“I’d prefer to drive myself, mate, if that’s all right,” Killian replied. 

“If you must,” said Graham. “But Emma comes with me.” 

“I’m going with Killian,” said Emma firmly. “And I’m stopping by my place first, to get a change of clothes. 

Graham’s eyes flitted from her to Killian and back again, his jaw clenching, and she wondered if he would pull rank. Finally he gave a short nod. “Fine. Be at the station in an hour.” 

He turned on his heel and headed for his cruiser, squealing out of the parking lot a minute later in a way that felt deliberate. Killian didn’t look at her as he got into his car and so she simply got in herself, hugging the plastic bag with their clothes tightly to her chest. 

Killian knew where she lived. Of course he did, thought Emma, just as she knew where he lived. He went straight to her apartment, parking in her usual space and wordlessly following her inside, where she retrieved her dress and shoes from the plastic bag and held it out to him. 

“Sit wherever,” she said. “I’ll just change quickly and be right back.” 

He nodded, taking the bag, and she retreated to her bedroom where she shed his clothes and replaced them with her own. As glad as she was to put on actual underwear and clothes that fit—and she was very, very glad for it—the ache in her chest throbbed again as she folded Killian’s jeans and t-shirt and rolled up his socks. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, and when she opened her closet to fetch her jacket she froze. 

Killian’s jacket was there beside it, the one he’d put around her shoulders the first night they met. The one she’d intentionally kept to fuel her anger and keep her determination to see justice done to him fresh and hot, and now—

Now it made her want to cry. 

Slowly she removed it from the hanger and held it to her cheek. It smelled like him, that warm, spicy scent that was so familiar now. Emma buried her face in it, breathing deeply and fighting back her tears. Then she placed it gently atop the pile of his clothes and put on her red leather. 

When she returned to her living room Killian was still standing where she’d left him, staring out the window with an expression she couldn’t read. He smiled when he saw her, a smile that started bright and quickly dimmed, one that seemed involuntary. 

“Well,” he said, waving his hand at her outfit. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

“Much,” she replied, smiling back. “Um, here’s your clothes.” 

“Thanks.” He put them in the bag with his tuxedo. 

“And, uh, I should probably give this back too.” She held out his jacket. 

“Ah.” Killian stared at it, emotion flaring in his eyes but quickly quenched. “Er, yes, thanks.” He took the jacket, not looking at her. 

“Killian—” 

“We should probably get going. I wouldn’t want to face Graham’s wrath if we’re late.” 

“Yeah. But can we, um… can we just...” 

“What?” 

Talk, she wanted to say. Fix this, whatever this was that had been so fragile last night and felt shattered now. But she knew there wasn’t time and Killian’s face was shuttered again, carefully concealing all traces of the man she already missed. 

She put her hand on his arm and he caught his breath. “Emma,” he whispered, “I—”

She stepped closer and he swayed towards her, reaching up to stroke her cheek with trembling fingers that curled around the back of her head as she tilted it up. 

“I—” he tried again, then his lips were on hers, his arms closing tight around her. Emma whimpered and stood on her toes, pressing as close to him as she could get, her own arms twined around his neck and clinging like she never wanted to let go. 

She didn’t, but she couldn’t hold on to him, not when he was still keeping things from her. Not when she could never trust him. Emma had been down that road before and she knew where it led—jail time and a broken heart, and a son she would never know.  

Killian kissed her with a desperation that echoed in her soul, fingers tangled in her hair and clutching at her waist, mouth hot and demanding and achingly gentle, sweet and bitter, an elegy, an apology and a goodbye. 

As their lips parted he let his forehead rest on hers, his eyes closed. “We should go,” he said. 

Emma squeezed her own eyes shut, breathing him in. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”  

~

Graham was waiting for them at the station along with what seemed like half his precinct, sweeping Emma away while Killian was corralled by the others and leading her to an interview room like she wasn’t there all the time and didn’t know the way as well as he did. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked her. “Coffee, or—” 

“I know what the coffee’s like in this place so I’ll pass, thanks.” 

Graham’s lip twitched. “Fair.” 

A knock sounded at the door and he opened it to admit his partner, a dark-haired man with a perpetually smug expression. “Emma, you remember August Booth?” he asked, cringing slightly when Emma and August turned to him with identical exasperated eye rolls. 

