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hollyethecurious · 7 months

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CS AU: Pan Says... (8/?)

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

A/N: Look at me getting another chapter up within a month of the previous update! I can't tell y'all how much your replies, reblogs, comments, likes, kudos have meant to me.

I have plotted out the remainder of this story and I believe we'll have 2-3 more chapters. It all depends on how wordy I get, lol. The muse has been very generous as of late, so fingers crossed that I can wrap this up before I need to work on my supernatural summer fic in earnest.

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills!

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

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

Chapter Prompts: I received a couple of prompts asking for the scenarios I've mentioned in this update. I have glanced over them a bit, though. I hope the prompters won't mind.

Warnings: Mentions of anal sex, edging, mutual masturbation, exhibitionism and voyeurism.

Part Eight

Killian collapsed back onto the bed, thoroughly spent and utterly exhausted. The mattress shook from the way Emma’s legs were quivering, her knees and upper body anchored to the bed with her ass in the air, still presented. The ass he’d just taken as a way of technically complying to Pan’s most recent command without actually doing the thing he knew Pan had meant for him to do.

Pan Says… come inside her this time.

The command had only been issued to Killian; a new twist to this particular round of the game. Instructions were given to only one of them at a time, usually when the other was in the lavatory or still asleep, and no longer delivered audibly. They were not permitted to share what the exact instruction was with each other, and had to therefore trust that their compliance to the other’s words was what Pan required.

The morning after their reunion was when it had all started. He’d come back from relieving himself to find Emma awake and looking slightly confused and distressed.

“Swan? What is it? What happened?”

“I… I can’t tell you,” she said. “He said I’m not supposed to tell you I just have to…”

Killian climbed back into bed and took her hand in his. “It’s alright, love,” he assured her. “Whatever it is he’s told you, you won’t have to go through it alone.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, swirling with contrition and a sense of determination. “I know,” she replied. Pushing against his chest, she forced him to lay back as she began to peel his pajama pants down his legs. “I need you to pay attention, because” she paused, swallowed hard, then wet her lips. “Swan says… everything I’m about to do to you, you will have to reciprocate in kind.”

Those next two days they had licked and kissed and sucked and branded and tongued every inch of each other. Exploring one another’s body with nothing more than their mouths.

The third day of Round Three had them experimenting with various toys and apparatus. He’d been told to edge her all day with the various wands and vibrators as she lay tied up from the four corners of the bed. It had been torture. Reducing her to a whimpering, begging, desperate collection of moans, tears, and sobs when all he wanted to do was alleviate the torment. But he’d dared not. Not after the last time they had disobeyed.

He was certain he would get his comeuppance on day four, especially when they woke to a basket of anal toys, in an assortment of styles and sizes. All Pan had required of them that day, however - delivered through a Swan Says… - was to shower and then fit each other with a plug, presumably to begin the process for more anal play later on.

Knowing they both had to be live wires of pent up sexual frustration by this point, day five had been mutual masturbation day.

“Your Captain says… touch yourself, love,” Killian instructed, stroking his cock as he watched Emma pleasure herself.

They had shared a total of eleven orgasms that day, and had become further acquainted with the various toys and butt plugs Pan insisted not go to waste.

Now, day six, Killian was allowed to penetrate his Swan with something other than his tongue or his fingers or a bit of vibrating silicone, but only under one condition… that he finish inside her.

Pan never said anything about it having to be in her cunt, so he’d taken advantage of the ambiguity by taking her ass instead, since they’d both been stretching and preparing themselves for anal play.

And fuck him if it hadn’t felt amazing - the defiance and the tight, forbidden depths in which he’d just spilled himself. Glancing over at Emma, her face shimmering from a sheen of sweat with an expression of sated and elated ecstasy, he knew she had enjoyed it too… but then of course, she did not know the full reason as to why he’d taken her ass and not her pussy.

She was no longer protected from the threat of an unwanted pregnancy.

“Wow,” Emma exhaled. “That was…”

“Don’t try and move too much,” he told her as he reached over and helped ease her into a more comfortable position. “Just rest. I’ll go get something to clean us up.”

“And some water,” she called out after him.

“Aye. And water,” he responded, as though he needed reminding.

He didn’t.

A week into Round Three and they had already settled into a routine. A week-long marathon of teasing, edging, training, and orgasms. A week of them taking orders from one another, of placing a new form of trust in the other’s hands. A week of them not talking about what had happened in the weeks before, or more to the point… the moments before this round had begun.

Swallowing thickly, he pulled back and softly whispered, “I love you, Emma.” Then captured her lips before she could reply.

“I think that’s enough sharing for one day,” Pan’s curt tone crackled over the speakers, forcing them apart. “In fact, Pan says no more talking until Round Three begins… which shall be first thing tomorrow morning. Sleep well.”

Killian’s jaw tightened as he watched Emma open and then close her mouth with longing and uncertainty swirling in her gaze. Squeezing his hand, she rolled off the bed and padded her way to the lav. Afterward, they both got dressed and curled up next to one another in bed, the silence between them deafening.

In the past week, she had not reciprocated those words and he had not uttered them again. Not because he hadn’t meant them, because he had. He did. He does. He regretted saying it, though. Regretted giving Pan more ammunition to use against them. Regretted having the memory of those words first said here, in this setting, under these circumstances. Regretted putting her on the spot when he knew, even if she felt the same, she couldn’t possibly be ready to say it back to him. And that was okay. He never wanted to push or pressure her, they had enough to contend with from the outside demands of their ‘host’. So, for now, all he wanted was to try and make things as easy for her as he could. To protect her and safeguard her to the best of his ability… even if that meant not talking about it and fucking her in the ass in order to keep her from getting pregnant.

“I have something special planned for you,” Pan said, startling him as they finished their aftercare routine. “But it requires a bit of a field trip.”

Confused, they both looked at one another then towards the door as it opened. Killian took her hand as they stood, placing himself in front of her as he always did when they were instructed to leave their cell.

“Pan says to follow the purple line until it ends, then wait for further instructions.”

The purple line? That was a new one. They’d never been instructed to follow that one before. He knew blue led to the showers, green to the rooftop terrace, and yellow to the room where he’d been injected with supposed poison after disobeying Pan’s rules. Emma had told him that she thought the Lost One had carried her along the red line when she’d been taken after their night of lovemaking, so Killian had deduced (and kept the knowledge to himself) that it had led to the medical procedure room.

Following the purple stripe to its unknown destination, Killian made a mental note of the route and cataloged it alongside the other colors. Of course, there was still an orange and black line. Their destination was also a mystery to him, which made making a mental map of the facility difficult, but he attempted to do so nonetheless.

The path ended in a narrow passageway in front of a pane of darkened glass. A hidden panel behind them slid closed, shutting them inside the dead end. Before either of them could question what was happening, the pane in front of them lit up. It wasn’t just glass. It was a window, looking out onto a circular room with tiers of seats that were shielded by thin, see-through screens, their occupants only noticeable in silhouette.

Emma reached out and banged on the window, trying to get someone’s attention, but her efforts were ignored. When someone did pass by - a woman donning an elaborate mask that hid her identity, but not her vanity - and paused to check her red hair, Killian realized…

“It’s a mirror,” he murmured. “A two-way mirror. They can’t see us.”

“Not yet, anyway.” Pan’s voice echoed through the small room. “Besides… their attention is focused elsewhere at the moment.”

Emma gasped, pulling Killian’s focus to where her wide eyes were trained. In the center, lowest level of the room was a rotating platform, and on that platform were two people engaging in various sex acts whilst the spectators behind the screens watched.

“What the fuck is this?”

“An intimate gathering I host one weekend of each month for like-minded friends. Three days of exhibitionist delights and debauched voyeuristic entertainment. This is the second night.”

He paused as dread rolled through Killian’s stomach. His next words made bile creep up his throat.

“You two will be night three’s entertainment.”

“Fuck that!”

“You can’t be bloody serious!”

“I am serious enough that I’m willing to offer you your reward before you meet the terms of my… request.”

Emma scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “There is nothing you could offer that would make either of us--”

“Not even a chance to reach out to your friends and family so you can inform them that you are not only alive, but also in need of their help?”

They both balked then stared at one another. He couldn’t be serious.

“Why would you let us do that?” Killian inquired.

“Because I require your full compliance so that my guests get the experience they’ve paid for. I am, therefore, prepared to compensate you accordingly.”

“In advance?” Emma clarified. “You’d risk us agreeing and notifying our loved ones of the truth only to back out later?”

Pan’s tone sent a chill up Killian’s spine and he knew Emma had been affected by the hushed warning as well.

“I would advise against such schemes. You do not wish to fathom how far I will go in punishing those who embarrass me in front of my guests.”

“What if we simply refuse all together?” Killian asked, knowing there had to be a penalty of equal weight to the reward being offered.

“Then your association with one another is of no further use to me, and I shall reassign you to partners with whom you might be a bit more agreeable to my requests.”

Emma pressed herself into Killian’s side as he protectively wrapped his arms around her waist. They clung to one another, each of them eyeing the door with the fear that it might open and Lost Ones would be waiting to pry them apart.

“The choice is yours,” Pan said. “I’ll give you some time to consider your options.” The panel slid open, revealing the corridor beyond. “Pan says to return to your room. Further information regarding tomorrow night’s entertainment will be waiting for you.”

~/~

Emma couldn’t stop the tremors coursing through her body. She wasn’t sure how she had made it back to their cell on such shaky legs, and the items awaiting them once they’d returned had done nothing to help alleviate her body’s physical response to the dread and anxiety overwhelming her.

In the center of the room was a table that held an old fashioned, corded phone. It had only three buttons on the dial panel; one labeled Nolan, one labeled Liam, and one labeled Decline. Next to the phone was a binder, and within it were the rules, expectations, and procedures for the night of entertainment she and Killian were meant to supply to Pan and his perverted guests.

A note also accompanied the binder. It read, Pan says to discuss the instructions in full before making your choice. Should you choose to comply, make your calls accordingly. Should you choose to decline, press the appropriate button and my Lost Ones will see to your reassignment.

“Say something,” Killian pleaded. Having read through the binder aloud, he’d tossed it over his shoulder then slumped forward with his head in his hands and his elbows braced against his knees.

“What is there to say?” she said, on the edge of panic. “We can’t refuse him. I can’t… I can’t lose you. I can’t let someone else… I can’t--”

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, gathering her in his arms and cradling her against his chest. “I know.” His lips brushed the crown of her head and his chest rose and fell from a deep, fortifying breath. “But we have to discuss it. We have to talk it through. I won’t give him any reason to separate us. No loopholes.”

Emma nodded and pulled back so she could stare up into his face. “You’re right. We have to follow his instructions to the letter if we want to avoid penalty or punishment, and as much as I really don’t relish the idea of having to” -she gestured towards the binder- “do that. The idea of being forced apart makes me…”

“Aye. Me, too.” Reaching back he picked up the binder and opened it across his lap. “The good news is… none of the spectators are allowed to touch us or participate physically in any of the acts we perform on one another.”

“Yeah,” Emma groused. “They just get to dictate what acts we perform.”

Pan’s guests essentially got to be him for a night. Each of them would be able to make suggestions and vote on what sort of acts they wanted to see their entertainment perform on one another. Those requests would then be relayed to them through an ear bud or in some other manner.

Requests involving excessive violence or anything that might leave a permanent mark would not be permitted. She and Killian would have their identity obscured through the use of a domino mask and could opt to have an alias used in lieu of their actual names as well. Of course, they both had distinguishing features that could give away their identities, but what were the odds of them ever encountering these people again?

“Do you want to fill out the form first?” Killian asked, referring to the questionnaire Pan had provided, allowing them each to select up to ten items they absolutely would not consent to. “Or we could go over it together, if you’d prefer?”

If she’d prefer? Did it even matter anymore as to what she would prefer?

Emma’s chest tightened and her stomach dropped as the periphery of her vision darkened and blurred spots floated in her vision. A dull ringing began to develop in her ears, strengthening in its tone, pitch, and volume as the pressure in her lungs grew critical and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Rage bubbled up from her stomach and despair stung the corners of her eyes.

This was it, she realized. This was her breaking point. Emma had absolutely had enough.

Launching herself off the bed she stomped to the center of the room and rounded on Killian. “No! I don’t want to go over the questionnaire! I don’t want to discuss everything involved with tomorrow night’s entertainment! I don’t want to do any of this! I want to go home!”

Hysterics overtook her and she crumpled to the floor, but not before Killian wrapped her up in his arms to help break her fall. Clinging to him, she wept into his shoulder, her body practically convulsing from the release of pent up emotions and strain.

“I know, love,” Killian murmured, his voice tight and gravely from his own held back emotions. He continued to comfort her with soft words of nonsense as his hand caressed soothing circles over her back. After several long minutes, she could feel dampness against her hairline and when she pulled back to glance up, she found it was because Killian had started shedding tears of his own.

A few hiccups escaped her as she tried to calm herself. Killian’s hands cupped her face and he brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs before pressing his forehead to hers.

“Just you and me, love,” he whispered. “We will face this new degradation as we have all the others. Together.”

Pulling back, he brushed her hair away from her face, carding his fingers through the long strands and gently scratching her scalp in the way he knew she liked. “We will forget about Pan and those who have come to witness our debasement and focus only on one another. Aye?”

“Aye,” she replied in a sorry attempt to mimic his accent, which pulled a small smile from him. Flicking her gaze up to meet his, she said, “I’m sorry. I--”

“You never have to apologize to me, love,” he replied, wrapping her in his arms again and holding her tightly to his chest. “It’s a wonder we’ve both gone this long since our last breaking point.”

Emma laughed mirthlessly. He had a point. This certainly wasn’t the first time one of them had fallen to pieces and thrown a well deserved tantrum, allowing the homesickness, injustice, and despair to spill over from their boiling points. Allowing him to pick her up off the floor, she tried to bury the worry about whether or not it would be the last.

“What would you say,” Killian began, leading them back over to the bed and sitting them on the edge, “to us choosing our false names, our aliases as it were, and proceeding in those personas as a way of distancing ourselves from it?”

“You mean like… pretending this is all happening to someone else?”

“In a way.” Killian took her hand and threaded his fingers between hers. “It might allow us to… dissociate from having to fully experience it ourselves if we think about it happening to… The Captain and… whatever pseudonym you might select for yourself, instead.”

Emma rolled her bottom lips between her teeth and considered the suggestion. It would be like role play. The audience wouldn’t be seeing them, wouldn’t be controlling them, they’d be witnessing two characters crafted to play out a role that was separate from the actors themselves. The thought of that released a bit more of tension she was holding onto and an exhale passed over her lips, carrying her agreement.

“Yes. I like that idea.” Cocking her head to one side, she looked up at him with a teasing smirk and taunted, “The Captain?”

A blush bloomed across his cheeks and tinted the tips of his ears as he reached up to paw at the patch of skin behind his jawline. “Aye. Uh… I thought it might serve as a fitting moniker.”

“Hmmm,” Emma hummed with a coy glint in her eye. “I like it.” Wetting her lips, which almost always centered his focus on her mouth, Emma dipped her gaze then flicked it back up, peering at him from beneath her lashes as she sultrily inquired, “Would the Captain be agreeable to having a naughty Wench at his side for tomorrow’s night entertainment?”

A wicked smile stretched across his lips, and she could see the gleam of relief and pride flicker in his eyes before they turned dark and heated. “Oh, aye,” he replied in a deep timbre that damn near made her toes curl. “I think the Captain would enjoy a naughty Wench’s companionship very much indeed.” Plucking a paper from the binder, he held it out to her and with his Captain’s voice ordered, “Be a good little Wench and fill this out so your Captain knows all the deplorable things he’ll get to do to you.”

“Aye, aye… Captain.”

Part Nine

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

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enignoema-a · 11 months

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— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: Edward Nygma

name meaning: Edward meaning prosperous, Nygma coming from 'Enigma' when he renamed himself

alias/es: The Riddler

ethnicity: Irish

one picture / icon you like best of your character:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

He has lots of vocal stims. This man loves his own voice so of course he stims with it. The main ones are 'What's black white and red all over', talking bird chatter he picked up from tiktok, or repetitive song lyrics. Usually though he only does this when he's alone

He has freckles!! So many of them!! I try to depict it in picrews so maybe it doesn't count as never telling anyone but he's just covered in them on both his face and body

I know the domino mask is like part of the Riddler signature, but mine actually just wears purple sunglasses. He's never really been concerned with hiding his identity

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Restoring/upgrading old tech He really likes old tech aesthetically, there's so many more wires and buttons and things to play with

Research. Just gathering any and all information he possibly can about literally any topic

Crosswords and sudoku

eight people your character likes / loves:

Batman is of course number one. He considers Batman his entire reason for being alive, and the 'game' he plays with batman to be his life's only purpose

Jervis Tetch aka the Mad Hatter. He fights and argues with Jervis a lot, but often finds that he genuinely enjoyed the time spent with the man. Edward needs a bit of nonsense in his life, and Jervis provides plenty (special mention to @alicesought here)

@oncegreatness Basil captivates him and they get along so easily, playing off of each other's energies in a way that is dangerous for everyone around them, but is wonderful for them

Harley Quinn. Ed knows she's a brilliant woman, and has actually gone to her for help with his mental distress more than once, trusting her despite never trusting any other doctor with his mental health

Query

And Echo :) They're kindred spirits! Ed loves these girls probably more than he's ever loved anyone. They've been there for him during the toughest moments in his life, and are the sole reason he was able to get as far as he has in his criminal career

Penguin. Who knows why these two hit it off as well as they did, but Ed trusts Oswald and cares about him. Plus the man pays for basically everything Ed needs

@brutalage :) Ed is a man who is so easily manipulated and also Vandal just happens to be everything Ed likes in a man

two things your character regrets:

Killing his mother

Existing :,)

one phobia your character has:

His brain starting to fail. For Ed his intelligence is everything. The idea that one day he'd just wake up and not be able to do things he once could is terrifying.

