#she is the bane of his existence and the object of his ire

[reireichu]

they didnt allow claudia to reach this modern era because if she said “lol okay boomer” to lestat, it would promptly end his career, his soul, his will to live and probably cause his hair to fall out.

[blayresmuses]

Hello love, if you are taking requests would you pls write one on Aemond Targaryen x Y/n Targaryen (uncle/ niece) where they are enemies but definitely have a lot of sexual tension between the two. Maybe they have snuck around before and she’s scared of getting caught? Maybe he’s trapped her somewhere and they get into an argument and try to kill eachother but reader makes smartass comments like how it seems as if he’s lost one of his balls instead of his eye or how she prefers her husband to have all of his parts etc) and he starts choking her, realises she’s into it and then gets turned on himself. They end up fucking but it’s very raunchy with lots of choking, dirty talk, hair pulling etc etc

the fire you crave

summary: you’re the bane of aemonds existence and he never fails to put you in your place when it’s needed.

warnings: sexual content, degradation, choking, hair pulling

authors note: it isn’t specified that they’re related and this is quite different to what you asked for but i hope you enjoy anyway <3

your heart is thumping, betraying you completely as his steps grow nearer. aemond’s dagger is heavy in your hand, the other one tracing along the damp brick of the wall to help guide you along the corridor, buried so deeply in the castle. you understand that if he catches up to you there would be no one around to help, to guard you from that cool temper, but that’s what makes it so exciting.

you remembered his face when you managed to grab it from his side, taking his attention away from the books he so loved. somewhere behind you he whistled, as if this was just another chore he had to complete. looking behind you, you could just see the flame of the lantern he was carrying reflecting on the walls. quickly, with a wicked grin on your features, you rushed into a nook in the wall, hoping the darkness disguised you.

his footsteps seemed so slow. you held your breath, anticipation and excitement making your stomach turn. ‘why is it Y/N,’ aemond said into the darkness. you could just tell he was gritting his teeth, burning in agitation. ‘that whenever you need attention it’s me you have to come to?’

it was a good attempt you admitted. he was baiting you but you kept still, lip trapped between your teeth. the silence weighed as heavy as the blade in your palm, that sensor inside of you that went insane when aemond was near was pulsing like crazy and you knew he was close, felt his presence deep in your bones. ‘where’s your flock of suitors, hmm? can’t they keep you entertained?’

his voice sent shivers of pleasure down your spine. you adored this - being the centre of his attention, the object of his ire - even though he claimed to hate it, made his degrading comments - he loved it too, burned just as brightly for you as you did him. you pushed further against the wall, feeling the roughness scrape down your exposed back. in your imagination you could feel aemond there, breathing down your neck -

you screamed when he appeared round the corner, sneering down at you in distaste. the flame lit him up beautifully like he was some ethereal devil come to drag you down to the pits of hell. his eye was a burning pit of flame, his anger evident as he looked upon you. his free hand reached for the dagger, not bothering with your silly games.

‘where’s your manners aemond,’ you lectured with a pout. deftly you hid the blade behind you, pinning your hand between your back and the stone. ‘maybe if you’re nice i’ll give you it.’

‘you really are nothing but an attention seeking brat,’ he spat at you, taking a step towards you. it felt like the air was being sucked from your lungs, a giddy state of mind overtaking you. ‘give me it back and i won’t have your hand for stealing, how about that?’

‘beg me,’ you insisted, blinking prettily up at him in the way you knew drove him mad.

‘it’s a fair deal,’ he countered, looking away from you as if he couldn’t stand to see. his jaw clenched and you resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. ‘don’t think i won’t do it. i’m sure i’ll still find uses for you, with or without your hand i still wouldn’t be able to escape your whorish pestering.’

you desperately wanted to hate him, wanted to hate the constant spew of filthy words he threw in your direction. it only excited you further, dragged you down into a never ending rabbit hole of lust and hatred and desire. ‘you claim to hate me but here you are, drawn to me like a moth to flame,’ he continued on, staring harshly down at you. ‘what are you going to do when i’m married off hmm? take yourself down to the street of silk every night?’

you bristled at the blatant insult. you weren’t some needy little girl, following after him. he pushed and pulled as much as you did. ‘don’t worry, my precious girl,’ he cooed condescendingly, running his fingers through your hair. ‘you know i wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. i’m sure one of my guards would love a pretty little wife like you. i don’t think they’d even care that you’ve been broken in.’

you moved so quickly that he dropped the lantern in shock. it clattered to the floor, the noise echoing through the halls as you aimed the dagger at him, attempting to jam it in the space between his neck and shoulder. you knew deep down it wouldn’t work, he made quick work of grabbing it from you and throwing it on the ground.

then his hand was around your throat, lightly at first just so he could see your eyes widen, the little bit of fear creep into them. ‘did that hurt your feelings?’ he growled at you, backing you against the wall until your neck was stretched as far as it could go just so you could look at him. ‘or is it jealousy that’s made you do something so fucking stupid?’