“Of course I remember August, he still owes me fifty bucks from the last poker night,” said Emma. “I know this case is a big deal, but can you please remember I’m your friend and not some stranger who needs to be handled with kid gloves?” 

“My friend,” Graham repeated. “Right.”  

August sat across from her and laid a clipboard and a small tape recorder on the table. “Emma, I need you to make an official statement of what you witnessed at Robert Gold’s mansion, do you consent?” he asked. 

Emma nodded.  

“And you consent to have your statement recorded?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Sign here.” 

She did, but before August could turn the recorder on, Graham spoke from the doorway. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Emma? You’ve had a stressful past few days, we can do it tomorrow—” 

“No,” said Emma firmly, wishing Killian were here and also wishing she didn’t wish it. “I want this over with and I want Gold to go down.” She nodded to August. “Let’s get started.” 

~

It took more than an hour, with Emma telling and retelling her story and August asking questions, pressing her for more details, for everything she could remember. When it was over she was exhausted and emotionally raw, with a pounding head and a fierce desire for a hot bath and a soft bed, and Killian. Maybe he would agree to stay with her tonight, she thought, rubbing her temples. Just for tonight. Just one more night.

She returned to the bullpen to find Graham waiting for her. 

“Everything go okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I think so. You’ll have to ask August for the details because my brain is mush, but… yeah.” 

Graham gave her a sort of half-hug, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to massage it. “You did well.” 

 “I’m just glad it’s done.” 

“Gold’s been remanded without bail,” he informed her. “You should be safe enough to go home, though I’m placing a couple uniforms outside your door just in case. Is your car here?” 

“No.” 

“I’ll get them to drive you then, too.” 

Emma shook her head and pulled away. “That’s okay, Killian can—” 

“Killian’s gone,” Graham snapped, his face going dark. 

“What?” Her heart twisted, bent and folded itself into a tight knot of agony. 

“He left half an hour ago. Said to tell you goodbye, and he’s sorry.” Graham’s eyes flashed. “What does he have to be sorry for, Emma?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing.” 

He snorted. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking,” she snapped. Anger surged within her, hot and cleansing, burning away the pain.   

“So you didn’t—” He made a vague gesture with his hand, scowl deepening, and oh, Emma relished this anger. 

“Didn’t what?” she asked with a tight, mocking smile. “Fuck him?” Graham winced, and her smile became a sneer. “Oh yeah, I definitely did that. And you know what? I’d do it again.” 

He clenched his fists, nostrils flaring. “So much for your high-and-mighty ideals about trusting criminals,” he spat. 

“I never said I trusted him.” Emma intended the words to sting but her voice rose on a wobble and she spun away, pushing and elbowing her way through the crowded bullpen towards the exit before Graham could see her tears. 

She was nearly there when his hand closed around her elbow. “Emma,” he said, softly and without rancour. “I’ll drive you home.” 

~

Graham pulled up in front of Emma’s apartment and turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a moment, she desperately clinging to the remnants of her anger and he staring at his hands. 

“Emma—” he began. 

“Why do you hate Killian?” The last of the anger slipped away as she spoke his name, leaving the hurt stronger in its absence, leaving her wanting only to curl into a ball and weep forever. 

Graham sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t hate him. Once I loved him like a brother.” He paused, his throat working. “Part of me still does.” 

“But then why—” 

“Because I don’t want to see you become just another woman he hurts!” Graham cried, twisting in his seat to face her. “Did he tell you about the others?” 

“He told me he’d hurt people—”

“Did he tell you he had an affair with Gold’s first wife?” 

“No, but—” 

“Gold found out and she turned up dead. Stab wound to the heart.” 

Emma’s own heart twisted even tighter. “That’s on Gold, not Killian,” she whispered.

"Maybe. But when Gold’s current wife got shot, that was Killian.” 

“He shot her?” Emma exclaimed. “I thought she was—”

“She survived,” Graham said harshly. “But Killian and Gold have a lot of ugly history and he had no right to bring you into that! I should never have allowed it.” 

“Graham—” 

“And then the way you were looking at him earlier—he’s not worth it, Emma! Whatever you think you feel for him, he’s not worth it.” Graham swallowed hard and turned back to face the steering wheel. “I’m not saying this out of jealousy.” His voice was low and rough. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, and I won’t deny that I wish there could be something between us. But I'd be happy just to see you happy, and Killian—all he’ll do is hurt you.”  