Tagged by: @oncegreatness

Tagging: whoever (or if i tagged you in this prior)

#Only thing we share is one last name ;;HC #;;dash games

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csmeaner · 2 years

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WARNING: GROSS

Might as well submit this now so I can take a break off the blog for a bit after digging up that Densy shit.

So, I'll bite: /post/694191943132053504/who-is-jesse-and-why-does-everyone-hate-him-so

post related

posts tagged jesse

Gross stuff at the end.

I wouldn't say I hate Jesse, exactly. That would imply he takes up a lot more active space in my head than he does. His antics, however, do live in the more passive part of my brain and no amount of sandpaper's gonna get that out, so I, uh, am not fond of the guy.

1. Hides behind his mental illness as an excuse to be a POS. Was Jesse mean to you? Did he blow up at you? Was he a shitty friend? Is he bitter as fuck? Does he only talk to you when he wants something? Well, he has mental illness so he has an unspoken expectation you just shrug your shoulders and move on. (In his response to the CCCat-Peakit thing, it read to me like he was explicitly expecting it. You'll have to decide for yourself.)

2. What he did to his "friend", Caravan. While she was around, he was happy to receive gifts from her and defend her. But the moment they had a falling out and he was, like Densy, sure Caravan was gone, he sent screenshots of their personal conversations to Densy.

I don't care how much you fucking hate someone. Private messages between someone you call a friend should stay private unless there's a very good reason for them not to (ex: someone's telling you they're going to end their life). Print them out and burn them if you need catharsis.

It's also super hypocritical. Caravan was one of the most blatantly mentally-ill people I've seen whaling in CS but because she made Jesse mad, he's excused himself for doing it.

3. He's caused trouble in other communities. Since it's not CS, I won't go into details. He's so aggro and unwilling to back down from anything.

4. Some people still hate him from his hoarding and foddering days. He was never Caravan-level, but he was just about everywhere like her. At least he was usually fair about trades.

5. Mad shit-talker in general. Oh the shit he published following the initial days of the 20K Grem callout. I bet if Caravan released some of her private chats with Jesse, we'd see some real tea.

BUT THE BIGGEST REASONS

6. I'm uncomfortable with his thoughts about minors given how he tried to talk around himself for having a relationship with a 16 yr old when he was 19 yrs old, and how he visited this 16 year old and they "kissed and mildly fooled around". His background story is eerily similar to Soyu-k's. Warning for talks of CSEM and abusive religion: https://archive(.)ph(/)oc1M0. Further response from Jesse (same warnings, just to be safe): archive(.)ph(/)IdG27.

I really don't know how to feel about the last two links. On the one hand, maybe he didn't know, and he's open (as far as we know) about it? Then again, he only came out with it when he couldn't deny it anymore, like Soyu-k. But everyone is different. There's just something about both those posts that doesn't sit right with me. You'll have to decide for yourself.

To be clear, I don't think Jesse is dangerous. I think he's a narcissist (in the general sense, not the personality disorder sense) who's willing to...wriggle around a bit to get himself out of something he'd never forgive someone else for.

7. Related to the above, he has one instance (one is all it takes to make me hate you) that I know of what looks like graphic pro-shipping material in his Toyhouse, which was drawn by his boyfriend(?), Xiphos. Censored version (warning as it's still pretty rancid if you're sensitive to this sort of thing): pasteboard(.)co(/)FnTM1kmrVlmU(.)png.

I know someone who archived the original, uncensored image. I'm not in the mood to dig it up for obvious reasons but lemme know if you just HAVE to see it. And I'll get back to you in a couple days. Or go look it up for yourself before it's inevitably hidden.

It seems clear from the TH profile that the character is intended to be an adult and the image should be interpreted as "size play" or maybe "macro". Knowing how some people treat size play/macro, I avoid people who draw it out to this extent. The character in this image has borderline-child proportions.

Actually, Jesse seems to share Xiphos's tastes in general. For example, this naked human's encounter with a rather large anthro. Censored version: pasteboard(.)co(/)Z5MXE9Cqnnz4(.)png.

Again, I know this is supposed to come off as size-play or macro, but it's something that comes down to your own perspective. Is it bestiality to draw a human having, um, relations with a giant anthro? Is it nasty or just incredibly weird? That's for you to decide.

As for me, I'm going to go play video games or something and hope this heartburn goes away.

#proof #screenshots #submission #jesse #thanks for all this info we can officially add all this to the reasons you can be iffy about jesse #time to wake cs up to reblog all these

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

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CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Epilogue) (au)

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

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

Content Warnings: There’s uhhh... poetry smut.

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

A/N: Holy crap! Here we are! It’s the end of the story!! Now, for those of you who read the original story, there’s not a whole lot that’s changed. I edited everything to fit the rest of the story and writing style, since the original version was a little rough, but other than little bits, it’s what you remember. If you didn’t read this, then welcome to the end!

My eternal gratitude to those who helped me finish this, those who helped find my errors (my two lovely ladies are listed above), to those who read this! Who reblogged it! Who left comments and sweet tags and sent messages and made this all worth it. I constantly say that I cannot express how thankful I am and it’s true. With only words, I can only say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. <3<3

This epilogue is meant to tie bows around a couple major things and send these off the best way I know how. I still have a stack of headcanons and info that wouldn’t fit in here. I would love to share these things if anyone is curious. If you are, or have questions, or want to talk about specific parts, please send me messages. I would love to chat about this world that has lived in my brain and morphed over the last FIVE YEARS.

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Epilogue: The Art of Poetry

-x- April

The day that Killian forgets the coffee mugs on his counter is the day he locks himself out of his apartment for the first time. He and Emma huddle on the front stoop together in the early morning chill waiting for his landlord to come unlock the door. He opens his jacket and pulls her closer, jumping when her cold nose touches his collarbone and she chuckles as she repeats the action until her nose is warm and he’s even warmer. They thank Marco profusely when he arrives with the spare set of keys.

They’re also both late for work that day.

The next day, when Emma comes back from getting coffee, there’s an envelope propped in front of her computer at work. When she opens it, a weight settles in the envelope and she pulls out the folded note. Killian’s neat handwriting stretches across the paper.

“My love,

understand me,

I love all of you,

from eyes to feet, to toenails,

inside

all the brightness, which you kept.

It is I, my love,

who knocks at your door.”

So next time I lock myself out, you can unlock it for me.

She peers into the envelope to see the key resting in the bottom and thinks he may be onto something with poetry if it always sounds like that.

Emma makes sure to beat Killian to the door when they walk back to his place after work so she can try out her new key, and she only smiles wider when the lock slides open. She makes a big show of swinging open the door, gesturing him inside with a sweep of her arm.

When she gets home that night, Snow and David have once again broken into her loft, but she doesn’t much care for two reasons. Firstly, she knew they were going to do this after they texted her twenty minutes ago and asked whether or not she was spending the night at Killian’s. Secondly, it takes her five whole seconds to read the message on Snow’s shirt that proudly states that she’s “Pregnant AF” (the shirt’s words, not hers) and there’s a whole bunch of happy crying and flailing that follows.

-x- Late August

Emma arrives home a little late one night to Killian already making dinner. The routines they do still live with all include household chores and the way they divvy them up, and she’s perfectly fine with the structure he’s brought to her previously chaotic lifestyle. He glances over his shoulder when she walks in and smiles.

“Get stuck late again?”

“Not quite,” she says as she comes to stand behind him. “That smells amazing, by the way.”

“It’ll be done in just a bit.”

“Want me to set the table?”

“I’d like to know why you’re avoiding a simple inquiry into why you were so late in such an obvious manner.”

Emma sighs heavily. “I kind of walked all the way back to the loft before I realized I didn’t live there anymore.”

“Kind of? I don’t think that’s something you can kind of do, love,” he says, still managing to stir whatever it is he’s making even when she goes to swat his arm.

“Okay, so I did. You said it yourself, though. Old habits, right?” She hops up on the counter to watch him cook.

“Indeed, love. So, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How do you feel our adventures have measured up to the expectations?”

“Well, you didn’t turn into a frog.”

“Aye, I’m sure there’s still time for that. We’re only in the middle of this tale. We’ll just have to see where the pages take us from here.”

“You are such a fucking romance novelist,” she says, laughing brightly when Killian removes his sauce from the stove and turns it off before he moves in to attack. And even though she’s squirming to get away from his nimble fingers as they target her ticklish spots, she sends up a quick thank you to Killian’s faulty alarm clock and his old habit of routines.

-x- September

“You could just leave those until later,” Killian says, coming up behind Emma as she washes their dishes from dinner. He has his hand and hook on her hips and his lips on her hair, his voice full of implication.

He’s learned not to try to talk her out of cleaning up, and instead he just enjoys distracting her in the best ways possible.

She’s wearing a skirt - something she only does when she’s out of leggings - and the soft gray jersey fabric clings to her hips before flaring and draping down. It hides much of her legs, but her backside looks fantastic in it. On top, she has a light yellow shirt that’s tickling at his memories, the lines of a poem he once memorized during his university years making their way back to mind.

Steady movements continue as she washes and rinses each dish, stacking them in the drying rack before starting to scrub out the sink. He’s struggling to remember the lines, yellow sweater, and with a smirk he glides his hand down to palm the back of her thigh.

“These are anything but boyish haunches,” he says out loud. Emma gasps as the shift from peaceful innocence to dirty.

“What?”

He hums, nosing some of her hair aside so he can find her neck with his lips. “From a poem. Your shirt brought it back to me. ‘The Mists of Pornography’ was the title,” he responds, moving his hand to the front of her thigh and sliding it up to rest on a spot right below her hipbones.

“Why am I not surprised that you know something with ‘pornography’ in the title?”

“Ah, but Swan, it’s about much more than that. Close your eyes. Listen,” he says, and uses his hook to brush the hair off her neck and lean closer to her ear. He sways just a little bit closer as he starts to speak.

When you rose out of the mist / of pornography - He runs a single finger along her spine until it rests between her shoulders - with your talk of marriage / and orgies / I was a mere boy / of fifty-seven / trying to make a fast buck / in the slow lane / It was ten years too late / but I finally got / the most beautiful girl / on the religious left / to go with her lips / to the sunless place - and here he makes sure to push his hips against her to emphasize as she snorts. He continues reciting, crowding her against the counter, making sure the edge is pressing right where he wants it to.

This was my life / in Los Angeles / when you slowly / removed your yellow sweater - As he speaks, he slowly draws her shirt over her head and she lifts her arms - and I slobbered over / your boyish haunches - He runs his hand over the path that started this all and pushes the skirt off her hips to rub over the back of a now-bare thigh - and I tried to be / a husband / to your dark and motherly / intentions.

I thank you / for the ponderous songs / I brought to completion / instead of fucking you / more often - He punctuates by rolling his hips against her and she gasps as she clutches the sink for stability, and he keeps going.

Your panic cannot hurry me here / and my panic and falling / shoulders / our shameless lives / are the grains / scattered for an offering / before the staggering heights / of our love - His hand glides over her stomach and up to cup a breast through her bra. He’s sure she can feel where his cock is pressing against her ass, hard and wanting. Her hips are pinned against the sink and with each line, he thrusts against her, slowly lighting the fuse of what promises to be a spectacular orgasm if he doesn’t stop.

And the other side of your anxiety / is a hammock of sweat / and moaning - It’s getting harder to pay attention to the poem, especially when he pulls down the straps and cups of her bra, palm meeting her already hardened nipples as he alternates between them. Her body shudders with pleasure and he struggles to continue - and time comes down / like the smallest pet of God / to lick our fingers - he licks her shoulder instead - as we sleep / in the tangle / of straps and bracelets.

With a great deal of effort, he keeps going, trying to make the lines appear in his head so he can read them off with ease and still give her the attention she deserves - and Oh the sweetness of first nights / and twenty-third nights / and nights / after death and bitterness - She reaches one arm back to wrap around his neck and firmly grasps his hair - and the impeccable order / of the objects on the table - He’s rocking her into the counter at just the right speed and he can tell how close she is with each new word - the weightless irrelevance / of all our old intentions / as we undo / as we undo / every difference.

With the last word of the poem out of his mouth, she tugs hard at his hair and she climaxes, coming undone and leaning back against his chest and tries to catch her breath.

“Oh god, Killian,” she moans. He’s still rocking them against the counter as she rides out her orgasm. “By far, this is the most interesting way you’ve ever made me orgasm.

“Have I made you a fan of poetry yet, Swan?” He moves his hand back down to her hips, his fingers sliding just under the waist of her panties. She feels loose and light as she turns in his arms and pulls him against her.

“A couple more poems like that and I can definitely be convinced,” she says. “But for now I think I’m more interested in spending time with this one. What was that about lips and sunless places?”

His mind reels because she drops to her knees between him and the cabinets. He grips the counter for stability when she drags her teeth over the zipper of his slacks.

“Think you can recite another one?” She unfastens his trousers, sliding the material down and taking his boxer briefs with it. She wraps one hand around the base of his cock, lightly gripping his hip with the other.

“Hmm?” He’s concentrating really hard on not rocking his hips forward into her skilled hands, incredibly aware of the counter just behind her head. The absolute last thing he wants to do is accidentally give his girlfriend a concussion.

“Another poem, Killian. You have another one up in that head of yours?” She leans in and licks the tip of his erection, grinning up at him.

His mind scrambles for any other poems he memorized.

“You’re making it incredibly difficult to concentrate, love, but I did always love a challenge” he admits, another moan pulling from him as she wraps her lips around the head and sucks lightly. She pulls back again and looks up at him, her smile shining in her eyes.

“You once promised to read me dirty poetry. You’ve given me one. Surely you have another up there,” she says before leaning forward to kiss a spot below his hip bone.

“There once was a man from Nantucket,” he starts, but she cuts him off with her laughter.

“No, no. Make it a good one.”

The poem that finally makes its way to his mind is not dirty, but he knows she’ll appreciate it. He clears his throat, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the words in his head instead of the love at his feet.

All night I have slept with you / next to the sea, on the island. He begins, and she runs her hands along his thighs. Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep, / between fire and water. She grips his cock again and begins stroking it gently, placing kisses along his hip again as he continues.

Perhaps very late / our dreams joined / at the top or at the bottom, / up above like—

“Fuck, Emma,” he moans, her mouth going from the innocence of kisses to wrapping her lips around him once more and swirling her tongue around the tip.

“Keep going,” she pants out when she breaks away, dipping her head right back in when he starts reciting once more.

Perhaps your dream / drifted from mine / and through the dark sea / was seeking me / as before, / when you did not yet exist, / when without sighting you / I sailed by your side, / and your eyes sought / what now—/ bread, wine, love, and anger—/ I heap upon you / because you are the cup / that was waiting for the gifts of my life.

The hand that isn’t gripping the base of his cock trails up his thigh once more, pausing on his hip for a moment before brushing under the shirt that he’s still wearing and she runs her nails down his chest.

I have slept with you / all night long while / the dark earth spins / with the living and the dead, / and on waking suddenly / in the midst of the shadow / my arm encircled your waist. / Neither night nor sleep / could separate us.

She begins bobbing her head while her hand strokes the rest of his length, and it’s a struggle to remember the last stanza for a moment. He drops his head, opens his eyes again to watch her move and it’s too much. His movements against her during the first poem had already aroused him, and her attentions on him now are pushing him closer to the edge.

Emma moans around his length and his knuckles go white where he’s still gripping the counter. He can feel his release coming and she feels it too, speeds up and doesn’t prolong the torture. When it hits him, he has to brace his feet a little more so he doesn’t collapse. He’s breathing hard when she gracefully stands back up into the cage of his arms. She’s grinning, the cat that got the cream, as she winds her arms around his neck.

“Is that the end?” she asks, fingers threading through his hair. He shakes his head and swallows, wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

I have slept with you / and on waking, your mouth, / come from your dream, / gave me the taste of earth, / of sea water, of seaweed, / of the depths of your life, / and I received your kiss / moistened by dawn / as if it came to me / from the sea that surrounds us.

He kisses her after saying the last verse, tasting his release still lingering on her tongue, and she hums into the kiss.

“Not bad,” she says when she breaks the kiss. “You may have just swayed my opinion. I’m now pro-poetry.” She’s smiling when she meets his eyes, and he chuckles. He places one more kiss on her forehead before bending to hastily pull his underwear back up, stepping out of his discarded trousers and leaving them on the floor.

“I’ll try a lofty and pretentious one next time,” he promises, remembering their previous discussions about poetry now that she’s brought them up.

“Only if you’re fucking me into the mattress when you do it,” she says off-handedly. He huffs out a laugh and rests his forehead against hers.

“You’ll be the death of me, love.” He hugs her tight to him as he says it and he can feel the laugh vibrate through her.

“But you love me anyways,” she responds, dancing her fingers across his shoulders.

“Aye, until the end of time.” He kisses her again, and she whispers her love for him across his lips.

And when they wind up in bed a short time later, he recites whatever he can think of—limericks, haiku, even a poem by Shel Silverstein—as he fulfills her request.

When the Save-the-Dates go out a few months later, there is, indeed, an asterisk at the bottom that says “David was right.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #sarah writes ff #csrt

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valkyrieofsmut · 4 years

Text

Captive Love 11

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Sweetheart's escape! Sans's anxiety... Sweetheart has anxiety, too.

A/N: So... Here's one of the parts I've been really excited to put out! I must be messed up, though, because... Sweetheart has flashbacks and an anxiety attack... I'll put the ~~~ so you can avoid the triggering stuff. Sans pretty much sums it up, but I also put a sum up in the end notes. Also, tumblr is a bitch to edit on, which is why it’s taking me so long to update! Sometimes I kinda just feel like posting a link to the chapter on Ao3... kinda feel torn, though, since you won’t get to see the words or anything if it’s reblogged or whatever. What d’ya think?