‘as if i’d want to marry you aemond,’ you countered. both of your breathing had picked up and you did your best to ignore the cravings you had to be close to him, to have him sate your desires the way only he could. his forehead lowered to yours and his lips were so close you almost lost the ability to speak. ‘i like my men to have all of their parts. from what i make of it you lost an eye and your balls.’

immediately his grip tightened further, completely cutting off your air way. you tried to gasp but failed - you could only gaze into his eye, watch the emotions swirl around. you should have concentrated more on your own, felt that needy ache between your thighs intensify at the feeling of being so under this thumb. you wanted it to mark you, wanted to carry a piece of him with you everyday, you loved being at his mercy so much a choked moan rose from your throat.

‘you’re enjoying this aren’t you?’ aemond grumbled. he was wearing that god awful smirk now, eyes alight with amusement at your state. ‘you pretend to be a lady but look at you - you’re sick.’

his voice was like liquid fire, turning your nerves to mush. you struggled to move your hand, aemond groaned when you made contact with his cock, squeezing more roughly than you should have. ‘i’m sick?’ you managed to croak out. ‘you’re the one who’s aroused by choking a lady-’

he squeezed once more, completely cutting off your air before smashing his lips to yours, so rough your head collided back with the wall. bewildering, overwhelming, you tugged at his hair, twirling strands of it around your finger then yanking until he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. his hands tore at the bodice of your dress, tearing through the clasps and exposing your breasts.

he bent before you and you took the respite for air, your chest shuddered and you found yourself pinned before his gaze, somewhat softer now than what it had been. ‘why does it have to be you that makes me feel like this,’ aemond murmured, leaning his forehead against your thigh as he yanked your dress the rest of the way down and helped you step out of it.

it was a soft action, one that left your heart a puddle on the floor by his feet. coupled up with those words - it left you a shaking mess, still struggling to breathe because you were so frustratingly enamoured by him. ‘quiet now, are we?’ he queried, leaving a kiss by the side of your knee. it was when he treated you like this you imagined the future, could imagine being married to him, you didn’t bother imagining him being happy about those ideals though. ‘we’ll have to change that won’t we?’

he gripped the plush skin of your thigh, you watched as he admired the way your soft skin gave way before him, watched him take his fingers off to admire the red finger marks he left behind. aemond guided your thigh over his shoulder and you gulped at the strange vulnerability that overtook you - no matter how many times he did it you didn’t think you’d ever be comfortable with the intensity of it, the intimacy of having him so close to you. ‘you’re beautiful,’ he praised, his voice hoarse. ‘and you’re all mine. my little whore aren’t you?’ you nodded, arching your back when he bit down on your hip, taking the tender skin between his teeth.

kisses were placed over the sore spot, soothing it with his tongue. you were lured into it, letting the pleasure overtake you before you yelped when he spanked your clit, a burning pleasure taking over your whole body. ‘say it. i want to hear you say it.’

‘i’m yours aemond,’ you whispered. his possessive, obsessed side gave you butterflies. it was what you thought of before bed, the dominating words he murmured to you in these sacred moments. he rewarded you by kissing the inside of your thigh, softly sucking the skin into his mouth. ‘are you scared you can’t perform?’ you asked cheekily, breaking the tension. ‘you’re really taking your time.’

he hummed before chuckling darkly and your back arched against his grip impatiently. ‘you need to learn the act of patience, pet,’ aemond replied, not bothering to hide the bite in his voice. it was if you’d interrupted him during his favourite hobby, as if having you was something he should savour rather than rush. you blushed and moved your hips again, enjoying the bite of his fingers into the skin of them. ‘i was willing to warm you up but since you want to be such an impatient slut we’ll just skip to good part.’