“He won’t,” she replied. Not intentionally, anyway. “He wouldn’t.”

Graham slammed his fists on the steering wheel. “For fuck’s sake!” he cried. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”   

“Every one.” Emma was surprised by how calm she felt, though the ache grew with every beat of her heart and tears hovered at the back of her throat. “I know how hard it was for Killian to lose your friendship, but it must have been even harder for you. Seeing what he became, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.” 

“I—” He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It was.” 

“He hasn’t changed as much as you think. He’s still a good man at his core, despite everything." 

“Emma—” 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to—” her voice broke “—to see him again. I know I can’t trust him.” She put her hand on Graham’s and squeezed gently, leaning forward to catch his eye. “But there is one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty, and that is that Killian Jones would never, ever hurt me.” 

Graham stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered. 

~

Gold pled guilty to Felix’s murder, along with a dozen other charges of money laundering, fraud, and larceny. His plea came as a surprise to the district attorney, who had offered him no deal. The case against him was solid and she was hoping to make a landmark of it, expecting Gold to use all the resources at his disposal to fight the charges. 

“So why didn’t he?” Emma asked Graham. 

“Once his wife found out what he’d been doing, she threatened to leave him if he didn’t confess everything and accept the consequences, no strings attached,” he replied.  

“Wow.” Emma gave a low whistle. “I think I like this woman.” 

When Gold was sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole—the district attorney could smell blood in the water and pushed for the maximum sentence—Emma was in the courtroom to witness it. She had testified before the grand jury, coolly recounting what she had witnessed in the gallery with her eyes on Gold the whole time, unflinching even under his icy, furious glare. She thought about Killian and how his staunch support had helped her through the worst of her trauma, had brought her to this place where she could stand strong, look evil in the eye and see justice done. 

You’re a tough lass, he’d said, and she was determined to live up to that.  

As the judge’s gavel fell, Emma was filled with a deep, primal satisfaction, and when Gold turned as he was being led away and his eyes found hers in the crowd, she couldn’t resist a smirk. This time at least there would be no escape from that justice. Not for Robert Gold. 

Killian wasn’t at the grand jury or the sentencing. She hadn’t really expected him to be, of course, but still she’d hoped… she’d hoped. 

Days passed and then weeks, weeks Emma thought would dull the ache in her chest and soothe away the itch beneath her skin, the one that urged her just to call him. But the time only weighed more heavily the longer it stretched, and with each day that went by the itch to call him grew both stronger and easier to resist. She knew his number, of course, and of course he must know she did. If he wanted to hear from her he would have said so. He would have left a message with Graham, or called her his damn self. She knew that he must have her number too. 

She went back to work, back to chasing criminals and deadbeats. The old thrill she felt at catching them was undiminished, but every time one spat at her or called her a cunt she couldn’t help remembering Killian when he’d been in their shoes, the challenge of sparring with him and how exhilarating it was, even when she’d hated him. 

Killian was rarely far from her thoughts. She thought of him when she was bored on stakeouts and found herself wishing for a book, when she ate a piece of the fruit she now found herself buying and when she put cinnamon creamer in her coffee. She thought of him when she slipped her fingers between her legs at night and when she cried herself to sleep afterwards. 

She thought of Killian every time she didn’t ask Graham if he’d heard from him, every time she resisted the urge to drive past his house and every time she bought a new romance novel, because damn it she was hooked on them now and she wasn’t giving them up just because every one reminded her of how damned much she missed Killian Jones. 

Feel what you’re feeling, Killian had said to her. It’s the only way to heal. 

Emma had a lot of un-felt feelings—more than a decade of them, from as far back as the day she’d refused to hold her baby though his newborn wails tore at her heart. She’d refused to feel the loss of her son or of his father, refused to mourn Neal or acknowledge the traces of love she still had for him. Refused to let anyone else get close enough to make her feel—until Killian smashed through the walls she’d built around her heart without even trying, catching her off guard with kindness and bone-deep decency from the last person on Earth she’d expected to show either. 

It made her wonder if she might have misjudged other people in her life and if maybe, possibly, letting some of those people in might not be so bad. As much as missing Killian hurt—and it hurt, with an agony that sank its claws into the very deepest depths of her—she couldn’t regret the time she’d spent with him. And maybe, she thought, possibly, that was what he’d meant by healing. Feeling her feelings didn’t lessen the pain of them, but it gave her the tools she needed to manage it. 