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Story

The great escape.

The door downstairs closed loudly, waking (Y/n) with a jolt.

She looked around, seeing a blanket over herself. She didn’t remember that being there before she fell asleep.

There was a soft, muffled snoring above her and she looked up, Sans’ body stretched out before her in the puddle of his coat, the book he’d been reading laying open on his face.

(Y/n) tried to sit up, but an arm tightened around her ribs. She looked down and noticed that while she’d thought that his arm was just laying down on the bed, it was draped over her, hand tightening at her shirt and holding her close. The other seemed to be tangled in a mess of her hair.

Holy crap, how did this even happen? She wondered.

She decided that it didn’t matter. Nothing about it mattered. It didn’t mean anything, and it didn’t change her plans to get out.

She could hear Papyrus getting closer from the sound of his stomping footsteps coming down the hallway. He seemed to pause outside Sans’ door, and she wondered what he was doing for the moments before he opened the door.

“SANS, WAKE UP, YOU LAZY PILE OF BONES!” He called, taking in the sight in front of him as his brother stirred. “SANS, WHAT IS THAT TRASH ON YOUR FACE?”

(Y/n) looked up as Sans swiped the book away so it hit the floor on the other side of his bed a bit violently. “nothin’ paps, jus’ somethin’ i’s readin’ ta sweetheart,” he assured. Hastily.

That didn’t sound suspicious at all…

Was particle theory some secretly sexy thing? Was there something in there that she didn’t realize was dirty? Was he- was he reading her porn without her realizing it?!

She knew that monsters supposedly turned to dust when they died, which lent itself to a theory that monsters were made of particles instead of cells, so… was it some weird sexual thing?!

(Y/n) felt her cheeks heating, and she made sure to keep her face hidden from the two skeletons.

Another night of awful dinner, though she was able to eat some salad and bread to fill herself and avoid much of the lasagna, thanks to Sans’ shopping trip, out of the way, and they all retired to their rooms, Papyrus to practice battle strategy and study traps, (Y/n) and Sans to his room.

(Y/n) got the book from the floor where it had landed and brought it to Sans where he was kicked back on the bed.

“ya- ya want me ta read ya more a that?” He asked nervously.

(Y/n) shook her head, putting the book on the bed and making the motions for writing on paper.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, i told ya; i can’t read human writin’, yet.” She scowled at him and slapped the bed before making the writing sign again. Sans jumped back in surprise at her actions, standing and going to his desk. “shit, doll, a’right-! ya planning ta take notes or some shit?” He asked a bit roughly as he tossed the pad of paper and pencil on the bed at her. She seemed pleased, so he sat back on the bed.

She waited for him to get comfortable before handing him the pad and pencil. He looked at them in confusion, then watched her open the book and point at the words, then pointed at him and signed writing again.

“doll, i’m tellin’ ya; i can’t write anythin’ y’re gonna understand,” he told her.

She held the book open and tapped at the page to get his attention there before pointing to each individual letter.

“i’m not holdin’ anythin’ back from ya, doll, i sw-” he insisted, cut off as she slapped the bed again with a scowl.

She jabbed her fingers at the letters and nearly growled, “uhl-fuhb…t!”

“ya- ya want me ta write th’ alphabet?” He asked in surprise.

“Yehs!” She declared with a slight, adorable, squeak, thrusting her arms in the air and falling back on the bed in obvious frustration.

Sans’ grin widened at the sight before he was over her, his face pressed to her collarbone, his arms wrapping around her to give a squeeze. “y’re jus’ so fuckin’ cute, ya know that, sweetheart?” He asked, nuzzling her as he hid his blush. (Y/n) was frozen in surprise, but was about to push him away when he continued, “an’ smart. but, if we’re gonna do that, let’s get one that ain’t so technical.” Sans climbed from the bed, taking the book with him, stuffed it on the shelf behind some other books and pulled off a different one.

He’d been glad that she couldn’t read the old school, common monster print, so he could make up whatever he wanted the book to ‘say’, but now that she was trying to learn to read it… the thought of her learning that he read books focused the relationships of the characters, that was a bit soft for the tough image he kept up, it’d embarrass him very badly, and if it got out that he read that kind of stuff- he’d be attacked, not only verbally, by most monsters, but physically by some of them as well; the ones who thought they were going to look big and strong by killing the brother of one of the Royal Guard’s Commanders.

Sans wrote all of the characters of the monster’s common alphabet, leaving space around each one, then his name at her insistence.

“sans,” he read it to her, making the sound of each letter as she pointed to it, then watched as she made some weird kind of notes underneath. “ss. aa. nn. ss.”

(Y/n) nodded as she looked at her work. Well, now she knew how to spell his name. She pointed to the corresponding letters of his name in the alphabet that he’d written, and, getting the same sounds, wrote the letters under them.

She found words in the book, starting with the short ones, having him read the whole sentence, then the words one at a time, to check the grammar, and then the individual letters of her chosen words until she had a letter for almost all of the symbols. There seemed to be a symbol for the sounds ‘ch’ ‘sh’ and something she could only figure as ‘cs’ which was like a soft c, almost s sound.

Sans scratched the back of his skull before reaching down and tossing his shoes off. “flower. sweetheart, ya done, yet? ‘cause i’m done being treated like a fuckin’ speak’n spell fer th’ night. got shit ta do in th’ mornin’,” he told her, sounding tired as he got comfy on the bed.

(Y/n) wrote a couple more notes, then closed the book, took the paper from the pad and stuck it where she wouldn’t forget to take it with her when she left; it would come in handy to read any signs.

She was as stubborn as the previous nights, taking her pillow and laying on the floor, much to Sans’ irritation.

Another night of falling asleep on the floor, Sans wrapping his body around her, and waking up on the bed. She wasn’t surprised at this point, though she wondered how he got her up on the bed without waking her.

Come on, she thought at them, particularly Sans, as she stared at the book she was again studying, I was still here yesterday when you went shopping- I didn’t leave, you can trust me. Go to work, or whatever it is you do…

Sans was shooting hesitant looks at her, but did leave her alone in the room with a reminder of how dangerous monsters could be to humans. She would have thought that he was threatening her, but the way he looked so nervous, it was definitely that he was warning her to stay safe. Inside.

(Y/n) waited.

She ate some of the salad and bread for breakfast, not wanting to make herself sick right before her trip, and continued to wait.

After two and a half hours, she felt like if either of the skeletons had been worried about her sneaking out, they would have given up and either come to check on her, or gone off to the next thing by then and she should be ok to go.

She dressed in the most covering black clothing she’d found in the bag to help her blend into the shadows, ending up in a tight pair of leggings and a loose, off the shoulder shirt landing in a very flattering cut at almost mid thigh.

It did leave her neck a bit exposed, but she was going to use her sneaking ability to the best of her, well, ability, mostly staying hidden for protection.

She stuffed her feet into her shoes, glad that she had sensible, comfortable, black shoes as required for work, though they looked a little clunky paired with the skin tight leggings.

Pfft. Not like I’m trying to win any fashion awards or anything, anyway, she chided herself as she looked all over through the fields around the outside of the door before slowly making her way out.

She kept her back to the house as she slowly navigated her way around it to the side with the city in the far distance.

Sans felt a bead of sweat run down his skull as he hurried toward the house, pausing under the tree sheltering the echo flowers he’d brought up, the ground muddy and wet from how much water they needed.

Something was not sitting right in his nonexistent gut. Something was too strange about the way his sweetheart had been acting, and he felt the need to go check on her, if only to ease his own worries.

If she was fine, he could pop back to work, no problem, if not- he would fix it.

As Sans started forward again, he saw the gleaming silver of spun webs.

His eyes focused more, sweeping the field to pick out more of the webbing, seeing a trap set, and he could guess who it was meant for.

fuckin’ spider bitch can’t keep ta her own fuckin’ business… he cursed, crouching to conceal himself as his eyes moved over the area to gather all the information he could.

He saw the hint of a strange shadow at the edge of the grass, the fuzzy body of a spider about half the size of the annoying dog; one of Muffet’s minions, and one that wasn’t the type to travel alone.

He cursed silently again, his eyes sweeping over the place it was heading, obviously on the hunt, tracking their prey.

There- he saw a flash of skin, a hand steadying its owner so as to not trip, just at the corner, on the other side of the house.

Sans used a shortcut to the grass just past her, still crouching to stay hidden.

Just as he could see her about to break away from the house and head out into the open field, a glance showing him that the spiders were poised and ready to scurry into action chasing after her, Sans shot out of the grass silently, grabbing (Y/n)’s arm and jerking her around the next corner, out of the line of sight of the spiders.

(Y/n)’s back was once again slammed into a wall, Sans in front of her, his hand over her mouth as he caged her in, his eyes studying the side of the house she’d just been on as he quietly growled, “what th’ fuck ya thinkin’?!”

She was too surprised to react for a moment, and when he was satisfied that whatever he was looking for wasn’t there, his angry eyelights turned to meet her eyes.

“huh?! what don’t ya get ‘bout it bein’ dangerous fer ya ta be out here?!” His voice was soft, as though he didn’t want to alert someone to their position, but (Y/n) still didn’t see anyone around.

He was playing it up for her benefit, trying to trick her, she knew it…

“how th’ fuck’d ya even survive this long?! ya run ’round defenseless an’ soft, kissin’ strange, scary fuckin’ monsters an’ passin’ out ‘n front a ‘em, try'n wander through fields fulla monsters that wanna cat’cha an’ eat'cha- what th’ fuck did ya think ya were gonna do- skip yer way through th’ fuckin’ town fulla monsters an’ get through wit th’ power’a kindness or some shit?!” He hissed at her.

(Y/n) had thought Papyrus was the intimidating brother, but Sans was pretty intimidating himself when his eyelights were missing from his sockets, his anger twisting his face as he held her motionless against the wall of the house, bony hand over her mouth.

He looked around the house again before dragging her with him as he went down to the other corner, peeking around to check it before dragging her with him again, into the house and tossing her toward the couch, making her stumble back and fall onto it awkwardly, her eyes glued to him as he locked the locks on the door and stormed down over to the couch.

Sans’ red magic yanked her feet to him and he ripped her shoes from her feet, taking them with him as he stormed down a hall, then made his way back, her shoes missing, though she’d heard the sounds of more locks.

He stopped next to the couch, grabbing her to drag with him again, but stopping at the bottom of the stairs, holding her with one hand while the other smacked at the wall until he found what he was looking for and pulled a hidden door open.

(Y/n) only got to see a sliver of what was inside, lights flickering before filling the space with harsh, fluorescent brightness. There were a couple of strange machines that kicked to life, but none of them were what Sans was going for, apparently, as he grabbed whatever he was looking for from the wall near the door and walked back out, flicking the lights off and slamming the door closed before again dragging her, this time up the stairs to his room.

His door shut with a loud bang, Sans stopping and holding the item in his fist up as he pushed her forward so she fell on the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) quickly turned and rightened herself enough that she could fling herself into motion if she needed to. Her eyes went up to watch Sans, attentive to find any clues from his behavior that she’d need to survive.

His eyelights were trained on the thing in his fist, which was glowing a little with his red magic, but the expression on his face was torn.

“i didn’t wanna do this,” he murmured. “i was tryna spare ya from it, but…” Sans’ eyelights turned back to her, sadness hidden behind his anger as he advanced on her, keeping her trapped between him and the bed. “but ya fuckin’ hada make me. ya took the decision outta my hands, sweetheart. ‘f i’m gonna keep ya safe, i have ta be able to…”

(Y/n) felt the fear growing in her belly as she shrank down away from him, her eyes unable to look away from his.

It was a bad ending.

Punishment.

He was pissed off and was going to punish her to assert his dominance, to keep her under his control, show her what happened when she displeased him.

No… no, please, her mind begged, unable to get the words out, though her mouth had been trained not to let any sounds out. Please- help… I’m sorry-!

Her eyes slammed shut as he stepped closer, her whole body flinching away, her face flinching again as she tried to keep the panic in her system down. Her arms flinched, stopping themselves as they started to move up to defend herself as he leaned over her.

Something soft but sturdy wrapped around her neck.

Oh god- don’t strangle me- oh god, please don’t strangle me-! She heard the sound of a buckle and her fear was instantly doubled. No biting, no biting, no biting, she tried to prepare herself, fighting the tears stinging at her ducts. Biting will make it worse- worse might be accidentally killing you…

Suddenly, light was shining through her eyelids and she heard the door slam closed again.

(Y/n) opened her eyes, finding herself alone in Sans’ room. She quickly looked around to take stock of the situation, making sure she was actually alone, before getting up and grabbing the chair from near the window, using it to jam the door closed before she took the blanket off the bed and huddled on the other side of it from the door.

The tears started washing down her face as she wrapped herself around a pillow, her body rocking slightly as she fought the panic that had taken hold of her gut.

I’m ok, she told herself. I’m ok, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t hurt me. Didn’t even rip my clothes. I’ll still get out- just… just gotta wait for the right opportunity… I’ll make it. I’ve survived before, I can do it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sans sat in the hall with his back against his door, draining large gulps from a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey and chasing it with gulps of mustard.

He could feel his sins crawling on his back.

He felt fucking disgusting.

The look of fear in her eyes as he got closer to her, the full body tremble- the way she looked like she’d rather fall down and dust than let him touch her as he put the collar on her and buckled it…

He should be comforting her- he wanted to be in there comforting her, telling her that it was ok, he wasn’t going to hurt her- that he’d never hurt her! But he was the one that had caused this state of fear, and he could only hope that she’d calm down enough that he could comfort her soon.

stars, sweetheart, ‘m sorry, he thought miserably as he took another long gulp, finishing the bottle in his hand and squirting mustard between his teeth, ignoring the tears and soul tearing pain in his chest before he buried his skull against his knees, his humeri pressing around it, wrists dangling from the top of his knees, mustard in one hand, the empty bottle in the other. ‘m so fuckin’ sorry…

A/N: SAFE RECAP That thing Sans got out of the secret room was a collar, and when he went to put it on her, she had a flashback of punishment from her abusive ex. Of course, Sans couldn't stand to see her like that, hated himself for causing it, and left to go be self destructive on his own. Also... heh, the book that Sans was reading to Sweetheart... not a textbook. More a romance novel. lol.

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (25/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Can I just say how much I appreciate you guys? I appreciate the reblogs, comments, likes, kudos, readers who simply read this story or any story, really. It’s honestly the most amazing thing that you guys are out here reading a boat load of words that I write and enjoying them and being so kind about them. Kindness goes a long way in life, my friends, and I appreciate you. ❤️

I also appreciate @resident-of-storybrooke for reading all of these words to keep me on track and @wellhellotragic for giving me the idea for this big turning point in the story...even if she doesn’t know that it’s happening 🙈

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

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-/-

Not one to wake up quickly, Emma usually lets the day slowly come to her, even if that means listening to an alarm clock blaring for a few extra seconds…or minutes. Honestly, it’s always minutes, and there have been times when Ruby or Graham will come barging into her room to yell at her to turn her phone off. It’s only then she realizes that the awful sound is real and not a part of some weird, twisted dream where she has to actually wake up and go to work.

Dreadful.

This morning, though, there is no blaring alarm, only a sliver of bright sunlight peeking through closed curtains and the feel of rough scruff and soft lips moving down her bare back while calloused hands grip at her hips and the cool metal of Killian’s ring presses down on her heated skin.

It’s definitely a better way to wake up.

“Hmmm, g’morning,” she mumbles as she wraps her arms around her pillow a little more tightly and buries her face in the softness of it all. She’s awake, but she doesn’t have to move, especially when it feels so good to lay like this.

“Morning,” Killian whispers. He drags his nose along her spine down to the small of her back while his fingers inch over her skin and up her torso to rest at the sides of her breasts, pleasure flickering to life. “It’s very convenient that you went to bed without putting on any clothes last night.”

Flirty dork.

“And what exactly is this convenient for?”

Killian hums against her while he continues to leave slow, lingering kisses against all of the skin of her back while heat pools between her thighs and a smile curves on her lips that she has to hide in the pillow. She’d come over after work last night to eat dinner with him, ended up completely skipping the dinner when Killian tugged her into his bedroom the moment she got through the door, and the only time she’s even left this room was to get a bowl of cereal at two in the morning. If she also spent an hour reviewing her notes for today’s game, that’s no one’s business but hers.

Today’s game.

Oh shit. She’s commentating today and she doesn’t know what time it is and she needs to prepare and –

“Swan,” Killian breathes out, the air warm on her skin, “stop thinking about today.”

“How could you possibly know that I’m thinking about today?”

Killian chuckles, which she doesn’t appreciate, before brushing his lips over her side right under her breast. “Because – ” a kiss to her back “ – I can see that your entire body tightened up and –” a brush of his lips against the nape of her neck that has her seeing little black spots way before she should be seeing little black spots “ – because I know you so damn well and today is all you’ve been thinking of for eleven days now. And not for the Labor Day hot dog eating contest.”

And then there’s the feeling of chest hair brushing against her back and Killian’s hardened length against the back of her thigh while all of his body mass weighs down on top of her as his nose drags along her cheek until they’re eye-to-eye with Killian’s head resting beside her on the pillow.

He definitely didn’t have to lay down on her to look at her. That’s one hundred percent him being extra dramatic.

“Hi,” he smiles, and she groans a bit, both at the pleasantness of his weight and the fact that she was about two drags of his teeth away from being ready to ride him until neither of them could think any coherent thoughts. “You’re going to do great today. So great that all of those guys will be worried about the stability of their jobs.”

“So, you’re basically saying that I’m going to get people fired?”

Killian rolls his eyes and shifts on top of her so that the warmth of him moves to brush across her inner thigh, causing her eyes to shut and her breath to hitch.

Killian is still laughing at her.