aemond stood, loosening his breaches and pulling his cock out. your greedy fingers pulled at his tunic, urging it off of him so you could feel his bare skin, bring his chest close to yours. he smirked but didn’t comment, merely tugged your ear lobe between his teeth and adjusted your thigh around his waist. ‘you didn’t need warmed up did you? can fucking feel you coating me already.’

he ran the tip of his cock up and down your slit, gathering the wetness until you were almost losing your mind. aemonds self control never managed to surprise you, especially when he started tapping against your clit making you jerk in his arms. ‘i’m starting to think you really lost your balls-’

before you could resist his fingers were in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and that’s when he pushed himself in. not slowly, you didn’t deserve that, he sheathed himself completely, not bothering to let you adjust to the size of him. the sting was bitter and you moaned around the digits in your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

‘yeah that’s it, good girl,’ aemond praised, eyes glued to where the two of you were connected. he watched as he disappeared into your slick, coming back out covered in you, heard the lewd noises - it drove him mad in the best way. ‘take it and don’t say a word.’

you didn’t, simply raked your nails as hard as you could down his back, enjoying the harsh thrust he gave you in return. wet fingers trailed down your chin until his hand was a necklace around your throat yet again, you met his eye and he squeezed, a determined look on his pale features. he went for your mouth but you twisted, not wanting to get this confused with something it wasn’t - an act of intimacy and genuine love.

‘come on pretty girl, give in to me. give in to your prince.’ you tried to resist, focused solely on the scrape of his cock against your walls, the hand around your neck. your cunt took him in without questioning, welcoming the pleasure, the heady sense of mind it gave you but his mouth was right there, you wanted to taste him. you felt the fire dying out in you like it always did. you fell impossibly further into his arms, let him capture your mouth.

you felt him pick you up fully and you tightened your legs around his waist, drawing him in closer. you felt the clammy skin that pressed against you, the subtle grind of his lower torso against your clit. the rough stone ravaged your back but you didn’t complain, just moaned his name into the hotness of his mouth. the new angle had him rocking straight into your spot as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling harshly as if that gave him some semblance of control. ‘oh it’s perfect -’ the words were stuttered, bitten out as if he truly was losing it. you were glad because you felt the same like some dam waiting to burst. ‘and it’s all mine, perfect cunt just for me.’

aemond felt you tightening and he could only grin, completely drunk on the delicious way you spasmed around his length. ‘do you like that Y/N? i think you do. you pretend to hate me but you love that i can get you like this. you belong to me. never forget that.’

you knew it deep in your bones. he’d ruined you for any man so you just let yourself enjoy the moment, let yourself be taken closer to the edge as this thumb rubbed your clit. it didn’t take long, merely a minute or two for you to near the precipice of orgasm. you could tell he was close too, biting down on your shoulder to keep his noises in. ‘say it,’ he groaned. ‘say it or i won’t let you finish.’

your stomach sank at the request although you’d learned to expect it. he asked it of you every time though he never bothered to return the sentiment. the words made you feel ill. to leave yourself so vulnerable for him, it was the most difficult thing you could do but as close as you were, your body was preparing to finish, you craved it. so you shut your eyes and whispered what he wanted to hear.

‘avy jorrāelan, aemond.’

one deep thrust and you were falling over the edge, aemond following. his lips found yours during, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth so softly you wanted to scream. he let you cling to him in the moments after, let you shudder in his arms as he rubbed the sore skin of your back. it was too much you thought, so you unraveled yourself from him and watched as he put himself back to rights.

the silence was deafening in the aftermath. as if you had to be modest, you picked up the scraps of your gown and held them over yourself. ‘why do you make me say it?’

aemond didn’t answer, just kept on sorting himself. you felt the chance slipping through your fingers. you didn’t care how desperate or needy it was to ask, to want answers. you felt broken apart, like he’d opened you up and looked inside then decided you weren’t worthy and shut you back over. before you realised it there were tears in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. ‘you never say it back,’ you murmured and you hated how truly sad you sounded.

‘don’t act like you meant it,’ aemond snapped but even he looked emotional, seeming more content to look at the floor than at you. ‘you say it because i ask you to, not because you want to. it means nothing.’

you shook your head, the tears flowing freely as he turned on his heel and left. he didn’t even take the dagger, just left you standing in the fading flame. you picked it up, ran your finger down the silver blade, knowing already you’d keep it like a memento, like it was a piece of him to keep.

avy jorrāelan, aemond. i love you, aemond.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Deck the Halls - CSSS 2K19

Getting in just under the wire (it’s still Christmas in my time zone anyway!), but here I am with a fluffy little enemies-to-lovers (ish) one-shot for the amazing and delightful @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ It sounded like you had a rough start to your holidays, dear, but I hope your Christmas has been the merriest! I’m a bit rusty at this writing business, but I do hope you enjoy your gift. 