She felt guilty for giving up her baby. She felt stupid for letting Neal manipulate her but still sorry he’d died in the jail cell she’d put him in, sorry she’d never told him about their son. She felt angry at her own parents for abandoning her, and not even properly—not given her up for adoption just tossed her on the side of the road like a piece of trash. She felt weak for how hurt that made her feel and how worthless, and she felt angry at the system that allowed her to fall through the cracks of it, angry at a society that forced her to become hard just to hold on to herself. 

She felt. And then she began to heal.

~  

A month after the sentencing an envelope arrived in Emma’s mailbox. A plain manila one without much in the way of identifying markings but thick and heavy. She tossed it onto her kitchen table with the rest of the bills and junk and then promptly forgot about it, her mind all on the deadbeat father she was hunting—the one who owed over $80,000 in alimony and child support to his two ex-wives and the five kids they had between them—and there were few people Emma relished nailing more than a shitty-ass parent. 

When she got home that night it was late and she was tired, looking forward to some Chinese takeout or maybe just instant ramen and her bed. She tossed her keys at the table where they missed the little bowl she kept there to hold them, landing instead on the envelope. Emma frowned at it as she retrieved them, and after depositing them firmly in the bowl picked up the envelope and examined it. The postmark was local but there was no return address, no company name or any other information about the sender. 

Graham would tell her not to touch it. But even if there were any associates of Gold’s still lurking out there seeking revenge on her, Emma figured they’d just shoot her and not send mysterious envelopes through the mail. She sat down at the table and ripped it open, and instantly she was wide awake. 

Within the envelope were records, financial ones, page upon page of them. Business records, bank accounts, tax documents. All in the name of Killian Jones, and each one helpfully annotated with notes and arrows and little diagrams, so that even her inexpert eye could recognise the picture that they painted. 

Emma stared at them in shock. This was everything she had spent months looking for, the hidden money that lay behind his legitimate businesses. Offshore accounts, shell corporations, all so skilfully concealed that she could never have hoped to uncover them. This was what he had refused to tell her about at the cabin. 

The papers wrinkled beneath the pressure of her fingers as she realised what this meant. Killian had given her every scrap of evidence the police would need to pursue charges against him. She could take it to them now and he would be arrested, and she knew that if she chose to do that he would go quietly, with no complaints and no resentment against her. He wouldn’t try to run or use clever lawyers and legal tricks to escape the consequences. She could send him to jail, where they both knew he belonged. 

Or she could… not. 

Something at the bottom of the stack of papers caught her eye—another, slightly smaller envelope. Emma opened it somewhat warily and stared again, this time in astonishment. Inside were more documents but these ones contained no evidence of crime; very much the opposite, in fact. One of them gave details of a foundation that had been set up to provide free shelter, counselling, and legal services to help teenagers escape abusive homes, while another described a college scholarship fund for kids in the foster system. This included money for tutoring, application advice, and SAT/ACT prep courses that would put the foster kids on a more equal footing with wealthier ones whose parents could afford such things. 

There were others too, women’s shelters and free clinics, and Emma wondered how the hell Killian had managed to pay for all of this. He was rich, sure, but most of his assets were tied up in his businesses; this level of investment was well beyond what he could afford on what he had that was legal and liquid. 

Her answer came in the last document in the pile. Short and straightforward, it outlined the liquidation of every single thing he owned that wasn’t strictly aboveboard, and how that money had been funnelled into the charities he’d set up. Millions of dollars, just given away, leaving him with a decent income from his remaining concerns but nothing at all like the wealth he’d had before. And it was done so neatly, Emma realised, all but tied up with a pretty red bow. The charities were funded with money that was sparkling clean, laundered so well it would take experts years to sort out how he’d done it. She could still turn him in using the other evidence he’d given her, without endangering any of the good things he’d done with his dirty money. 

Killian had placed his fate entirely in her hands.

Emma laid the papers down on the table, let her head fall into those hands and sobbed. Her emotions, wild and confused for so long now, resolved themselves, solidified and crystallised into one shining and inescapable certainty. She was in love, for the second time in her life, and once again with a man on the wrong side of the law. It was history repeating itself, the one thing she’d sought to protect her heart against, but with two crucial differences: Killian was not Neal, and this time her eyes were wide fucking open. 