That doesn’t diminish the feeling of how much she absolutely needs him right now.

“No, love, you’re not going to get someone fired today. You’re simply going to kick ass, and I’m going to be wearing an invisible pin that says that I’m an extremely proud boyfriend.”

“Invisible pin?” she questions, opening one eye to see a half smile stretched across Killian’s lips.

“Custom made and everything.”

“You are such a dork.”

“Aye, I know.” His lips brush against hers then, soft and slow, before he’s propping himself up on his elbows with a slight hiss that she chalks up to him still being stiff from sleeping. “Now, please, if you’d let me, milady, I believe I was working up to something before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A bloody fantastic way to relieve stress.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it can be stressful on the joints and – ”

She doesn’t get to finish because Killian is grabbing onto her hips again and pulling her down on the mattress before flipping her over so that she’s on her back and he’s settled between her thighs, his hands gripping onto her calves as he pushes her legs further apart so that the cool air from his fan is hitting her skin. Knowing what’s coming causes gooseflesh to pop up on her skin and a simmering heat to cover it all, and it’s all amplified by the way that Killian’s eyes never leave hers, blue eyes under dark lashes, as he nibbles on the skin of her inner thigh.

Damn.

It’s ridiculous, this thing between them.

Love.

It’s called love.

Love that involves a hell of a lot of fears but also this burning passion that makes her thighs quiver at his touch and her heart thump at a million beats per minute when Killian smiles into the dip between her thighs before kissing her there with a long, slow, thorough caress that causes every bit of air in her lungs to flee for the hills.

Bless every woman before her for teaching him how to do this. That’s likely not the thought that she should be having right now, but it’s true.

And so damn good.

It shouldn’t be like this with them. He shouldn’t be able to make her feel the way that he does with so little effort, but he does just that every single time.

He’s taking his time, something she both loves and loathes right now with each flick of his tongue and tease of his teeth while her hands grip onto the bedsheets and her ankles hook around the back of his neck to pull him forward and further into her. Killian growls then, the vibrations working their way through her, and she bites back a groan so that all of Manhattan cannot hear her.

That would be quite the show.

“Come on, love,” Killian speaks into her skin before she feels the hard press of fingers curling inside of her. “Why don’t you let go for me?”

“Oh fuck.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

He likes that joke too much.

The man winks at her and dives back into what he’s doing, his eyes never leaving hers so that she can’t look away from how captivating he is. But then his tongue is swirling around her bundle of nerves in quick flicks that have her eyes closing and her fists tightening against the sheets. Emma chases her fall by rolling her hips, urging Killian to keep going silently since all she can do right now is pant with the way that the coil in her belly is so tight that it’s going to burst at any minute now.

And then it does with a curl of Killian’s fingers and a swirl of his tongue while she moans in pleasure and lets heat simmer over her all the while Killian keeps working at her and keeps prolonging her pleasure that she is never quite able to catch her breath.

Damn.

“That was – ”

“I know,” Killian says with a cocky grin on his face, peppering kisses above her hipbone and up her stomach until he’s resting his chin between her breasts with a genuine smile on his face now that has the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around like crazy.

Emma moves her hand from the sheets to Killian’s hair, pushing it back out of his forehead so that it’s not falling in a million different directions like it always does when he’s just woken up in the morning. She kind of loves that she knows that.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words so gentle and precious that she doesn’t even want the air to hear them. And maybe it can’t over how loudly her heart is still beating, a staccato in her chest.

Killian blinks up at her before twisting his head to the side and laying a kiss to the freckle on her breast. “And I you. More than anything.”

There are those words again, all of the ones that make her feel like she’s something special to him, that she’s someone he’ll always want no matter what, and a sob gets caught in her throat at just the thought of all of that. It’s both the pressure of having someone love her, something no one ever talks about, and the pleasure of knowing that the goofy half smile on his face is because of her.

This man is happy simply to be around her.

And she him.

She urges him to move up her body then, to press his lips against the dip of her collarbone and go from soft to hard as he slides into her, heavy and thick and everything that she could possibly crave. There’s a last-minute protest from her lips about him overexerting himself before a game, something they have to be careful about, but he promises that he’s just fine like this.

Sparks move across her skin, probably against Killian’s skin too, and even though he’s most definitely doing most of the work this morning – likely in some gentlemanly attempt to make her forget just how nervous she is – sweat is still beading at her forehead and the small of her back as their hips thrust together to create a friction that is marvelous.

“Emma,” he grits out at the same time that he thrusts deep inside of her to hit that spot. “You are bloody brilliant. And glorious. And you are going to kick ass today, okay?”

She taps his ass with her foot in response, unable to actually form words to speak back with how strung out she is on him right now, and Killian laughs into her neck while her nails dig into the skin on his back, likely leaving marks that might as well be tattoos at this point.

Killian is so completely filling her as he moves above her, his entire body pressing against her and weighing down on her, and there’s nothing she can do but hold on tightly and try to savor the way that it feels to be connected to him both physically and emotionally. His support for her is unlike anything else she’s ever experienced, is actually the complete opposite of her past, and tears sting in her eyes at the thought of it.

She comes with a moan that Killian captures with his mouth, kissing her and devouring her all the while his thrusts get a little bit quicker so that she can tell he’s close too. She tries to press up and roll her hips to help him find the finish line, but he’s already found it and is falling apart with curses and declarations of love that make her head spin.

When they’re finished, Killian falls off of her and onto the mattress, quickly pulling the blanket back over them and pulling her into his side so that she can rest her cheek in its place against his shoulder and tuck her feet in between his calves all the while Killian traces indistinguishable patterns into his back and she plays with the chain around his neck, moving it up and down over the dark patches of chest hair that cover his chest and his stomach.

“You were right,” she whispers before brushing her lips over a freckle on his shoulder.

“Hmmm? About what?”

“That making me forget.”

“Ah, well,” he teases, his voice dark and low and still the slightest bit gritty, “I have heard that my prowess in the bedroom can make a woman lose any string of coherent thoughts.”

“You are ridiculous,” Emma groans, burying her face further into his shoulder and telling herself that she can get up to clean up later. It’ll be okay for a couple of minutes.

Killian’s fingers tap against her back, her skin still electrified by his touch, but then he’s rolling over so that they’re no longer touching and a whine of protest is escaping her lips.

“I know, I know,” Killian sighs before pressing a kiss to her forehead and getting up from the bed so that she has a spectacular view of his ass. Thank goodness for baseball workouts. “But I’ve got to go to practice long before you have to be at the stadium, and I’m afraid that I need a shower.”

“Can’t it wait?”

Killian twists to look at her, crinkles around his eyes, and he bends down to press his mouth against hers in a slow kiss that only ends when Killian grunts and moves his shoulder.

“You okay?” Emma questions. She sits up in the bed then, pulling the sheets over her because the ceiling fan is chilling her skin, and watches as Killian rotates his arm and grits his teeth so that his jaw clenches. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He smiles at her then, all traces of pain seemingly gone. “I think I simply need a massage from Archie. Might have overdone it a bit by dragging you in here last night and not really letting you go.”

She’s not entirely sure that she believes him, but then he’s reaching his hand forward and holding it out for her. “What?” she questions, taking it.

Killian waggles his eyebrows. “I want you to join me in the shower, love.”

“Shower sex is overrated. You know that. And I don’t think I’ll be able to walk. Seriously. I’m already sore.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Swan,” Killian sighs, pulling her up with one tug of his arm so that she’s toppling off the bed and onto the floor. “We’re simply going in there to shower. Nothing more.”

He keeps to his word that they’re simply going to shower, and luckily Killian’s shower is big enough that they can go about their business without annoying the other or getting in the way. That’s pretty much impossible at her place, but here she uses the little seat inside to run her razor over her legs while the conditioner soaks into her hair. Killian leaves when she’s still working on shaving her left leg, and when she’s finished and wrapped up in his robe with her hair in a towel, she finds him already dressed for pre-game workouts in the kitchen mixing up what she knows is one of his protein shakes from the weird green color of it.

“Any of that for me?” she jokes since she will not go near the stuff. It’s disgusting.

“I’ve got those smoothies you like in the fridge.”

“Bless you.” She gets up and walks around the counter to open his fridge and grab the pre-made mango smoothie, shaking it up a bit only to have Killian place his hands on her hips and tug her closer to him. “What?”

“I do have something else for you, though, Swan.”

“Is that some kind of weird innuendo?”

“No,” Killian chuckles before releasing her hips so that he can reach behind his neck and pull the silver chain off of his neck, his mom’s ring glinting in the sunlight, and Emma loses all of her sensibilities – and her breath – when he places it around her neck. “I want you to have this.”

“Killian,” she starts, emotion in her throat and protests on her lips before he interrupts her.

“No, Emma, just listen to me, okay?” He looks so serious, so all she can do is nod her head yes. “I know athletes are all known for their weird superstitions, okay? It’s simply a thing, and I’ve never really thought that I had one until I realized that wearing my mom’s ring around my neck was kind of one of those superstitions. It’s brought me luck, but more importantly it’s always brought me calm and peace hoping that she’s smiling down on me and cheering me on. You have a really big day today, one that you’ve been dreaming about, and I want you to have it to remind yourself that people are cheering you on. I’m cheering you on.”

Like always, his words far outshine any that she could possibly have, so Emma presses forward and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his stubbled jaw in thanks before staying there and simply feeling the warmth of him all over her as she breathes him in.

This is…she is not supposed to have nice things like this. This is not how things work for people like her.

And yet here she is.

“Kick ass today, twenty-nine.”

“Kick ass today, my love.”

-/-

Killian leaves his apartment two hours before she does, and by the time she gets to the stadium to make her way to the booth where she’s working today, all of her nerves that Killian made disappear have returned in full force so that she can’t stop fidgeting with her fingers or the ring that’s resting underneath her shirt.

She still can’t believe that he did that.

Her heart is still stuttering.

But the nerves aren’t exactly solved by having this good luck charm around her neck no matter how damn romantic it is.

The fact that on her way to the booth three different people stopped her and called her “that chick who Jones asked out” hasn’t exactly helped things. She’s never going to live that down. It might as well be inked on her forehead and be flashing in neon lights. Killian learned from his mistakes that day. If only everyone else could.

Now, though, Ruby is attaching Emma’s headpiece to her ears and stuffing her mic pack in the back of her skirt so that she will be able to sit down without things messing up. Ruby isn’t her producer today, not when she’s working with an entirely different team, but Emma is thankful that she’s here with her now.

“Be yourself, Ems,” Ruby sighs, adjusting her mic one more time. “It’s the same thing you do every other day, but you’re covering the entire game with two other people.”

“So, a different thing than I do every day.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to freak you out any more than you are already freaked out.”

“You’re a very good friend.”

“I try,” Ruby sighs, slapping Emma’s ass before sticking her tongue out and walking away. “You’re going to kick ass.”

If enough people say that phrase, it’s sure to come true.

Right?

Isaac and James are already sitting in their seats, the chair in between them empty, and she takes it, turning to look at the both of them to strike up a conversation only for them to both turn away and focus on the small booklet of notes in front of them.

Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be then. She shouldn’t have expected anything different when she found out she’d be working with Isaac Heller and James Prince, two men who are always looking down at her whenever she has to work with them. It’s fine. It’s all fine. This isn’t about them. This is about her and her job and she can do a damn good job at it.

David: You’re going to kill it today, kid.

Elsa: We’re all wishing you luck today, sweet girl.

Emma smiles down at her phone and moves to type a message back to David and Elsa only for Isaac to cough and make her turn to the side. “I know you’re new here, but you can’t use your phone, even when we’re off camera. Only between innings of if you need to look something up.”

“Oh,” she startles, having to push down her annoyance at the condescending tone of his voice. “Okay, sorry.”

“Yeah. Don’t screw up. It’s a small game, but everyone is at home watching because it’s a holiday.”

Such a nice, helpful man.

The three of them are coached through the order of the game, of the introduction while players are warming up, and while she knows that it’s something that happens every game, Emma can tell that all of this is mainly for her. She’s already read through her instructions, had approximately seventeen different meetings for this and one-hundred-and-twenty-two emails, and she knows what’s going to happen. She’s not an idiot even if she’s being treated like one today.

It doesn’t matter.

None of that matters.

This is what she wants, and she’s going to kick ass.

She, Isaac, and James introduce themselves to the camera, the annoyed look on the two men’s faces disappearing the moment that the camera light is turned on, and Emma has to fight back the urge to roll her eyes, especially when James and Isaac start a rapport of introducing her by saying you may recognize her from her moment of viral fame when Killian asked her out and she has to interrupt them to remind everyone that she is literally on camera every week since she is the on-field reporter for the team.

Fuck these men and their apparent need to forget that she is competent at her job even if this is technically her first day doing this.

But she forces the smile on her face and goes along with the banter before turning to the stat sheets and talking about the impeccable season that the Yankees are having so far and moving on to talking about Killian as he steps up to the mound, which Isaac and James are more than happy to let her do since she is “such an expert on Killian Jones.”

They don’t even know.

And she will continue to ignore these little jabs. The sexism never really ends.

They go through the fact that yesterday was a complete shut out not in favor of the Yankees, but the insane winning record that they have this season, it doesn’t honestly matter. Then at least five minutes is spent going back and forth over whether or not they will be able to somehow back up last year’s World Series win by doing it again. Emma’s always kind of despised the speculation that comes with sports, but this is how it goes.

(And she’s had the same thoughts.)

Which is fine since soon they switch to actually talking about Killian’s statistics for the season, how he’s been a bit up and down but how over the past month or so his average speed has gone down several miles per hour and he’s allowing more hits than usual. Logically, Emma knew this. She’d noticed it while keeping her own stats for her interviews and segments, but she never thought anything of it.

Not at all.

But now, running through these statistics and facts and every minute detail possible has her noticing the way that Killian isn’t hitting his spots like he’s supposed to and is throwing more balls than strikes and is a bit slower between his wind-ups than he usually is.

What is happening?

It’s not a question she can focus on, especially when the Rangers have a guy on second and third and Killian somehow manages to get three strikes and the third out so that the top of the first is over and things are moving on as normal.

Or, really, better than normal.

Eric hits a home-run, his thirty-seventh of the season which is a record high for him, and it brings both Will and Arthur in to give them a three-run lead already.

Today is already going better than yesterday.

And as time goes on, no matter how inwardly uncomfortable Emma feels with the men she’s working with, outwardly, she becomes entirely comfortable, knowing when to interject and when to stay quiet. It’s definitely not a match made in heaven for the three of them, which doesn’t really bode well for her future, but that’s not something she focuses on as the game wears on so that they’re now in the top of the fourth inning.

That’s when it happens.

One moment Emma is looking down at her notes while messing with the ring on her neck, twirling it around her finger, and the next she’s looking through the booth’s window to see Killian hunched over with his left hand gripping onto his right shoulder as his hat covers his face so that she can’t see anything. The hair on her arms stands on edge, her heart starts beating at a pace quicker than it was this morning, and bile rises up in her throat when she watches Will drops his glove and run from behind home plate to the mound so that he’s talking to Killian.

“What’s happening?”

Emma thinks the words come from her mouth, that she’s voicing the question that’s running through her mind, but it’s not from her. It’s from James.

“I think he’s hurt,” Isaac answers, and she knows that she doesn’t imagine the fact that his voice is smug.

Hurt.

No.

Killian can’t be hurt. He can’t be. And if he is, it’s something minor. Of course it’s something minor. There’s no need for her to be freaking out or for heat to be rising to her cheeks while that bile keeps coming back.

This is no big deal. It can’t be.

She also can’t let anyone know that she’s about to throw up because something is wrong with her boyfriend, and she can’t…there’s nothing she can do about it.

There’s a commotion down on the field as Will and Al walk Killian down to the dugout and there’s a brief pause in play while Roseman warms up before replacing him, and even though Emma asks their producer if they can find out what exactly just happened with Killian, she’s left sitting in the dark clutching onto his ring as the game goes on like there’s been absolutely no change.

But there has been one.

And she needs to know more about it.

But she can’t, and every time she moves to get her phone so that she can text Ariel or Liam or Elsa or anyone, they’re back live on air, and she’s having to force a smile on her face and continue to do her job like the abrupt change in pitchers isn’t a big deal to her.

It’s a huge fucking deal.

It’s also the bottom of the ninth inning now, two outs and two strikes on the board to signify the very near ending of the game, and an hour and fifty-seven minutes have passed since Killian left the field. She thinks she’s finally about to get to run out of this room and use her press credentials to get into the locker room when the door to their booth opens behind them so that their producer is sticking his head inside.

“Hey,” he starts at the same time that the word strike is spoken through her headset and the stadium erupts in cheers, “before you go off air, let everyone know that Killian Jones has been taken to the hospital.”

And nothing else can be heard over the thumping of her heart and the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “New York, New York” playing over the speakers like at the end of every single game.

Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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lastxdragon · 4 years

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CS: A New Targaryen Dynasty

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@kinguponthesea

╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

Daenerys had woken in Aegon’s embrace, sleepily savoring the way he had curled against her back as if unconsciously afraid she might disappear in the night. Shifting carefully as not to wake him, she took in his sleeping features, how handsome he was and how much she loved him. They’d made love several times during the night and even in the early morning, unable to keep their hands off each other, but now it was nearing mid-morning and she had duties to attend so Dany put every last delicious thought of Aegon away for the time being.

Ever so carefully, she eased herself out from under his arm and off the bed, finding her robe on the floor and pulling it on. She padded barefoot around the hanging tapestry that separated her - their - bedroom from the rest of the large tent and onward to the secured flap where she gestured for a tray of food and Missandei. The desk had some scrolls on it and Dany leaned against it reading them until her friend arrived with the tray. Dany held up her finger and nodded towards the tapestry while Missandei’s eyes grew wide with happy surprise.