Rated: G; Word Count: ~2700

~~~~~CSSS2K19~~~~~

“He made cookies, Mary Margaret. Homemade. From scratch. How could I possibly not hate him?”  

Emma glared across the teacher’s lounge at the man in question. Killian Jones. Music teacher, expert classroom decorator and apparently on the short list for the next Great British Bake-off. As she looked back to her best friend for moral support, it occurred to Emma that she’d never before realized a person could sip tea sarcastically.

“You’re right,” Mary Margaret replied. “I mean what next? Caroling through the corridors? Oh wait! He already did that with my Kindergartners, didn’t he?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.” Yes, Killian Jones had in fact led the Storybrooke Prep kindergartners singing merrily through the halls. And yes, it had been absolutely freaking adorable. 

She dunked an admittedly delicious homemade gingerbread man into her coffee, then bit its head off. “I don’t see why he has to be such a show off. It’s not like he can actually win the contest. He doesn’t have his own class, you know? Not really.”

“Maybe he’s just really into Christmas?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Honestly, I think you may be taking this whole ‘Deck the Halls’ contest a bit too seriously.” 

“Says last year’s winner.”

“Or maybe there’s more to your fixation on Mr. Jones than just this contest?”

“Don’t start. It’s only about the contest. I wanna know what his evil plan is, that’s all.”

Ah, the annual Deck the Halls contest. Every homeroom teacher at Storybrooke was enthusiastically encouraged by the school principal to decorate their classroom door and hallway in festive winter style. The winning teacher’s class got some kind of prize, usually a special field trip. This year, students would be treated to a Polar Express themed ride on Storybrooke’s fully restored historic steam train. The kids could wear their pajamas and drink hot chocolate while they watched the snowy town pass by, and at the end of the ride, they’d get a chance to meet “Santa”. Emma’s fifth graders all seemed to think themselves too grown up for such a thing, but still… A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.

Mary Margaret finished her tea and gave Emma’s shoulder a maternal pat. “Time to go pick up my little guys from the cafeteria.”

After her friend left, Emma let her gaze drift back to the object of her ire. Mary Margaret was right. Emma was definitely taking the contest too seriously, but that Killian Jones was just so damn infuriating. Ever since he’d transferred - no, swaggered - in from Misthaven Prep, he’d been the bane of her existence. He and his stupidly perfect hair. And his ridiculous flirty comments. And his stupid, ridiculous, unreasonably attractive face. The man may as well have had a banner over his head that read, “I’m sexy and I know it.” 

That was bad enough, but then came the first day of school after Thanksgiving break. Emma walked her class to Mr. Jones’s room for their music lesson to find he’d decorated the entire fine arts hallway to look like a giant gingerbread house with lights, human-sized gingerbread people and enough craft glitter to choke a reindeer. Between that and the caroling and the freaking cookies, how was anyone supposed to compete? 

And Emma really, really wanted to win. She had a competitive streak, sure, but it was more than that. It was-

Oh, crap. He caught her looking. And there he went with the eyes and the smile, and oh god he’s walking over to her. 

“Swan! I noticed you’ve been sampling my goodies. Fancy the flavor?”

Emma bristled. Killian Jones had a unique ability to say perfectly innocent things and somehow make them sound dirty. And also vaguely appealing, but that was beside the point.

“A little bland for my taste,” she lied. “They needed more cinnamon.”

“So the lady likes things a bit spicy. Duly noted.” He grinned at her, eyes alight with mischief. That smile of his was infectious - like the plague, Emma told herself - and she fought against the instinct to return it.

“My spice preferences are none of your business, Jones.” 

“Quite right, Swan.” He glanced downward, seeming appropriately chastised, but it only lasted an instant. He flashed those devilish blue eyes at her again with a wicked smirk to match. “Spicing up your life would be my pleasure, not business at all.”

Emma felt the blush begin to rise up from the back of her neck. It was bad enough that he could make her blush. She sure as heck didn’t want him knowing that.

She managed an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows and muttered something vague about picking up her class, before turning on her heel and exiting the lounge. At a perfectly calm and casual pace, thank you very much. 

—-

Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her desk grading papers. Or rather, sat behind a stack of papers that needed to be graded while staring around her classroom in an attempt to visualize a masterful decorating theme. Ugly Christmas sweater? No, that’d be a hot mess. Frozen? No, Ms. Arendelle the art teacher was already doing that. The Nutcracker? Nope. Mary Margaret won with that one last year. 