~

“William Smee?” 

The little man appeared at the railing of his boat, smiling much less nervously than at their first meeting and wearing a red knit cap that struck Emma as oddly whimsical. “Miss Swan, is it?” he called. 

“Yes.” 

“Come aboard.” 

It hadn’t taken long to find him. The owner of the boat Killian had borrowed was indeed one of his employees—his, never Pan’s. Though it seemed that Smee had once worked for Gold, until he’d messed up a job and nearly lost his life for it, until Killian had given him a reason to take on a different kind of employment. 

People who owe me considerable debts and loyalty, he’d said, and he’d said the man’s name as well, loudly and clearly enunciated and within her hearing.

Emma climbed up to the deck to find Smee waiting for her, still smiling, his expression polite and expectant. 

“How can I help you ma’am?” he asked. 

I’m pretty sure you know how, Emma thought, but she stated the obvious anyway. “I need you to tell me how to find the place where Killian moors his boat,” she said. “When he needs a bit of an escape.” 

Smee’s smile widened. “I’ll do you one better,” he said. “I’ll take you there.” 

~

Killian’s boat was there at the pier when they arrived, long and sleek and very unoccupied. Smee moored his own next to it, then turned to Emma with another smile and a proffered hand. 

“Is there anything more I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked. 

Emma took his hand and shook it firmly. “Nope, I can take it from here. But thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” said Smee, and handed her a life vest. “Take this too,” he advised. “Or Mr Jones will have my head.” 

Emma strapped the vest on securely before boarding the motorboat that was just where she expected to find it, though somewhat cleaner and with a newer engine than she recalled. It started up with a rumbling purr and Emma gripped the tiller carefully, steering the boat in a wide arc, less smoothly than Killian had but then she’d only done this once before—in an old boat belonging to August’s boyfriend’s cousin and for no longer than it took to master the basics. 

She aimed the boat as best she could for where she thought the river was, altering her course twice before she found it then nearly running aground on its narrow banks. But she stayed afloat and soon found herself emerging into the lake, rounding its curve and heading for the pier, pulling the motorboat up with what she thought was impressive smoothness and securing it to the piling, right next to another motorboat of a similar style. 

It took her a good fifteen minutes to locate the mouth of the stream, but once she had and had followed it a little ways up the mountain she spotted a Jeep parked along its banks. A newer model than Killian’s and in a different shade of green, but the keys were beneath the visor and Emma felt no trace of surprise at finding them there. 

She was better at driving cars than boats and it wasn’t hard to follow the path of the stream, a path she remembered quite well from her trip down it several months before. Soon she spotted the cottage off to her right and turned away from the stream, navigating carefully through the trees and into the little clearing. 

She got out of the Jeep and retrieved a large duffel bag from the back, withdrew from that the large manila envelope and a Zippo lighter and headed for the fire pit. Selecting a few from Killian’s store of seasoned logs, she arranged them in the pit as she had seen him do, tucking dry twigs in around them for kindling but adding no tinder. Instead she held the lighter to a corner of the envelope and watched it catch, watched the flames lick up and spread across it, devouring the papers inside. She held it up to the twigs until they caught fire then nestled it beneath them and the logs and watched the flames grow, leaping high in the air, the sparks rising up to meet the streaks of sunset just visible through the trees. 

“I hope you meant to do that, love, because I don’t have any other copies,” said a voice behind her, and though she was expecting it, waiting for it, longing for it, she still gave a little start at the sound. “Do you?” 

Emma turned, her heart in her throat, to see Killian standing just to the side of the porch, watching her with soft eyes and a heartbreaking smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she retorted. 

His smile widened. “I definitely would.”

Her feet carried her towards him, around the pit and across the small distance that separated them, then launched her into his arms. “No other copies,” she said. “Though I kept the papers in the smaller envelope. All of them but one.” 

He stroked her cheek, fingers tangling in her hair. “Emma, I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“For what?” 

“Leaving you like that, at the station. I just—I couldn’t—” 

“You had things you needed to do,” she said. “And so did I. But we’ve done them now, right?” 

“Yes,” he said fiercely. “I swear to you, I—” 

“I believe you,” she interrupted. “I trust you.” 

He made a strangled noise, his eyes blazing with joy and awe and wonder. “You do?” he croaked. 