With lowered voices, they went over what had occurred after the fall of the Black wall. There was still some fighting, manse to manse, but the main, outer part of the city was under control. Behind the Black wall, the secured manses and the vaults were being searched for anything that might resemble a dragon egg. Dany knew there was little she or Aegon could do. Dragons could not be precisely wielded. Missandei insisted on braiding her hair before leaving and

Daenerys returned to the bedroom, smiling when she found Aegon awake. “I hope we didn’t disturb your sleep. After all, you got so little of it last night,” she smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her beloved had made love as if he didn’t know she couldn’t quicken and wanted to sire an entire dynasty in one evening. She reached out to brush his silver hair off his cheek.

#lastxdragon #daenerys stormborn #kinguponthesea #aegon vi targaryen #a new targaryen dynasty rp #got au #show divergent au #the morning after #volantis conquered

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belongingsought · 5 years

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CS: The Lost Princess AU

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@dyadredeemed

╣❦╠ ahead not behind ❧

They’d shown up on Jakku mere days after Rey had had the vision - her parents had been killed because they wouldn’t give her up to her grandfather. All those years struggling to survive on Jakku, holding the hope that they would return for her only to discover they had indeed loved her and wanted her to be safe - that they’d been willing to die to keep her location a secret. She had only a handful of days to grieve before these cloaked men had shown up in the market looking for her. Rey had fought them fiercely, but was outnumbered. Waking on a ship, she hadn’t been allowed to roam, tethered to a bunk with no view of the stars, Rey had simmered with anger. Her grandfather - Emperor Palpatine - had found her.

Rey lost track of time before she was escorted off the ship into a dark cavernous space. She had no idea what planet she was on, but she intended on escape. Vengeance and freedom and her staff. They’d taken her quarterstaff after she’d beaten a fair few of them with it. The fury simmered in the pit of her stomach as she was lead - surrounded as if they knew she was looking for any avenue to get away - deeper into this chamber. A pool of light fell on a throne, a ring of cloaked beings stood in a circle on the edge of the light, but it was the creature above that held her gaze. Her grandfather. The monster responsible for her parents murder. Into the light, Rey was led and left. He spoke to her - no AT her. All HIS plans for her. No word of regret or remorse. No mention of her parents. Just what HE wanted.

He called a man forward. Lord Ren. The cloaked man stood at her side, accepting her as his student and with that, they were dismissed. She kept pace, biding her time. There had to be a way out of the complex, but for now, Rey would play her part. When Ren spoke, she almost startled, a jolt of fear shooting through her. How could he know she had something on her mind? But he insisted and there was something - something she couldn’t understand - that nudged her to speak her mind. “I want to kill him. He killed my parents and I’ll see him dead!” she blurt out, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes as Rey looked up at the foreboding mask. She expects him to punish her, but there’s only silence, silence and gloved hands reach for the helmet while her heart pounds.

#belongingsought #rey of jakku #dyadredeemed #kylo ren #ben solo #the lost princess au #star wars au #hope this is okay

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hollyethecurious · 2 years

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I posted 853 times in 2022

101 posts created (12%)

752 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pirateherokillian

@wyntereyez

@hollyethecurious

@killian-whump

@kwistowee

I tagged 744 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#colin o'donoghue - 158 posts

#killian jones - 132 posts

#captain swan - 75 posts

#captain hook - 41 posts

#icymi - 39 posts

#curious replies - 37 posts

#911 lone star - 32 posts

#cs ff - 31 posts

#words by hollye - 31 posts

#ask game - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 92 characters

#emma enlists killian to come to a family dinner so he can take some of the heat off her from

My Top Posts in 2022:

CS AU: Pan Says... (2/?)

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

A/N: Sorry I took so long to update. Originally, this part was going to be much longer, incorporating several prompts that were sent to me, but I have opted to go about it differently now. In an effort to highlight each prompt (or the bits of prompts I’m fusing together for a single scene), I’m going to keep the updates focused on one or two Pan Says scenarios as well as their reward/punishment.

I am still taking prompts, so if something comes to mind please feel free to send it in an Ask. Nothing is off limits, as I don’t really have triggers and very few things squick me out, however, I cannot guarantee every Ask will make it into an update. I’ll continue to take prompts until an end game for the fic emerges.

Lots of love to @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4 for their exceptional beta skills on this one!

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

Prompt & Content Warnings: This prompt came from the csmm Discord - “Tell the other something you don’t like about them.” I don’t think there are any additional content warnings that apply to this part that weren’t listed for Part One, but as with every update to this fic: read at your own risk!

Part Two

“Swan, will you please come sit down?”

“I can’t. I can’t sit down. Not while you’re so calm. You should be yelling at me. Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

“I don’t want to yell at you. There’s no reason for me to yell at you.”

“No reason?” Emma shouted, rounding on him as he sat on the edge of bed, finally halting her frantic pacing. “Killian. I blew it. Failing Round One, that was all--”

“That was not your fault, Swan.”

“Yes, it was! Don’t try and make me feel better about blowing our chance to get out of here. It is my fault. I pulled you into the damn kiss.”

“Aye, you did.” He stood, the pillow still firmly in place over his groin, and Emma had to force herself to not keep glancing down at it every few seconds, focusing instead on his exasperated expression and increasingly frustrated tone. “But in your desperation to get us the fuck out of here, it seems you failed to notice my lips were halfway to meeting yours before your hand even met my shoulder!”

Taken aback, Emma’s lips parted, but he barreled on before she could respond. “That kiss was going to happen, Emma. Whether you initiated it or not, that kiss would have happened. We both fell for Pan’s tricks, and blaming ourselves or one another will do us no good. We have to keep our wits about us and focus on being constructive, because sooner or later he’ll be back to commence with Round Two and God only knows what fresh hell awaits us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t classify what I have planned for you as hell,” Pan stated over the speakers. “In fact, I’m prepared to make you a very generous offer.”

“Save it.”

“Now now, Emma,” Pan tsked. “Let’s not be hasty.”

The sudden slide of a metal panel startled Emma, causing her to stumble back. Killian moved to stand in front of her, both of them unnerved by the sight of a now exposed window looking into the room from the outer hallway… and that which lay on the other side of it.

Two masked figures, dressed all in black, stood shoulder to shoulder facing them with long, black, pronged batons gripped in their hands.

“Meet my Lost Ones,” Pan said. “Round Two sometimes requires a bit of encouragement in order to really get going, so they’ll be doing my bidding if necessary.” A long pause echoed through the room before Pan spoke again, his tone low and applying a clear measure of threat. “I’d advise you both in making that necessity as infrequent as possible.”

The panel slid closed, hiding the window and the shadowy specters from view, and Pan’s voice was once again jovial.

“As I was saying, I am prepared to make you both a very generous offer!”

“What offer would that be?” Killian questioned through his clenched jaw, reluctantly playing along.

“Pan Says you can earn everything back if… you both spend two full minutes appreciating one another’s naked body.”

Furtive glances were exchanged, and Emma could see the slightest shake of Killian’s head, ready to refuse.

The action did not go unnoticed by Pan either. “Oh, please. Don’t act so noble. You both got your fill of each other’s backsides while taking turns in the shower, so what’s the big deal in paying equal attention to each other’s fronts?”

Emma hated that he had a point. They’d both been guilty of ogling each other in the shower, the only difference in his request was that there would be no sneaky peeks. Actually, that was not the only difference. This time, when she and Killian admired one another, it would be with the other’s full consent. Killian had already given his last night in a blanket statement, but based on the way he had his head craned upward, doing all he could to avoid looking at her at all, he would need for her to reciprocate his words if he was going to agree.

“Killian, look at me.” He shook his head, his Adam’s apple jumping and his teeth grinding in agitation. “Last night you told me I had your consent. Remember?” He nodded, but kept his gaze skyward until she took his hand and brought it up to rest against her sheet shrouded chest. “Well you have mine, too,” she told him, her eyes piercing into his, imploring him to understand why she needed him to agree. When he still seemed unsure and unwilling to relent, she quietly murmured, “Please. I don’t want to give him any reason to send those two in here. ‘Cause we both know they won’t care about our consent, only Pan’s rules.”

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66 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

CS AU: Conviction (3/?)

Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.

A/N: I continue to be blown away by the response to this fic. Thank y’all so much!

In answer to a question I received after the last chapter posted, this fic IS written entirely from Killian’s POV.

Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing (there, @teamhook, is that better?) Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Chapter Three

As the weeks passed, the Captain of the Guard and his unusual charge settled into a familiar routine. Every night Killian would spend time outside her cell, talking with Swan about all manner of things. He would bring her books to read so they might discuss them, and she would share with him the local gossip she’d heard from Granny or one of the other ladies Elsa had recruited to keep her company during visiting hours and the morning walks he still oversaw before leaving each day.

It warmed his heart to see her cell filled with items gifted to her or crafted by her own hand with the yarn and knitting needles she’d come to master. Soft blankets, hats, and booties were overflowing the trunk Marco, the town carpenter, had made for her to hold such keepsakes. Another trunk had been approved to house the garments she’d collected through the generosity of her new friends in order to accommodate her expanding waist and keep her warm during the frigid nights as winter swiftly settled over the prison.

Nights like this one.

Killian turned up the collar of his overcoat and shivered past the drafts seeping in through every crack and crevice within the old stone prison. With a new, heavy blanket in his arms, he made his way to Swan’s cell, intending to spend a few moments with her while Officer Booth (who had replaced Robin on night watch) finished his patrol.

A few of the prisoners nodded at him as he passed, the cold making sleep difficult for them, and one or more groused under their breath at the sight of the blanket. Towards the end of the block, dirt-stained arms hung over the cross brace of the barred door, and one of their newest inmates, Will Scarlet, gave Killian a look bordering on insubordinate as he cheeked, “Something to help keep the missus warm, Captain?”

Killian ignored the man’s question, pausing before his cell only to issue him an order to get back in bed.

“It’s just…” Scarlet continued with a tone of ribbing. “I think someone’s beat you to it.”

Killian’s brow arched up his forehead. Before he asked the thief what he meant by that statement, the soft sound of Swan’s hushed laughter perked his ears. Setting off, he rounded the corner and found Booth standing outside her cell, a bright smile stretching over his usually wooden features as he passed a thick quilt through the bars.

“Officer Booth,” Killian barked, causing the man to balk and snap to attention. “Have you finished patrol?”

“No, Captain,” the man answered.

“Then I suggest you get back to it before I write you up for dereliction of your duty.”

Booth gave his captain a stiff nod, his eyes flicking back towards the cell as if unsure whether he could risk saying anything more to the woman inside. Resolving it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take, Booth made his way past Killian and back to the cell block to continue his patrol. Killian’s flickering jaw muscle practically chased him as he went.

“He was only checking on me,” Swan said, her face pressed between the bars with a look of alarm pinching at her features. “Officer Booth has always been kind, he’s never done or said anything improper. He’s--”

“I know, Swan,” Killian assured her as he closed the distance between them. “I know August is a good man with no… untoward intentions. But he does have duties, and he’s new to the night shift. Many of the men think standards can be lowered during the night because the inmates are asleep, when really it’s the time to be as vigilant as possible.”

Swan nodded, chewing on both her lip and his words before her eyes fell to the blanket in his arms. An amused sound huffed from her chest. “Is that for me?”

“Aye,” Killian replied. A swell of heat rose up the back of his neck, prickling behind his ear until he reached up to paw at it. “I thought you might need an additional blanket to help keep you warm, but it seems Officer Booth has already seen to that comfort.”

His eyes flicked down to the quilt tucked beneath her arm, then back up to her face, which was covered with an expression of affection. Normally, he would have been pleased to see such an appearance, yet for some reason he found himself rather perturbed by the sight of it.

“He isn’t the only one,” she told him, turning to the side and gesturing to a stack of quilts, afghans, and other spreads teetering upon one of her trunks. “Every visitor I’ve had this week has seen fit to bring me at least one.”

The irritation that had flared within his chest subsided when he realized her temperament was because of all the care and kindness she’d received from the community at large and not just from a single, particular source. He also resolutely refused to examine that initial annoyance any further, choosing instead to focus on the issue he could see swirling within the depths of her green eyes as she vacillated over giving it voice.

“What is it, Swan?”

“I know it’s probably against regulations, seeing as there aren’t enough for everyone, but…” Her eyes turned pleading as she gazed up at him, and Killian knew no matter what her request might be, he was unlikely to refuse her. “I have more than enough to keep me comfortable while others must spend the long nights absolutely freezing. Would it… would it be possible to have these extra blankets dispensed to other inmates? Perhaps the older, frailer ones?”

Killian stared down at her, stunned. It really shouldn’t have surprised him that she would be willing to share her excess with others she felt were more in need, but such mindsets were not at all commonplace within the hardened walls of a prison, or among equally hardened prisoners.

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66 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

CS AU: Conviction (5/?)

A/N: My apologies for not updating last week. While I am determined to maintain a regular, weekly schedule, I'm afraid I've fallen behind on my wiring, and therefore I can't guarantee there won't be more skipped weeks. Now that my homeschool semester is over, I'm hoping to get more writing time so I can catch back up. I just ask that y'all be patient with me.

Thank you for all the lovely comments! I treasure them, and am so thrilled y'all seem to love this story as much as I do! Also, thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Snow swirled and the frigid air burned in Killian’s lungs. The scent of pine danced in his sinuses and tickled his tongue, the aroma of the season stirring those feelings of good tidings even though there had been no great joy in his days for the past few weeks.

Actually, that wasn’t completely true. Despite the rift between himself and his brother - a chasm that had only grown wider since his brother’s decree, forcing Killian from Swan’s presence and the pleasure of her company, while removing any comfort his might have given her - there had been moments of elation and gratitude to help lighten the otherwise gloomy December days.

Elsa had wasted no time in acquiring the services of a few masons and the blacksmith, converting the old offices along the upper level of the officer’s wing into a much larger cell for Swan and her swiftly approaching arrival. The men had offered their time and materials, free of charge, and word had spread regarding the prison’s forthcoming addition, spurring the townsfolk into actions of charity, not only for Miss Swan, but the entire prison as well.

The soft crunch of compacted snow, mixed with the shuffle of freshly fallen flakes echoed beneath Killian’s boots as he made his way up the long drive towards the prison. He stopped for a moment, adjusting the bulky item in his arms so he could tighten his scarf, a slight shiver traveling down his spine when the winter breeze whispered across the thin layer of perspiration dampening his skin from the exertion of carrying the object from town. A ring of faint laughter tinkled through the air, and Killian knew the carolers he’d passed in the village must be making their way to the prison.

He remembered lamenting many months ago about how they were to make it through the winter without the assistance of the convent. He never would have imagined the outpouring of care, kindness, and compassion they had received from the town’s residents, from necessities like foodstuffs and fuels, to the indulgence of new clothing for the prisoners and a collection for the officers’ uniforms, as well as decorations and community visits to help lift the population’s spirits. Killian could not remember a more festive or exhilarating Christmas season in all his years, and though Elsa had certainly had her hand in making it happen, Killian knew the true prompting that had brought the whole town together to rally around Misthaven Penitentiary was Emma.

A cloud of vapor briefly hung in the air from where Killian had exhaled heavily. Emma. His Swan. Not a day had gone by that he had not thought of her, and not simply because the work being done on her new cell was happening, quite literally, before his very eyes day after day. He’d timed his arrival during those first few shifts he’d reported for duty with when she’d usually be out on her walks, so he would at least have the opportunity to see her, perhaps even speak with her. However, his brother had accounted for such an action and had issued new orders regarding her yard time. Now that they were back to full staff, they no longer had to depend on the off-duty night shift to perform the task, so she was worked into the day rotation schedule, usually escorted from her cell when Killian was in the training room with one of the new recruits.

The sound of his boot falls interrupted the quiet once more as he trod up the path towards the prison gate. Two of the recruits were milling about in the yard, most likely awaiting the arrival of the carolers. They snapped to attention as soon as they spotted him, one moving quickly to open the door for their captain, whose arms were still laden with an object he hoped to deliver before the visitors’ arrival.

It was a yearly tradition, the carolers beginning their Christmas Eve serenade at the prison before moving through town and finishing at the church for the Silent Night Service. They would spend some time visiting with the prisoners first, encouraging them with conversation and perhaps a small, gifted token, like a piece of peppermint or some other candy, to commemorate the holiday, then sing a few carols before moving on. Killian had always enjoyed the Christmas Eve caroling and the festivities it brought with it, the guards finding ways to make their own merriment as those off-duty joined the on-duty shift for a celebratory toast after the carolers departed, but this year… The rift between him and Liam would most likely sour whatever toast their warden made, and the only person with whom he wished to share Christmas he was forbidden from seeing.

That hadn’t stopped him from bringing her a gift, though.

Depositing the item in his office, Killian straightened his appearance, smoothing down his hair, which had become tussled by the winter wind, and took in a steadying breath as dread gnawed his gut. Never before had he been anxious to face his brother, not to this degree at least, and he wondered if the damage both their words and actions had caused to their relationship would be permanent. In addition to keeping his distance from Swan, as ordered, Killian had done all he could to avoid Liam these past few weeks, dispatching another officer to meet with the warden in his stead and begging off all of Elsa’s invitations to share dinner with them now he had his evenings free. When the rare moment occurred that he had to report to the warden’s office himself, he had been overly formal and guarded with a rapport of extreme professionalism, a conduct Liam had reciprocated in kind.

It had not escaped Killian’s notice that the officers walked on eggshells around them both, nor could he deny the strain it was starting to have on Elsa, who desperately tried to get the two brothers together so they might discuss the matter rather than allow it to continue to fester. Killian would be lying if he said the glimmer of tears in her eyes when he’d turned down the offer to spend Christmas with them hadn’t made his heart twist painfully in his chest, but he knew he’d only bring the celebration down with his sullenness, and he wasn’t about to make her sister or her sister’s family uncomfortable with the added tension his presence would bring.