A knock on her door shook Emma out of her Grinchy brooding. “Ms. Swan? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry Mills barged in with an anxious smile on his face and a stack of printer paper clutched in his hand. “You said you’d read over my writing sample, remember?”

Emma pushed aside her grading and took the proffered essay. “How’s the scholarship application coming along?”

“The Sisters are doing most of the paperwork for me,” Henry answered. “I just need one more recommendation letter from a teacher and then my essay.”

The “Sisters” meant the nuns who ran the group home where Henry lived. It wasn’t the posh life that most of Henry’s classmates at Storybrooke Prep enjoyed, but the nuns cared deeply for the children in their charge. A better situation at least than Emma ever had during her years in the foster system. 

Emma read through the essay, all about the power of storytelling and how Henry aspired to be an author someday. He was capable of great things, that kid, but he needed the scholarship to pay his tuition so he could continue on at Storybrooke. 

“This is wonderful, Henry. I’m sure the scholarship board will approve you.” 

“Thanks, Ms. Swan.” Henry beamed at her for a moment, then glanced back toward her undecorated door. “Are you going to enter Deck the Halls this year? The judging is on Monday, right?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him as if confiding a secret. “Sure am. I’m just waiting until Monday morning so it’s a surprise.” Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?

Henry nodded, unconvinced. “It’s just that, well, I was really hoping our class could win this year. I’ve never been in a class that won before.” His focus shifted to a chipped spot on the edge of her desk. “I know it’s more for the little kids. I mean, it’s not like I believe in Santa anymore or anything, it’s just…” he picked at the chip making it worse. “The Sisters can’t really afford to take us anywhere, you know? And I thought it might be kind of fun to ride a real steam train and meet Santa just like in The Polar Express.”

He met Emma’s eyes finally. She knew that look. The I-want-to-be-a-part-of-something look. The I-want-to-be-a-regular-kid look. Her heart twinged with the familiarity. That. That right there was why she needed to win this year.

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll get you that train ride.”

—-

That Friday after school, Emma hit the local craft store. She bought tinsel and bows, little strings of lights and fake snow spray, garlands and non-breakable plastic ornaments. She even bought a sprig of freeze dried mistletoe for good measure. Come Monday morning, she had every intention of turning her hallway into a winter wonderland. 

As she and Mary Margaret walked to Emma’s classroom Monday morning, their arms laden with shopping bags, it quickly became clear that they were too late. Someone had beaten them to it.

Emma nearly dropped her parcels. “What the hell is this?” 

Wide-eyed, Mary Margaret took a hesitant step toward Emma’s classroom door. “I’d say it’s a train.”

Emma took in the sight before her, the initial shock slowly morphing into anger. Her classroom door had transformed into the front of a huge black steam engine, featuring a smoke stack that nearly reached the ceiling and a cardboard cow catcher protruding out at the bottom. Black duct tape train tracks laid neatly from the door clear to the end of the hallway. Blue butcher paper covered the walls on either side of the door setting a backdrop for a winter forest scene, complete with three dimensional evergreens made from layers upon layers of construction paper and fluffy white batting for snow drifts. Delicate tissue paper snowflakes had been hung painstakingly from the ceiling.

The Polar Express. Someone had turned her classroom - hell, half her hallway - into the Polar Express. It was beautiful. Perfectly executed. Emma hated it. 

She hated it because she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had it under control. Okay, so maybe her craft skills were not in the same league, but she had determination, damn it. Not to mention six bags of tinsel which she now had to shove into her supply closet for next year.

She hated it even more because she had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was. There were only two teachers in the school capable of that level of Pinterest-worthy crafting, and since Mary Margaret looked as stunned as Emma, that only left Killian Jones. The one thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it. 

“Looks like someone is trying to impress you, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a sly smile. 

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t deal with her friend’s needling right now. She wanted to storm over to the music room right away and interrogate him, but she knew she needed to cool down first. Rationally, she told herself that the whole reason she became so invested in this silly contest was for Henry’s sake, and these decorations were sure to win. Irrationally, she simply did not want to deal with Killian’s smug, perfect face and whatever double entendre he was sure to throw her way. 

But it bugged her all day. 