“Yeah.” She smiled softly. “And I love you.” 

“Bloody hell.” He pulled her closer, too roughly, his arms too tight around her, and buried his face in her hair. “I love you so much, Emma,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I wasn’t sure—I didn’t know—” 

“Shhh,” she soothed, stroking his head until he relaxed and loosened his hold on her, pulling back to wipe his eyes. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. “Even after… after everything, I wasn’t sure you could take the risk. It’s been—well, it’s not been an easy past few weeks. Months, really.” 

“For me either,” she agreed. “But we both needed it, I think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking actually and there’s so much I need to tell you. But first…” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a saucy grin. 

“Mmmm?” he murmured, nuzzling at her cheek. “First what?” 

“First I’ve got a duffel bag full of marshmallows and chocolate and you, Killian Jones, are going to make a s’more. And eat it.” 

His chuckle sounded low in her ear, the voice that followed it light and happy. “For you, my love? Anything.” 

“Good,” said Emma, and kissed him. 

—

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @kmomof4​ @mariakov81​ @katie-dub​@spartanguard​ @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @squidvisious @cluttermind @teamhook @lfh1226-linda​ @shireness-says @stahlop

[kyliehorsegirl]

In The Air Tonight (Michael Langdon x Reader) REQUEST!

This was requested by @arealmermaid

WARNINGS: Smut, blood and religion?

Michael Langdon x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2459

Listen to: In The Air Tonight- cover By In This Moment 

The thought of dying a virgin wasn’t a pressing matter for Y/n.  She was the purest lily-white creature this world had ever seen. Being raised in a traditional Christian household, she never did wrong. When it’s said she never did wrong, she did not have a single sinful bone in her body. It was almost concerning to her parents. They never had to punish her, she always caught on very fast. Doing any good she could to never be punished.

 She had to be homeschooled shortly after her elementary years. The kids didn’t like a goodie two shoes. Y/n didn’t have many friends. Everyone that encountered her was weirded out by her pureness. Not only was she pure of heart, soul, body and mind, she pure in how she dressed. Y/n adorned herself only in bright colors, mostly white, but every now and again she would wear pastels.

 She attended church every Sunday. Y/n had her own bible that was gifted to her on her 16th birthday. It was a medium sized bible with leather covers and her name engraved in gold on the right-hand corner. She carried it everywhere she went.  

 At the age of 18, Y/n was granted the opportunity to have a job. The only job she wanted was with the church. Her parents talked with the pastor asking permission. It was not something the church typically did, but for Y/n, they would make an exception. She worked hard at the church, harder than anyone else. She was so perfect, other members of the church became envious of her.

 By age 20 she had worked for the church for 2 years, she later became a member on the church’s council. Now, that typically wasn’t allowed, but for Y/n they made an exception.

 When she turned 21, even her parents offered to buy her, her first drink. She kindly refused. Even though Jesus drank wine in the bible. She never wanted to taint herself. No tattoos, no piercings, no cigarettes and no alcohol.

 A year later is when the missile struck. Y/n’s parents could never have afforded the tickets to outpost 3. However, the church came together and bought a ticket for her. Someone too good for this world didn’t deserve to die.

 A large militant truck was waiting to take Y/n away.

 “I don’t want to go mama.” She sobbed, abruptly halting her packing. Her mom rushed to the bedside taking both of Y/n’s hands in hers.

“Y/n sweetheart. You are too good for this world. The church has paid for you to go to a safe haven. You must go Y/n. Don’t make those people wait.” She holds Y/n to her, letting a few tears fall. They get her packed up and send her off with the strangely dressed men. She bid her parents a forever farewell.

 The ride to wherever she was going was terrifying, at least for her. If a car ride had turbulence, this would be it. This by no means was a gentle ride. She was strapped in tightly and rather uncomfortable. Shaking she looked around seeing nothing but stoic faces around her. She didn’t realize her life would never be the same.

 Shockingly Y/n was a purple. She didn’t feel like she deserved this status. The elites, better than the grays. To be perfectly honest, she would’ve preferred to be a gray. To serve and do good. There was nothing for her to do. Of course, she would not complain. She was so grateful for the opportunity to be here. Her loved ones did everything in her power to make sure she would survive.