Besides… Swan was supposed to be moved into her new cell Christmas morning, and Killian wanted to be there, even if he couldn’t share the occasion by her side or give her the gift he’d worked on with Marco himself.

Exiting his office, he glanced across the corridor as he passed the new cell and paused. Philip and Thomas - two of the newest recruits and set to make officer after the first of the year - were bustling around the space, depositing firewood into the nook beside the hearth and positioning the new furnishings into place, readying the cell for its new inhabitant. A copper tub sat in the corner, partially hidden behind a partition that would provide her privacy when she bathed, the fireplace allowing her not only warmth, but the ability to heat water without the assistance of the guards. A rocking chair faced the hearth, a fresh mattress was laid out upon the suspended frame on the opposite wall, and a wardrobe filled the opposite corner, ready for Swan’s and her baby's belongings to be transferred from the trunks they’d been packed in for months. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, a moment of gladdened contentment pushing past the longing that had been hollowing out his chest cavity day by day.

“Do you need something, Captain?”

The question brought Killian back to his purpose. “No. Thank you, Thomas. Carry on.”

Leaving the recruits to finish their work, Killian turned and fortified himself before raising his hand to knock on the warden’s door. Dutifully, he waited until he heard his brother bid entrance.

“Killian?” Liam said, standing from his chair with a perplexed yet tentatively relieved expression. His hair was as unruly as Killian’s, but where the wind had been responsible for the younger Jones’ appearance, it seemed the chaotic nature of Liam’s hair had been caused by his fingers continuously running through the curly strands. “I was not sure you’d return for the festivities when Erik informed me you’d already left for the day.”

Killian lifted his chin, his hands tucked behind his back with his posture board straight as he addressed his warden. “I had an errand to run in town, sir.”

“I see,” Liam commented, wincing a bit at the curt edge of Killian’s formal tone. Making his way around the desk, Liam paused when he reached the front edge, wringing his hands for a moment before letting them fall to his sides. “I was sorry to hear you refused our invitation for Christmas,” he said. “And not because it means I must endure Elsa’s sister and brother-in-law without the aid of my li...er, younger brother.”

Killian’s brows twitched, nearly pinching together in disbelief at the correction. Was his brother attempting to make amends? It wasn’t like Liam to concede, to ever admit he might be wrong, and if it was his intention to make things right then it surely had to have been prompted by Elsa.

“I offered to take the Christmas shift so Thomas could spend the holiday with his wife. I felt the other recruits deserved to spend the day with their lady loves as well.”

“And the fact Mrs. Cassidy is moving to the cell across the hall tomorrow morning had no bearing on such an offer, I’m sure.”

Killian stiffened further, his posture becoming more rigid as he geared up for another row with his brother, but the spark of anger Liam’s quip had ignited was quickly snuffed out with his brother’s next words.

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69 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

WIP Wednesday: New CS AU Sneak Peek

Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary's problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.

A/N: This fic was inspired by the true account of Martha Casto who was incarcerated in the Missouri State Penitentiary in 1843 for manslaughter. I first heard her story on an episode of Who Do You Think You Are, featuring the lineage of actress Cynthia Nixon. While I have taken some details of Martha’s crime and sentencing to weave into the story, mine will not be a retelling of the accounts of her time in prison. Also, while I am setting this fic in the same time period as the inspiration (mid-1800s), I will be taking some historical liberties.

Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in debanging (don’t make it dirty, people) Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / updating weekly on Sundays / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Sneak Peek from Chapter One:

“Mrs. Cassidy, I am Liam Jones, Warden here at Misthaven Penitentiary, and this is my Captain of the Guard, Killian Jones.”

Killian gave the woman a curt nod and tried to focus his attention on the words Liam was speaking. Not that he really needed to. It was the same speech he gave to every other inmate who passed through their doors. Albeit, no other inmate had ever had the privilege of receiving these remarks within the warden’s own office. A change in protocol that further iterated how remarkable a situation they all faced.

Remarkable. Yes. Such a designation seemed apt as Killian took in the woman before him. He was not sure what he had expected of Mrs. Cassidy, but the thin-framed young woman before him certainly was not it. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, and only reached his chin. Though she had to be petrified of what lay ahead, her countenance betrayed none of her trepidations. Standing stiff-backed with her head held high, she struck Killian as a tough lass. Tough and bloody beautiful to boot.

His job just got a whole lot harder.

A small grimace passed over her features when she turned back towards the door, having been dismissed by the warden and ready to be led to her cell. Her delicate hands clenched and released, the red welts from the shackles clasped around her wrists stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. Killian ground his teeth together, a response he’d involuntarily given into a number of times since seeing her disembark from the prison wagon with chains binding her wrists and ankles. It was standard procedure when transporting prisoners, but Killian could barely stomach the sight of those restraints on a woman, regardless of her crime.

Escorted by his fellow guardsman, Robin, Killian marched his prisoner along the corridor towards the catwalk that allowed them to cross over to the other side of the upper level. While passing the manned cells, Killian did his best to shield Mrs. Cassidy from the other prisoners’ view, but it didn’t stop a few taunts and lewd comments thrown her way by one of the more hardened inmates. Pulling his baton from where it rested at his hip, Killian slammed it against the bars as a warning.

“You’d best hold your tongue, before I remove it,” Killian said in a hushed, menacing tone that matched the look he stared the man down with until the perpetrator backed away.

Out of instinct, Killian reached out to grasp the woman’s arm in order to prompt her forward, but retracted his hand when he saw her flinch. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from apologizing, reminding himself she was just another prisoner and had to be treated as such in order to maintain the necessary balance required for order and discipline within the prison.

They made their way across the catwalk, down the opposite side, and around the corner to her cell without further incident. Robin unlocked the cell door, swinging it wide, while Killian knelt down to remove the shackles around her ankles. The length and layers of her skirts made it difficult to locate the keyhole on the first side, until they suddenly hitched up, revealing her boots and metal irons surrounding them. Killian flicked his eyes up to see Mrs. Cassidy had bunched the fabric up in her hands in order to make the work easier for him, and he was once again tempted to break protocol, swallowing back the thank you that threatened to slip out.

Once her leg irons were removed and handed off to Robin, Killian gestured her inside the cell and closed the door behind her with a loud, jarring clang, causing her to flinch once more.

“Hands,” he ordered. His tone was a bit harsher than he meant it to be, so he was thankful when she slipped her hands between the bars without hesitation.

Like the shackles at her ankles, Killian made quick work of the restraints around her wrists. Anger flared within him at the sight of the red, raw skin revealed beneath the heavy metal, and this time he could not hold back the apology slipping past his lips when a hiss escaped her from the fresh air stinging the open wounds.

“I will have a salve brought to you that will help with those,” Killian told her, passing the wrist restraints off to Robin, who nodded his understanding of the implied order before heading back towards the officers’ station.

“That isn’t necessary,” the woman replied, gingerly rubbing the skin surrounding the welts and sores.

“It’s standard procedure,” Killian informed her, lest she think he was offering her special treatment. “As the warden mentioned, meals will be brought up for you to eat in your cell. Your dinner should arrive within the hour. Have you any questions, Mrs. Cassidy?”

“Emma,” she replied sharply.

“I beg your pardon?”

She sighed and set her features with a firm resolve. “I do not wish to be addressed as Mrs. Cassidy. Please, call me Emma.”

“I am afraid that will not be possible,” Killian told her, attempting to keep the sympathy out of his voice. “My brother feels such familiarity would be inappropriate.”

“Your brother?”

Killian bit back a curse at the carelessness of his words. “I meant, the warden,” he corrected.

“Right,” she nodded. “Jones. I should have realized the connection.” Robin returned and handed the jar of salve and a square of clean linen to her through the bars, which she accepted with a timid thank you. “How should I address you and the other guards if I have need?”

“You may address the guards as Officer, or include that title with their surname.” Killian gestured to Robin. “For instance, this is Officer Locksley.”

Robin offered her a polite nod which she returned before flicking her gaze back to Killian. “And you?”

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80 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

CS AU: Conviction (1/?)

Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in debanging (don’t make it dirty, people) Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Chapter One

“You cannot be bloody serious.” Killian’s eyes jumped from the order in his hands to his brother’s face. “They’re sending her here?”

“This is the only prison within Misthaven County,” Liam reminded him, seemingly unperturbed by the proclamation that a woman, who had just been found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to serve five years for the crime against her husband, would be housed within the stone walls he was charged with overseeing as warden.

Killian shook his head and tossed the missive onto the imposing mahogany desk in front of him. “This is madness,” he said, running a hand through his hair while trying to grapple with the logistical nightmare the magistrate had set upon them. “Her presence will cause chaos among the other prisoners, to say nothing of how she will affect the guards.”

“I see no reason why her incarceration here should cause such disastrous waves of which you seem concerned.”

Killian stared slack jawed at his brother, who had resumed his seat and began scratching quill to parchment. “Brother,” Killian began with an incredulous tone once he again found his voice, “We are not equipped to see to the needs of a woman here, especially one who is with child.”

“We will see to her needs as we do the men under our supervision. However,” Liam held up his hand to stay his brother’s protest, “I recognize that a few concessions will be necessary in order to ensure her safety and well-being whilst she is here.” Setting the ink he had just finished applying to the page, Liam stood and handed the paper to Killian. “As Captain of the Guard, I entrust these added measures into your authority. See to it the other guards are aware of my instructions and that they are upheld.”

Killian grit his teeth, but held his tongue. He knew a dismissal when it was issued, and though Liam was his older brother, he was also the prison warden and Killian’s superior. Positions Killian respected, even if he did think his brother was being purposefully obtuse about the reality of the circumstance about to befall them.

Upon exiting his brother’s office and returning to his own, Killian settled himself in his desk chair and read over the principles by which Liam would have them all handle the presence of Mrs. Cassidy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Killian released a long sigh before glancing out the window that looked across the open corridor to the upper level cells that stood adjacent to the officers’ wing. From where he sat, Killian had a clear view around the corner to the secluded stretch where lay the cell Liam had determined would house the infamous ax-murderess.

The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and limited means murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial when neighbors and members of the man’s family had come forward with their testimonies of character, painting the victim in portraits of virtue while his wife was further vilified. In the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that had saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Killian's problem to contend with.

And she would most certainly be a problem.

Keeping order within the prison was a challenge on the best of days. They were woefully underfunded and understaffed. Though not as deplorable in condition as other prisons Killian had seen, Misthaven Penitentiary had always relied on the charity of the local convent to see them through hard times. With its closing earlier in the year, and the nuns dispersed to other parishes, Killian was not sure how they would fare in the upcoming winter. To say nothing of how they’d fare having an inmate of the fairer sex within their midst.

A scoff of scorn erupted from the back of Killian’s throat when he read back over his brother’s edict. No man shall enter Mrs. Cassidy’s cell for any reason, lest it be a matter of life or death. Liam was a damn fool if he thought such a decree would dissuade some of the more… unsavory members of their guard from the temptation the woman would present, and it would be left to Killian to maintain order and discipline, not just from the sentenced population, but from his own men. A task he was not relishing in the slightest. Nor was he overjoyed by his brother’s commands that essentially made him her own personal jailor, a notion which left him with a sour taste in his mouth and equally unpleasant sensation in his gut.

Checking the time on his pocket watch, Killian stood and made himself presentable for the shift change. Liam would be addressing the whole of their guard staff, informing them of the impending arrival of Mrs. Cassidy, as well as a dozen or so other new inmates to follow, which meant longer shifts would be required in order to make the necessary preparations. Killian’s hopes of spending some time along the coast while the autumn weather was still agreeable were well and truly snuffed out, much like the desk candle he extinguished before leaving his office.

~/~

“Mrs. Cassidy, I am Liam Jones, Warden here at Misthaven Penitentiary, and this is my Captain of the Guard, Killian Jones.”

His job just got a whole lot harder.

“You’d best hold your tongue, before I remove it,” Killian said in a hushed, menacing tone that matched the look he stared the man down with until the perpetrator backed away.

Once her leg irons were removed and handed off to Robin, Killian gestured her inside the cell and closed the door behind her with a loud, jarring clang, causing her to flinch once more.

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Happenstance 10/10 - The Epilogue

Rated M 5.6K ao3 ffnet

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A/N: **Please note, the epilogue is rated M, but you are able to skip over the M part if you wish, it is marked between these symbols: ~♥~ AND prefaced with the words: Earlier that morning.**

Thank you @hookedonapirate for catching my mistakes and helping me fill in any details. Thank you @kmomof4 for always leaving me the best live reviews! Finally, a huge thanks to @csmarchmadness for lighting the fire under my ass to finish this story! I worked on this story every January for the last three years and when I saw CS March Madness posts this year, I joined, and I was able to finish the last 6 chapters in two weeks!

Here it is... the epilogue. I hope you enjoy the end. Thank you to everyone who has come along for this ride, the likes, kudos, reblogs, and reviews have been so appreciated.

“Detective Jones and Nolan, this is dispatch, do you copy?”

Killian growled at the radio in his unit. What could they possibly want now? He and Dave had just finished with a nasty domestic abuse arrest that had gotten them in a bit of a scuffle. Long story short, Dave had hit and missed with his taser when he’d fired it at the offender who had Killian in a choke hold; he’d caught them both with the dart like electrodes.

He was sitting in the passenger seat of his car waiting for David to grab their gas station coffees. It was one in the morning, and he could swear he was still vibrating with the electric current Dave had zapped him with.

“Detective Jones and Nolan, this is dispatch, do you copy?”

“Bugger off,” he muttered as he picked up the handheld radio. “Aye, this is Jones, whatever you want, Booth, do it yourself.”

“Wish it were that easy, Jones. Your wife is in the hospital. Humbert and I will take over on patrol, you and David get over to St. Joseph Hospital. Now.”

Killian’s head spun as he processed Booth’s words. A host of feelings fleeted through him. “She can’t be, she’s at home in Storybrooke, why would she be in a hospital in Bangor?”

“What’s going on?” David asked as he entered the car and set two coffees into the cup holders.

“Nothing, mate, Booth is pranking me, or mistaken. He said Emma’s in the hospital.”

“Jones! Put Nolan on.”

David snatched the radio from Killian’s grip, which was tighter than he’d realized as a pit started to form in his stomach. Why was Booth being so persistent? Emma said she’d be at home tonight.

“Go for Nolan.”

“Nolan, your sister is at St. Joseph’s Hospital, get over there. I don’t know how serious it is, they called here looking for her spouse. And before you argue too, do you really think they have a different Emma Swan Jones? They won’t give any information to non-family members.”

“Copy,” David muttered, throwing the already running car into drive, and peeling out of the gas station parking lot.

Killian felt numb as a hundred questions and scenarios attacked him. Why was she in Bangor? What had happened? Was it a car accident? Was it a skip? Were Emma and their baby… No, he couldn’t let this mind go there as tears welled up in his eyes.

David reached his hand across the car and squeezed Killian’s shoulder. “They’re okay,” he told his friend, trying to sound confident. “They have to be.”

“I can’t lose her,” Killian mumbled as he fell into thought. She’d once told him that she was the luckiest person alive because the universe had sent him to her to heal her heart, after years without love. She was wrong though; Emma Swan was the love of his life, she’d made him whole again, healed his heart. Despite losing everyone he’d ever loved, he still knew he was the luckiest bastard alive, to have Emma Swan by his side and holding his hand through this thing called life.

It was the longest car ride of either of their lives, sirens blaring the whole way. David had no sooner pulled into the roundabout at the emergency room than Killian was jumping out of the car and sprinting into the dimly lit waiting room and up to the front desk.

“I’m Killian Jones, I was notified that my wife is here in the E.R., can you please take me to her?”

“What’s her name?”

“Emma Jones.”

“I have two Emma Jones’ listed in-”

“Middle name Swan, Emma Swan Jones.”

One moment, sir, let me find out where she is.”

After a few strokes of the keyboard, she told him Emma was in bay three and to proceed through the double doors to his left. David came rushing in asking if she was okay.

“I don’t know yet, I’m going in now.”

“I’m going to call Mary Margaret, I’ll wait out here. If you need me, send someone.” David wanted to see his sister, but he also knew that as a husband, Killian needed to go in first.

Killian nodded as he proceeded through the doors and looked for bay three. Momentarily disoriented by the fluorescently lit triage unit, Killian frantically twisted and turned looking for his wife.

“Can I help you? Sir?”

A quiet voice pulled Killian out of his panic long enough to ask for bay three. The woman in front of him signaled for him to follow her. When they arrived, she told Killian she would send a doctor over to brief him on Emma’s condition. Pulling back the curtain so he could enter, a sob caught in his throat as he gazed upon his wife’s unconscious form. Her face was bruised and puffy on the left side, and she had a cut along her right cheek bone. Bruises littered her arms and it was clear someone had put hands on her neck. His knees buckled and he staggered to one knee where he struggled to catch his breath.

“Mr. Jones? Nurse Rose, get a wheelchair please.”

“No… no, I’m all right,” Killian said. His head spun mercilessly, even as he mentally castigated his weakness. Inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth several times, he stood up on his own and asked the doctor to tell him what had happened.

“First, have a seat. There’s a chair here by your wife’s bed side. We can’t have both of you knocked out, now can we?”

“Aye, I suppose not.” Killian frowned at the doctor’s less than austere attitude as he sat down in the chair next to Emma’s bed and took her hand in his. She did not seem overly concerned for Emma’s current state. “Can you tell me what happened to my wife?”

“Let’s start with the good news. Your wife will be okay.”

“And the baby?”

“We are still running a few more tests to make sure everything is okay with the baby.”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face, barely choking back a sob, and willed himself to stay positive.

“Mr. Jones, all the preliminary tests show your little bean is a-ok. Keep hope alive, it is a powerful entity.”