Was Jones trying to be some kind of white knight swooping in to save her ass? Well too bad, mister. No one saved Emma but Emma. Did he want two chances to win? That didn’t make sense. As music teacher, he didn’t have a homeroom class so the prize didn’t apply to him. Maybe it was just the bragging rights? That could be. That was way more likely than Mary Margaret’s suggestive suggestion. Wasn’t it? 

She had to stop that train of thought right away before she devolved into the ten year-old mentality of her students and sent him a note: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” Not that she thought he actually did. Not that she would want him to. It was only a point of curiosity. 

—-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma’s classroom won the Deck the Halls contest. She waved sheepishly at her students as she walked to the front of the school assembly to accept the prize tickets from Principal Hopper, but one look at Henry’s bright smile had her grinning for real. 

As she scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto another face. Jones’s bright blue eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. Wasn’t this his moment of triumph? Wasn’t he going to claim the glory? She raised her brows in question at him. Was it you? He gave a small nod. Yes. She subtly bobbed her head to the side. Meet me outside. The whole silent conversation only took a couple of seconds. 

After the assembly ended, the students were dismissed for the day. A small group of teachers herded them outside to the bus lanes, but Emma noticed Jones wasn’t among them. Her stomach began to flutter as she ducked out a side door from the cafeteria. She shivered when the crisp December air touched her face and shrugged on her coat, thankful she’d remember to bring it to the assembly with her. Why did she feel nervous? No, she wasn’t nervous, she just wanted answers. Right.

Emma heard the door creak open again, and Jones stepped out clad in a black leather jacket  that couldn’t have been much insulation against the winter chill, but did a marvelous job of framing his broad shoulders and lean torso. He looked… wait, did he look nervous, too? She needed to say something. Anything. Right now.

“What the hell, Jones?” Okay. Solid start. “You hijack my classroom, but you don’t take credit for it. I don’t get it. Did I seem like I needed saving? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy-”

“I didn’t do it for you, Swan,” he interrupted. 

“Then why?”

“I did it for Henry Mills.”

For Henry? Her student? Emma blinked at him, trying to formulate a response to this twist, but all that came out was. “What?”

“I happened to overhear your conversation with him last week. I had written him a letter of recommendation for his scholarship application, and I was bringing it to him when I noticed him going into your classroom. I figured I would wait outside your door until he finished talking to you. I wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but the door was open.”

“So you heard him talk about why he hoped our class would win. And just what? Took it upon yourself to make that happen?” 

“Aye.” He ducked his head, looking almost shy. “I suppose the lad reminds me a bit of myself. I shan’t go into detail, but suffice to say my childhood was less than idyllic.”

Emma huffed a laugh. “I know the feeling.”

A tiny smile tilted the corner of Killian’s lips. “I thought you might. At any rate, the thing that made my young life bearable was my brother, specifically his insistence that no matter what, we would have a special Christmas. I simply wanted to be able to do the same for young Henry. I apologize if I overstepped, but a bit of Christmas magic never hurt anyone, did it?”

He reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and that right there did it. The vulnerability of that simple gesture shifted something into place in Emma’s heart. She regarded him for a second longer, looking for any trace that this was an act, but could find none. So, she raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on the lips.

Killian froze at the contact, and Emma was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He returned her kiss with exuberance, smiling against her mouth. Oh, god she’d never in her life been kissed like this. For all the sin his lips usually promised, this kiss held more joy than lust and an almost unbearable sweetness. His smile lingered even as they separated again.

Emma shook her head in a bit of a daze. “Wow, that was…” He seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “-really unprofessional of me. Sorry.” Emma cleared her throat, but saw Killian’s expression droop. He took a step back.

“Of course. You’re right, Swan. That will ne-”

She reached out and touched his arm, halting his retreat.  “No, what I meant to say was, would you maybe want to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

No display of Christmas lights could have been brighter than the way his eyes lit up for her, and Emma thought fleetingly that she could get used to basking in that glow.

“Aye, Swan. I’d love to have coffee with you.”

----

On the day of the Polar Express trip, Emma’s class had an extra chaperone along for the ride. Emma served hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, while Killian passed out homemade cookies, and soon even the most blasé fifth graders were filled with Christmas spirit. A little Christmas magic never hurt after all.