 What was she supposed to do? The same routine went on, the same songs played. It was a living nightmare, she would never admit that. She truly felt alone. Mr. Gallant had his grandmother and Coco. Coco had Mr. Gallant and Mallory. Dinah had her son and her son had Stu. That was until Stu was, well stew.

 The same routines dragged on for the next year and a half. Y/n had no track of time. She found her cheery and positive disposition fading with everyday that passed. She was upset with herself, she tried to speak out to God. She never seemed to get ahold of him. There was no comfort in this dark place. Until one day, everything changed.

 The ‘meals’ were not only cut in half but now, they were forced to abstain from breakfast. There was a chorus of complaints and whining. Her heart was hurting. Would it have been better to die? She would be with her family at least.

 Sirens wailed and lights flashed. Almost instantly after Mr. Gallant threw a fit over the ‘food’ situation. Y/n was terrified. She was terrified of everything. The eerie sense of loneliness she had, these flashing lights and loud sirens. Her eyes were wide and her breath was ragged. She was not typically one for panic attacks, but this warranted it. There were a few eye rolls from the group, seeing her distress. Mallory rushed to her side rubbing her back encouraging her that everything would be ok.

 No one wanted anything to do with a whiny baby. She was alone in room after some time waiting for dinner. She heard some rustling in her closet. With a false sense of courage, she made her way to the source of the sound. Snakes of all sizes emerged, slithering across the floor. She let out an ear-piercing shriek as Ms. Meade and the large guard made their way into her room.

“What’s going on in here?” Meade asked

 “Th-there’s, s-snakes.” Y/n scooted herself all the way up to her headboard sobbing. She let out another shriek as Meade struck the floor with a knife, beheading a snake.

 “Looks like good eating.” Meade has a redneck twang to her. Y/n scrunches her face up in disgust.

 Seated at the dinner table, everyone looked at the bowls of snake soup on the table. Lifting up their lids the snakes come to life. Y/n shoves herself out of her chair.

 “Would you sit down Y/n.” Mrs. Venable ordered her sternly. Y/n took a deep breath and slowly seated herself once again.

 “Who’s in your office.” Everyone whips their heads in the direction of Emily, completely changing the subject.

 Mrs. Venable stayed silent unwilling to answer her question. Y/n had a sense of something, she didn’t know what it was. What ever she was feeling, gave her a sense of calm. The sound of a large oak door closing alerted everyone to the top of the staircase. Everyone had their breath taken from them seeing the mysterious intruder. He was beautiful. An angel. No, not an angel.

 The man stands tall with phenomenal posture. He his hair cascades down forming luxurious gold curls. The man’s attire is similar to what everyone else is wearing. However, he is dressed in all black.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Corporative. I’m not going to sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.” His voice is silky smooth. He looks to each and every person in the room. Y/n tunes out what he says. In awe of him. Something about him terrifies her, but what doesn’t.

 “Once everyone is fully with us I can continue.” He speaks in the direction of Y/n. She jumps noticing all eyes on her.

 “O, um I’m sorry.” Thoroughly embarrassed.  Langdon hums in response continuing his speech.

 “The three other compounds in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We have had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they too, have been eliminated.” He paused allowing everyone to marinate on the current information. He stands taller beginning the next sequence. “There is hope. There is a facility with enough food and rations to last over a decade, a sanctuary if you will. I will be instrumental in choosing who will come with me. Those in sanctuary will play part in rebuilding this world.”

 “I will be deciding who will go with me and who will not.” A sly smirk painted on his lips. His eyes darken, scanning throughout the room.

 “What is this the freaking Hunger Games?” O Coco. Subtle sighs float through the room.

 “You don’t have to be interviewed. Feel free to stay here and die. Either from radiation or hungry cannibals.” He pulls out a glass vial. “Or just pop one of these and you’ll be free from pain. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

 “I’ll go first.” Mr. Gallant says nonchalantly.

 “And so you shall.” Langdon drags out each syllable

 The interviews go rather quickly. Y/n sees Mr. Gallant exit the office with a haughty expression. She stays quiet and careful watching how people go in, versus how they come out. When Mallory is interviewed, Y/n is near the room when she hears screams. Those screams are Mallory. With a great deal of worry she brings herself closer to the door.

 “Who are you?” She hears Langdon ask.

 “I don’t know. Who are you?” Mallory retorts back. Y/n feels quick steps as Mallory runs out of the room colliding into her.