The tears overflowed his eyes when he registered the doctor’s choice of words. Keep hope alive. “The bad news?”

“The bad news is, we aren’t sure what happened. A 9-1-1 call was received about a woman being beaten in an alleyway. When the responding units arrived, she was already unconscious, along with a male who was also unconscious.”

“Where is he?” Killian growled. He didn’t care who it was or who saw. He’d murder the bastard.

“Not at this hospital,” she said quietly. “She did regain consciousness, but she was so overwrought, we had to sedate her to keep her and the baby safe. It will be at least another hour before the sedation wears off. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is the sedative okay for the baby?”

“Yes, perfectly safe.”

“Thank you, doctor…”

“Dr. French,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, Dr. French.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Jones. Now, I’m going to close the curtain over and pretend I didn’t tell you to be careful not to pull on any of her IVs when you climb into the bed.” She winked conspiratorially before closing the curtain.

Killian took off his jacket and laid it over the chair before pulling his phone out of his pocket to shoot David a quick text. He didn’t trust his voice enough to make a phone call. Even though he knew Emma would be okay, and most likely their baby too, the state she was in and not knowing what had happened to her overwhelmed him.

K: She’s going to be okay, she’s sedated right now, so we don’t know what happened yet. Why don’t you head home and come back in the morning with MM, I’m going to spend the night here.

As David sat in the waiting room reading Killian’s text, he debated whether or not to ask about the baby.

K: The preliminary tests show that the baby is okay as well.

David blew out a breath of relief and the tightness in his chest abated a little.

D: I’ll be back first thing tomorrow with MM. Call me if anything changes or if you need anything.

K: Thanks mate.

Climbing into the bed, careful to avoid the IVs Dr. French hadn’t told him about, Killian securely pulled Emma into his arms. Silent tears streaked down his face as he prayed to the Gods that whatever had happened to her, it was something she could spring back from. As he remembered the doctors choice of words though, his silent tears became hushed, but anguished sobs, muffled in his wife’s hair. “Keep Hope alive, Emma,” he murmured.

~♥~

Earlier that morning…

The morning sun shone through the sliver where the curtains didn’t quite meet. It was just enough to annoyingly glare upon Killian’s face, bringing him into a wakefulness he couldn’t complain about, given the beautiful blonde in his bed and their life together. Stretching lazily, he rolled toward her and snuggled into her backside.

“Happy Second Trimester day, darling,” Killian hummed into his wife’s ear as he wrapped his arm around her still-flat stomach.

“That’s not even a thing,” she giggled sleepily. She’d never be over how much of a sap her husband truly was, especially now that they had a wee one - his words, not hers - on the way.

They’d known each other for ten years, and they’d been together for most of it. They’d been each other’s rock, they’d formed their own safety net together. He’d been her first lover and real, true friend, and she’d been his first everything. Despite the odds once again being against them, this time as high school sweethearts, they’d made it.

Sure, they would fight like every couple. She was too reckless with her job - a job borne of her need to bring justice to those scumbags who attempted to skip out on the punishment they deserved. Adversely, he was too overprotective; she was a grown woman for crying out loud - her words, not his. He overspent from time to time, because his Swan was never going to want for anything, and she was a little more frugal, because she didn’t want to work till she was a hundred years old. (I’d gladly work for 300 years if you were by my side, he’d told her, despite the stern look she was giving him over the new car he’d bought her for her 25th birthday. It wasn’t as though she didn’t love the red, Volkswagen Beetle, it just wasn’t a necessity.)

“It is now, I’m making it a thing. How shall we celebrate? Breakfast in bed, a stroll along the beach, maternity clothes shopping spree?”

Emma huffed loudly and slapped his hand which was caressing her stomach. “I do not need new clothes. My jeans still fit perfectly... pretty much.”

Killian laughed at her pouty protest. “I meant for the future, Swan. At some point you will start to show. I for one cannot wait to see how the product of our love rounds out your belly.”

“God, you are such a sap. And you are also the only man in the history of men who wants his wife to gain weight.”

“Love, I just mean I think motherhood is going to look hot on you, just like everything else does.”

“I’m not going to look so hot when I’m thirty pounds heavier, my hands, feet, and ankles are swollen, and I can’t get out of bed or a chair without looking like a beached whale.”

He chuckled, gently thrusting his hips against her naked butt. “I don’t think there’s much you could do to make me not want you.”

Emma shivered in his warm embrace, pressing back into him. They were going to have to start wearing clothes to bed once this baby came along. “I am such a lucky girl.” She wasn’t even being sarcastic, either. Despite the lack of affection in her young life, she felt as if she was cared for more now than anyone she knew. It was like Killian Jones had been set in her path as the universe’s way of saying, “Sorry your childhood wasn’t the greatest, we fucked up, but guess what? We have the best human on earth and we are sending him your way.” She once told him this, and his only response was to say it was he who had been blessed to have found her.

Even after ten years, she still marveled at the little things, like how Killian’s accent still hung on, especially when he was angry or turned on, much to her delight. Like how he would immediately have ice ready for her after a particularly rough takedown of a skip. Or how even though he didn’t love what she did for a living, because it was dangerous, he had never asked her to quit.

And contrary to the belief that passion faded over time, she marveled at how he could never get enough of her, nor could she get enough of him. She had contemplated if it was because they’d learned together, they’d discovered each nuance of the other over the span of their relationship and the result was nothing short of perfection. Who would ever be able to get enough of that?

A thrill shot through her and all the way down to her core as Killian latched his lips onto the sensitive flesh of her neck. Sucking gently so her skin stood at attention, he glided his hand up her sternum to cup her breast. “Are you tender today?” he whispered in her ear, once again sending a shiver coursing through her body.

“No, baby, that feels good.” Her nipples were pebbling before he’d even paid them any attention and she shifted her hips back against his growing erection, eager to have him hard and filling her up.

Killian scooped his arm under her back, quickly turning Emma onto her back so he could properly worship her body. Pressing his lips to hers he sucked along her bottom lip until her tongue touched along his lips letting him know she wanted to taste him. “Morning breath,” he warned.

“It’s fine,” she murmured, fervently attacking his mouth. Emma carded both hands into his thick hair, massaging his scalp lovingly.

He just laughed into their kiss and tightened his hold around her back. He loved her like this - wanting and a little impatient.

“I mean it is fine, right? Or am I grossing you out?” she asked as they broke for air.

Killian just smiled and resumed making out with his wife like they were teenagers in love, showing her instead of telling her. Caressing one breast and then the other, he rolled each nipple gently between his fingertips, causing breathy moans to spill into their kiss, and her grip to tighten in his hair as her arousal intensified.

“Touch me.”

“Mmmm, I am touching you.”

“Killian,” she whined, “touch me here.” She removed his hand from her breasts and placed it at the juncture of her thighs. Spreading her legs for him she bit down on her bottom lip with a playful smirk. “Make me come with your fingers.”

“Anything for you, love.” His fingers ghosted over her slit, and his cock jumped as he felt her wetness already flowing from her folds. “Gods above, were you dreaming before I woke you?”

“No babe, that’s all you.”

Killian cocked an eyebrow and smirked devilishly, all while positively preening under her praise. Wetting his fingertips with her arousal he easily slipped two fingers inside her warm walls. “I can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock, all wet and warm. Fuck, your cunt is so perfect, Emma.” Setting a punishing pace from the start, he endeavored to make her come quickly so he could bury himself in her repeatedly. “Play with your breasts, love, show me.”

Emma’s body shook with desire as he spoke into her ear between nips at her lobe. He was thrusting his thick fingers into her just the way he knew she liked, rubbing along her walls in the place he’d found and always worshipped. His thumb pulsed against her clit and she did as he bid, tweaking her nipples to the rhythm of his movements as he expertly pleasured her. “I want your cock, Killian, I’m so close, almost…” And then she was there, arching her back off the bed and crying out his name.

Gods, she was beautiful when she peaked, her body flushed and heaving, hair askew, and eyes wild with love and desire. Climbing between her legs, he settled against her body so they were connected, skin to skin at every possible point. He kissed her thoroughly even as her breathing was still ragged. Their tongues came together in a pulsating rhythm, sliding and coiling together as a fierce need consumed Killian. “I need you, Emma.”

She reached between them and wrapped her hand around him, guiding the head of his cock through her wetness. Biting down on her lip in anticipation, Emma slowly pumped her fist up and down his length, coating him with her juices. His broken groans of pleasure made their way from deep in his throat as he rested his forehead against hers with his eyes screwed shut in tortured gratification. She couldn’t think of a more gorgeous view than when he was being pleasured. Fresh arousal tickled the edges of her opening and she finally lined him up at her entrance. “Take me.”

Killian plunged deep inside her as soon as the words left her mouth, and both of them inhaled sharply at the desired sensation. As Emma adjusted to the welcomed penetration and angle, she locked her legs around his back and brought him down for a sweet kiss. Killian reigned in his ardor as he settled into this most cherished place to be, in her arms and buried inside her. Even as they continued to kiss, Killian slowly withdrew and sank back into her, leisurely making love to his wife. Her walls were still thrumming with her earlier climax, adding to the massage against his length each time he sheathed himself.

Emma eventually snaked her hand down to his ass and squeezed before pushing him into her, silently asking him for harder. She loved the feel of his cock, but the building pressure was killing her, she wanted to come again. Perhaps she was being selfish, depriving Killian of a slow-

Nope, he needed it too, she realized as he immediately complied with her silent gesture.

The moment he felt Emma’s request for harder, faster, more, he snapped his hips into hers. He loved slow and gentle, but right now he needed release. Something about the way she’d kissed him all morning, pulled at his hair, and demanded he make her come with his fingers had him needing to come deep inside her. He paused for a moment to get up on his knees and pull her thighs around him once more. Gripping her hips possessively, he quickly withdrew and then slammed back home.

“Yes, Killian,” she moaned.

He fucked into her aggressively, reading exactly what she wanted from the open book she always was. She was close, but he might be closer, and that would be bad form. Releasing her left hip, he teased her clit in circles with his thumb and was rewarded swiftly with the measured squeeze of her walls sucking his cock deeper into her depths. Killian barely registered her cries of ecstasy as his own rapture took hold of him. The sudden release of pressure in his balls as he came with a grunt sent a shock of bliss throughout his body; he felt weightless and grounded all at once. In that single moment he felt virile and vulnerable, domineering and submissive, it was a chaotic rush of emotions many times over when he came with Emma.

Turning them to their sides before they snuggled in a heap of well-used, limp muscles, Killian pulled her into his side. It was a rare morning when they were both home and could bask in the aftermath without one or both of them having to rush off to work.

“So what shall we do next for T2 day?”

Emma laughed out loud, because of course he would already have a name for this… made-up holiday of his. “How about we sleep a little more? Then you take us out to lunch?” Her belly decided to chime in on the discussion by growling rather obnoxiously.

“It sounds as if she wants to eat now, rather than sleep more.”

“She?”

“Aye.”

“How do you know we’re not having a boy.”

Killian thought for a moment before just going with the honest truth, even if it was a bit embarrassing. “Because ever since I started imagining having babies with you, I’ve always thought we would have a little girl first. And exactly one week before you told me you were pregnant, I dreamed we had a little girl. She had very curly, dark brown hair, and her mother’s compelling green eyes. We named her after something neither of us grew up with much of, and we gave her your middle name, Hope Swan Jones.”

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes as she listened to her husband. He really was the biggest sap, and the sweetest, and the best. “I love you, Killian Jones. And even if this one isn’t a girl, we are going to keep having babies until we have a girl so we can name her Hope Swan Jones.” She giggled as Killian’s smile lit up his whole face right before he pulled her close and sprinkled kisses to her cheeks, lips, and neck.

“And I love you, Emma Jones.”

~♥~

He slept restlessly over the next couple of hours. The constant hum of the hustle and bustle made any sort of real rest impossible, and each time a monitor sounded an alarm, he jumped, afraid it could be the one monitoring their baby’s heartbeat.

The next noise that brought him into wakefulness, though heartbreaking, was a welcome sound, for it meant Emma was awake. His wife’s soft cries and words broke him, and his tears started anew. “What happened, Emma?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Killian. It’s all my fault.”

“Shhh, love,” he soothed her, firming his arms around her and rubbing her back. “That sound is your monitor, and if you get all worked up, they’ll have to sedate you again.”

Nodding in understanding, she sniffled and tried to inhale deeply through the ragged sobs. “Is the baby...” Emma couldn’t even finish her sentence before she started bawling again.

“The doctors believe she is okay, Swan. Please, tell me what happened. What’s your fault?”

“I went after a skip, a dangerous one.”

“Bloody Hell, Emma.” Killian gritted his teeth. He’d promised himself years ago he’d never ask her to give up her job, it was part of who she was, and it had started as part of a healing process when Neal had jumped bail. But now, seeing her battered and bruised, their baby’s life endangered, he was having a hard time upholding his promise.

“You won’t have to ask me to quit. I’m going to turn in my resignation to the agency as soon as I am out of here. Killian, I am so sorry I put her life in danger, can you forgive me?” Emma ran her hand over her belly, sending up a silent prayer that their baby was all right.

Placing his hand over hers, Killian looked into her eyes, “Course I do, love. I just want you to be safe. You gave me the scare of my life. I need you, Emma.” Though the words were the same as the ones he’d whispered to her in bed the previous morning, they carried such a heavier connotation.

“I promise I will never do anything so stupid ever again.”

“What happened?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise to stay calm.”

“Just tell me.”

“Promise me first.”

“I can’t make any promises. To break them would be bad form…” A sinking feeling came over Killian along with a sense of déjà vu. They’d had this same conversation before, but so help him if it was the same bloody prick who’d fucked with Emma again. His eyes narrowed and clouded with barely concealed rage. “Tell me it wasn’t him, Swan.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized meekly. “I got a tip that he was stateside again, in Maine to boot. I couldn’t pass up the chance to put him away for good.”

Killian scrubbed a hand over his jaw as he tried to reign in his emotions. Fear and anger were a combination that had Killian desperately seeking control from anywhere as his imagination ran rampant. “Do you realize what could have happened?” he fumed, attempting to keep his voice level. “Emma, he’s not just some skip. He’s someone you set up, someone who has a vendetta against you. Do you really think he’s above murder to avoid going to prison?”

“No, I don’t,” she whispered. “He tried.”

“What do you mean he tried?”

“He tried to kill me. I thought I was being so careful, but somehow he must have spotted me. He dragged me out of my car and into an alley before I even had a chance to spot him.” She raced through the rest of the story, including how he’d tried to stab her, but she was able to get the upper hand, turning his own weapon on him, as if saying it quickly would hurt less.

Killian held his wife tighter, wishing he could take away what had happened to her. He felt murderous, he would kill Neal with his bare hands if ever given the opportunity. Since he wasn’t leaving this hospital right now though, it’d have to wait. “You’re safe now, Swan,” he soothed. “I promise, he will never lay his hands on you again.”

“Good morning, Jones family,” Dr. French greeted them, throwing back the curtains. “Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Jones? Your monitor is showing some elevated stress levels.”

“I was just telling Killian what happened to me last night.”

“Ah, still a little frightened after your run in?” she questioned.

Emma nodded, averting her eyes, still ashamed she’d made such an error in judgement.

“Well, if it offers you any piece of mind, I called my friend over at Northern Light Hospital, where your attacker was taken, and she told me he was placed under arrest, and after being treated for blood loss, he was taken away. It turns out there were several warrants out for his arrest, some as old as ten years ago.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief and laid her head against Killian’s chest. “It does, thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. But, that’s not where the good news ends. All the tests are back and Baby Jones is healthy.”

“Thank the gods,” Killian murmured as he and Emma both shed a few happy tears. He stroked the back of Emma’s head as she apologized again, trying to convey to her that it was okay.

“Now, I trust you’ll not be finding yourself in any more dangerous situations, at least for the duration of your pregnancy?” the doctor asked.

“No ma’am, early retirement. I’m never going to put our precious baby girl in danger again,” Emma answered as she smoothed her hand over her stomach.

“Then I just have a few forms to fill out and you’ll be free to go. The nurse will bring in your discharge papers shortly.”

Killian climbed off the bed and extended his hand toward the doctor, shaking her hand. “Thank you for everything Dr. French. Any chance your colleague told you where Emma’s attacker was escorted?”

“Killian!” Emma scolded.

“What, love? I only wish to call the unit he was taken to, you know, to make sure he won’t be released on bail again, and maybe find out how long he’s looking at. And if they choose to rough him up for attacking the wife of a fellow officer, so be it.”

“Yeah right, you’re not fooling anyone, buddy.” Emma playfully rolled her eyes.

“I’m afraid she didn’t disclose those details. But my boyfriend, Detective Will Scarlet, might have received a knife wound victim at county intake earlier this morning.”

“Thanks, lass. I appreciate the tip.”

“Any man who does what he did to a pregnant woman deserves every karmic disaster in his path. Take care Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open at the devilish twinkle in Dr. French’s eyes, while Killian just smirked.

“Thank you, doctor,” they said in unison.

After the doctor left, Killian sat back down at Emma’s side and she took his hands in hers. “I don’t want you to risk your career to… avenge me. You’re not really going to go after him, are you?” Emma understood the desire to do so, but Killian had never been a perpetrator of gratuitous violence, and she didn’t want him to become one on her account.

“Although every part of me wants to pummel him, and he’d bloody well deserve it, I made myself a promise years ago that I would never lose control of myself the way I did when I beat Gold to a pulp. I almost broke that promise once, and you were there to bring me back from the edge, I’m not going to let it happen again. I have no intention of seeking revenge, at least not in a physical fashion, although I do fully intend to mention his latest crime against a fellow officer’s wife, they can do what they like with that information.”

Emma cracked a smile; she couldn’t deny him his freedom of speech. And she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty about it either. Killian and Dr. French were both right - Neal deserved any misfortune coming his way. “I can handle that.”