 “I’m sorry Y/n.” she hurries out an apology as she picks herself up and continues running. Y/n sits up on her elbows glancing to the door. She sees Langdon appear by the door with an expression she can’t read. He takes a short glance at her before closing the door.

 After some time, her curiosity gets the better of her. She makes her way back to Langdon’s office. Drawn to him. For reasons she does not know. She allows a gentle knock at the door. Hearing nothing, she makes a bold move and opens the door. She tiptoes lightly through the room. Y/n hears Langdon talking to someone, but it’s a one-sided conversation. She peaks around the corner to see Langdon on his knees, blood everywhere, he’s naked. A harsh blush emerges onto her cheeks.

 “Ava Satanas” His eyes are black. She braces herself with her back against the wall. Trying to calm her breathing she makes a step to head to the door.

 “I know you’re there Y/n.” She hears his sensual voice purr at her. Her breath hitches.

 “Come here.” Is that an order?

 “Now.” Taking a deep breath, she shows herself. The blush returning to her face. She tries to keep her eyes everywhere other than him.

 “How about we begin our interview right now.” He tilts his head up to her.

 “O no that’s ok, I see that I interrupted you. I’ll just uh, leave you alone.” Y/n’s voice is shaking, she is shaking.

 “No we are going to take this opportunity. How does this make you feel?” He runs his hands all over his body. She feels a heat below her stomach. This is not a feeling she has felt before, rather allowed to feel.

 “Well, honestly? I’m terrified sir. I don’t really know how else I feel about this.” She brings her arms closer to her. Maybe she can make herself small enough to disappear.

 “I think you feel something you don’t understand, is that correct?” His voice is so alluring.

 “Yeah, I don’t know how to describe it.” She finds herself drawing in closer, not by her own accord, something is pulling her in.

 “You’re a virgin, Isn’t that right?” He starts to reach his hand out toward her.

 “Y-yes sir.”

 “How about we change that.” He pulls her down to here knees. Y/n’s hands are now covered in blood. She doesn’t know what to think. He pulls her in to the circle of blood with him. Langdon shifts around her so that she is in the middle of the circle on her knees, and he is right behind her. He strokes her cheek with his long fingers. He cups her throat and leans her into him. She melts into his warm skin feeling a swarm of comfort overwhelm her. He peppers kisses along her neck, pulling down the zipper of her dress.

 “Trust me pet.” He lets her hair down, stopping any worried thought she has. He slips her dress down leaving her in a slip. He gently nips at her neck. Her eyes snap open, not believing herself. Langdon comforts her once again, convincing her what she is doing is ok. He runs a hand down her spine causing her to shiver.

 Slipping fingers between her legs he feels how slick she is.

 “You are so good for me. You will be mine darling.” The other hand glides across her front, bringing a trail of blood with it. She moans feeling the smooth texture of the blood on her neck. He slowly slips his fingers into her. She arches her back leaning her head onto his shoulder. Y/n has never felt this before, but she likes it. She sits down on his fingers to get a deeper feeling. When she is shaking beyond all control close to her release he yanks his fingers out of her.

 She cries in response. Instead of acknowledging her protests he shoves her onto the ground. He tosses the dress somewhere in the room. Crawling on top of her he pulls her slip down, tossing it with the dress. Leaving her completely nude he takes a moment to look at her. His eyes wander over her body. He kisses down from her chest, to her abdomen, kissing each thigh and finally licking along her slit.

 She cries out in pleasure. He lines up and punctures her core. He thrusts into her as she screams. He runs a bloody hand up her abdomen and to her throat. He gives it a tight squeeze eliciting a moan from her lips.

“Say my name when you scream.” Langdon growls in her ear, pressing harder on her throat.

 “O god, Michael.” She screams for him. Knowing his name without any prompting. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, soaking in her moans.

 “You are mine now Y/n.” he pumps himself into her, chasing his release. She too can feel her release coming.

 Closing into her fate, her eyes snap open, solid white. She screams as a sonic boom of power spreads throughout the room, breaking and glass possible. Things shatter everywhere. Michael’s eyes widen in shock, then darken as he realized what he just did.

 He removes himself from her. Her eyes still solid white. Michael hovers over her and leans to whisper in her ear.

 “You’re tainted now little angel.” He kisses her ear and her eyes return to their normal color.

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

Hope you guys enjoyed this oneshot!