“I really do just want to make sure the arresting unit knows about his past bail jump and subsequent trip out of the country. Perhaps if he’s denied bail, he will actually get served the justice he deserves.” He kissed her cheek, the one that wasn’t bruised, before asking her a question of his own. “Do you really mean to put in your resignation?”

“Yes, I do. I took this job because of a need to make a difference, to make sure that justice was served, even to those cowards that would run away. I’ve been at it for ten years, putting my safety on the line, and now it’s time for me to move on; I’m ready to move on. We’re going to start a family, you, me, and our baby girl.”

A brilliant smile spread across Killian’s lips, making his dimples show and his eyes crinkle. Leaning forward he rested his forehead on hers and palmed her cheek. “I know what your job means to you, I know why you had to do it, and though I’d never have asked you to quit, I’m so happy you’ve decided to resign. I’ll feel so much better knowing you’re not out chasing down the scum of the earth.”

“What about you, Detective? It’s not like you’re in the safest line of work either.”

“Love, we patrol the streets of Storybrooke. You travel to some of the biggest cities on the east coast, where criminals actually go to hideout.” Although Storybrooke had grown over the past ten years, it was still nothing like Portland or Bangor. Most of their crimes were misdemeanors, with the occasional felony. Murder wasn’t exactly running rampant in their small town. “The most dangerous person in Storybrooke is Dave. Did I tell you that bloody wanker tasered me yesterday?”

“What?” Emma threw her head back, bursting into laughter. “How? Why?”

Killian put on his pout as his wife laughed at him. “Are you really just going to laugh at my pain?”

“Oh babe, I’m sorry. Tell me all about it,” she coddled.

Killian just huffed at her obviously sarcastic mollycoddling. “Speaking of Dave, let me text him and let him know he can bring Mary Margaret to the house instead of here. They want to see you’re okay.”

Before he could tell his tale, the nurse walked in to go over the care instructions for the laceration on Emma’s cheek, and what to watch for over the next forty-eight hours. Once they’d finished signing all the paperwork the nurse officially released Emma. Her body was a little tender as Killian helped her dress, so when the mandatory wheelchair arrived to wheel her out of the hospital, she didn’t complain… too much.

Six months later, Emma and Killian found themselves back in a hospital room. This one was much closer to home and for a much happier reason. The room was full of flowers, balloons, and stuffed animals - all gifts to welcome their new baby girl into the world. Just as Killian had predicted, they had a baby girl. And just like in his dream, they named her Hope Swan Jones; she had a head full of dark brown hair, like her daddy, and clear green eyes just like her mommy. In two lives where love had once been all too rare, Emma and Killian now found themselves with hearts full of love as they marveled at the newborn snuggled between them.

Thanks ladies for letting me tag you, I hope you enjoyed it!

@laschatzi @spartanguard @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer @jennjenn615 @snowbellewells @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @galadriel26 @roseyflush @a-faekindagirl @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @effulgentcolors @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @captainswan-shipper88 @andiirivera @kday426 @tiganasummertree @deathbycaptainswan @sherlockianwhovian @mayquita @captswanis4vr @welllpthisishappening @princesseslikepirates @thisisforcs @officerrogers @therooksshiningknight @freechoicedreamer

#cs au #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan #lieutenant duckling

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shireness-says · 6 years

Text

Playing the Part Epilogue: Superboy and the Invisible Girl (Reprise)

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17 Ch. 18

A/N: We made it, guys! Thanks for sticking with me through the slowest slow burn ever. I like to think it paid off.

Title taken from “Next to Normal”. Full disclosure, there is not a reprise of “Superboy and the Invisible Girl” in the musical. However, a reprise oftentimes takes the original song and builds upon it, adding extra verses to show development in plot. It seemed appropriate for this chapter, which has echoes of Chapter 13 (Also called Superboy and the Invisible Girl).

One last round of thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services, and an extra thank you to everyone who’s reblogged, liked, commented, or messaged me about this!

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @mystrangedarkson

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this sappy conclusion!

Four years later

“Welcome back to Sign Off, everybody!”

Emma knows that Killian will do his ear scratch when he finds her watching his segment, but she wouldn’t miss this for the world. It’s like reliving a little bit of their history. Plus, it’s not every day that your spouse is on national television; skipping this would earn her “Bad Wife” points, or something.

He’s still bashful as he walks out, still kind of ducks his head when he waves and acts like he’s embarrassed to be there. You’d think after several years of magazine interviews and newspaper profiles and talk show appearances he’d lose some of that shyness and uncertainty, or at least get used to it, but some things never change. It’s a damn good thing she finds it cute.

Archie is as charming as ever, shaking Killian’s hand with an enthusiasm usually reserved for inside jokes. That’s just who the host is, though. “So, it’s been a while since we saw you last. I hear a few things have happened.”

“Oh, just a few.”

Hopper starts pulling out photos. “Pride and Prejudice was a hit.”

“Yes, a great group effort. They just closed a few months ago, congrats to everyone involved.”

The host shows a picture from his Tony speech. “You won a Tony for playing Mr. Darcy.”

“So they tell me. My brother kidnapped the statue.”

(That’s only halfway true. Yes, Liam had taken the statue for a while, setting up a popular Instagram account to display all the places he took the golden figure. One of those places had been Henry’s 6th grade English class, turning her son into a middle school celebrity for a couple of months. Though bringing Liam and Killian along with the award probably had something to do with that, too.)

Emma can just spot the Tony now from where she sits, bookending a cluster of novels on the top shelf of the bookshelf in her and Killian’s apartment. It had been a little bittersweet, leaving her old apartment where she and Henry had both grown and flourished, but she and Killian had both agreed that they would need more space. It’s worth it, anyways, to wake up next to Killian every day in a place that’s theirs. Emma misses living next door to Elsa some days, but now that Henry’s fifteen her supervision isn’t quite so needed anymore anyways. It would have come to an end regardless when Elsa had moved in with Liam in his fancy apartment. Emma instead contents herself with the knowledge that Elsa’s job at the Met - her dream job, really - means she and Liam will be based in New York for the foreseeable future, even if the latter occasionally does have to leave for filming in other locations. Killian likes to joke about his brother and Elsa “living in sin”, like they hadn’t done the same thing, but it does mean they still get to see Liam and Elsa fairly often.

Her real Killian walks back into the living room at that point. “Oh Christ, not this drivel. Emma, I’m embarrassed enough as it is, let’s find something else to watch.” He may gripe and groan, but he still collapses onto the couch beside her, letting out an appreciative and exhausted sigh.

“Oh, I’m watching this, babe,” she replies, smiling over at Killian before burrowing her head into his side. She knows by this point that he’s all bark; he’s a pushover, really, especially where his family is concerned.

She must have missed the introduction of his latest movie project – an interesting project portraying Pan as the villain of Neverland with Killian playing Captain Hook as a misunderstood rogue – because there’s publicity stills up on the screen when she redirects her attention back that way.

“My stepson’s a little upset, really, because he had the idea first,” the Killian on the screen explains. “Which, trust me, was not the reaction I was hoping for.”

“Hey, that was almost funny,” Emma comments, nudging him in the side as the audience laughs.

“It’s embarrassing, is what it is,” Killian grouses. It must be that thing where actors don’t like seeing their own work - Emma’s read about that before. It’s not going to stop her from affectionately picking at him, though, and it’s not going to keep her from watching the whole thing.

“And on a personal note, does everyone remember this moment from last time?” Archie asks, cutting to the clip of Killian talking about a certain prickly and dedicated stage manager. When the camera cuts back, she knows what’s coming, and smiles when she feels Killian press a kiss to her head as the host pulls out a copy of their wedding photo. “Well good news to all those shipping that on the internet, because you two tied the knot!” The audience cheers, and as Emma watches televised Killian grin widely, she thinks that’s the most comfortable she’s ever seen him in an interview. “Now, how long have you two been married now?”

“Coming up on two years, three months from now.”

He’d proposed one evening when Emma had least expected it. They’d talked about marriage before - considering that they were living together and in a committed relationship, having that conversation seemed like the responsible thing to do - but it had been a lovely surprise all the same. Killian had been waiting with the ring when she got home from work on a Wednesday, on bended knee and everything in their little foyer with Henry filming just around the corner. Killian had explained later, after the yes and the ring and an awful lot of kissing, that it had seemed important to make his proposal a family affair and include Henry. He loves her son, just as much as he loves her (albeit in a different way); Emma knows that, but it still means a lot that he’d included her son in their major life moment in that way. Henry had been a part of their love story, after all.

(Emma suspects that there may have been a conversation between Killian and Henry before the proposal as well where Killian had asked her son for her hand, but neither of them has ever fessed up to it, and she’s okay with leaving that as a man-to-man moment if they prefer it.)

The wedding had been a low-key affair, much to Mary Margaret’s dismay - just a little courthouse ceremony. Emma had never been the big white wedding type, though, had never had those dreams as a child. Now that she’s faced with the opportunity for all that, she finds that she doesn’t really want or need it. At the end of the day, they just want to be married; they love each other, almost to distraction, and waiting any longer than absolutely necessary feels like too great a burden.

Still, they’d done it up as much as the quick circumstances allowed. Emma had bought a clearance wedding dress that swished around her calves, and Killian had taken Henry to get a nice suit - his first, the sleeves and legs given extra length to be let out as the growth spurt from hell inevitably continued so they could get more than one use out of the damn thing. They had even arranged for a bouquet and boutonnières, even if Emma doesn’t know anything about flowers. As soon as Liam had arrived back in the city from filming in Atlanta, they had gathered all their friends and family on a dark Monday and made it official.

Henry stood as Best Man. Mary Margaret cried. Ruby wolf-whistled. And Emma had never been happier as Killian dipped her into a dramatic kiss.

“Are you happy, my love?” he’d whispered into her ear later at Granny’s. The older woman had gladly donated her diner for the reception, closing for the occasion so they could all eat cake and dance to jukebox hits.

“What do you think?” she’d quipped right back, before laughing and drawing him down into a kiss. It feels like they’ve come full circle; it feels like home.

(She may still be Emma Swan professionally, but there’s a certain thrill to hearing Mrs. Jones.)

“And one more thing…” Archie continues on the TV, drawing Emma’s attention back to the screen. If possible, televised Killian grins even wider: if what she thinks is about to happen is actually about to happen, she doesn’t blame him in the least. “… You two had a little girl.” The photo on the screen is a sweet one of her little fingers curled around Killian’s thumb. Emma knows it well; it hangs in the nursery, right next to the rocker where Emma’s lately been spending what feels like half her nights.

“We did. She just turned five months old last week.”

“And her name? If you guys are ok to announce it.”

“Hazel Elizabeth Jones.” The audience aws, which the tiny baby propped in her Papa’s arms here in their living room seems to find objectionable as she starts squirming and snuffling. “Emma and I thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to the show where we met.”

They’d had it in mind from the start, ever since they’d found out they were having a girl. There’d been a good bit of debate and waffling back and forth about the first name, but they’d always agreed on Elizabeth for the middle. Hazel hadn’t actually been on the shortlist, just something that’d they’d discussed and put aside, but then she’d arrived - six pounds four ounces, dark hair, loud cry, perfect, and it had just… fit. If there’s one thing Emma’s learned since Killian, it’s not to question a good thing.

Parenting now, 15 years after her first child, is both easier and harder. There’s an exhaustion that comes with age that’s only compounded by caring for an infant. It helps though, more than she can ever describe, to have a partner in this, not to mention a secure housing and financial situation. Killian’s a great dad - to both her children, really - and it’s a particular joy to watch him with their baby.

“You’re okay, lass, you’re okay,” he murmurs now, bouncing their daughter against his chest to attempt to calm her down. It works, thank God; Henry’s been great about all the changes in their lives and is lucky enough to sleep through almost everything, but Emma still doesn’t like taking that chance on a school night.

“Little drama queen,” Emma murmurs affectionately, tweaking a little sock-clad foot. She’d forgotten just how tiny everything about babies is somewhere in the decade and a half between Henry and Hazel, but has loved rediscovering it.

“Maybe she’ll be an actor like Papa one day,” Killian suggests, quirking a teasing eyebrow in Emma’s direction.

She snorts. “Not if Mom has any say in it.”

“What, you don’t think we need more actors in this family?” His tone conveys mock-insult, but Emma can see that twinkle in his eye that means he’s joking.

“Nah, she’s gonna be a techie. I can feel it.”

Emma can faintly hear Archie offerings his congratulations and asking about Killian’s upcoming turn as Harold Hill in a televised performance of The Music Man, but she’s not really paying attention anymore, too preoccupied with this moment with her little family. Maybe that was Killian’s devious plan all along - distract her from his talk show appearance with their very cute baby. She can’t really complain about that.

“Ah, well, I suppose I can’t argue that,” he concedes. “Not when her mother’s so brilliant at it.”

Even after all this time, a compliment from Killian can still make her blush. He knows it, too, which only makes him do it more. She loves that about him, though. Suddenly, it seems very important that she express that very fact.

“I love you, Killian.” She’s said it hundreds, thousands of times before, but it still strikes her with wonder every time, just how much she loves the man sitting next to her.

“I love you too, my Swan,” he replies, placing a careful kiss on her lips while trying not to jostle the baby.

Though Emma knew accepting that stage managing job almost five years ago now would change her life, she never imagined in a million years that she’d end up here, with a husband and baby and her son sleeping just down the hall in a life better than she ever could have fathomed.

She wouldn’t change a thing.

#cs ff #captain swan #my writing #Playing the Part #Superboy and the Invisible Girl (Reprise)#Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian #and some major life developments #its bittersweet to see this one end #but i'm really proud of how its turned out

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hope-and-sleep · 6 years

Text

So I made a list of things I wanted to do this summer

And wow is it terrifyingly long. It scares me, and I’m the one who wrote it. I’m going to be lucky to do even a quarter of these things.

Imma try to do all of these things.

Read on for the ridiculously long list

Tumblr: So I have 4 tumblr blogs: 1) a main blog 2) a studyblr 3) (new!) a reblog blog 4) (new!) an rp, which I currently haven’t posted on but am planning to. All four of them need to be worked on

lizhly: retag literally everything

hope-and-sleep: create a tags list and also retag literally everything

compendium-of-things - reblog every reblog from lizhly with appropriate tags. Also reblog a whole bunch of stuff from the ‘likes’ stuff that you wanted to reblog but didn’t because you thought it’d be awkward to have a giant mass of reblogs all within 1 minute

bells-and-belligerence - create a tags list (easy considering there aren’t posts) and attempt an update every week (difficult because I decided to make things hard on myself and mandate that each update requires a drawing)

For all: attempt html design

For all: make icons

Career: I need to at least try to be a responsible person and do stuff that would try to advance my professional life

Make ur LinkedIn profile so that it contains more than literally your picture

update your Resume

Write a CV at some point

Make your own website (if you finish with compendium)

Come up with some kind of elevator pitch

Language: Fluency is a beautiful thing

My parents have learned of my goals. My dad is apparently now making it a point to remind me of them every time I’m speaking English instead of Cantonese, and this is actually really hard because 1) I have to actively think “don’t speak English” and 2) I have the vocabulary and syntax of a toddler. Worse than a toddler.

5 words a day in my app, complete with writing practice

Video Games: I’m a CS major that wants to work on video games but also hasn’t played very many video games. This clearly needs to be rectified.

See if you remember the password to ur Steam account

Buy cheap/free games and attempt to finish one every two weeks (lol not going to happen)

Games you want to play/finish at some point (that may or may not be cheap): Undertale, Skyrim, Doki Doki Literature Club, FFXIII, Rogue Galaxy

Play one of zephy0’s games

Make a practice for Ludum Dare

Do Ludum Dare!

Writing

300 words a day

try one writing prompt a week! (lol i totally know ur not going to do it)

attempt to finish eyes open wide

attempt to finish salute to the graves

July Camp NaNoWriMo

Art

try 30 min a day

that one comic you said you were going to do but never did

Make a PayPal (open commissions???)

style studies (maybe one a week?)

Actual literal studies

perhaps one of those 100 theme challenges that you started six years ago and never actually came close to finishing

Music

Attempt to memorize one song per month

Finally figure out how to play Megalovania

Finally figure out how to play Bergentrückung

Adulting

Learn how to cook

Learn how to drive (in a way that doesn’t make ur mother fear for her life)

Clean ur fucking room

Clean out your Desktop

Clean out your inbox. All of the inboxes. You have so many of them.

Education

Recode (redo some of your 131 stuff)

CS 180 stuff (read thru perhaps 1 textbook chapter a week?)

CS 111 stuff

Review CS 32 stuff

Codecademy!

Blender

Unity

Search for coding competitions ( the ones every saturday will work fine!)

Miscellaneous

attempt some kind of skincare regimen

Go to bed before midnight

wake up ridiculously early in a way that terrifies other people

learn how to do a handstand

become ambidextrous

attempt to do a cartwheel without killing yourself or anyone around you

attempt to do the splits without killing yourself or anyone around you

...Ehehe. Um, I actually think it might be literally impossible to do all these? I’m not totally sure how much free time I’m going to have per day, because I have a job now and I don’t have anything resembling a time schedule yet. I can’t do ten of those ‘let me spend at least one hour a day on this’ things if I only have five hours of free time a day, so I feel like this is going to require pretty strict scheduling.

...also I’m sure this list is going to get longer because I feel like I actually had more things I wanted to do this summer but forgot about.

Well. I’m sure this’ll be a fun time.

#my life #studyblr #summer

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lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

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

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

Content Warnings: Everything from the previous chapter applies as far as the Walsh business is concerned. Other than that, a very tame chapter.

A/N: So, this is the last main chapter. There is an epilogue which I will post on Sunday, and then this grand adventure will be wrapped up! Thanks for being with me on this ride and for any comments, reblogs, and likes. I’m thankful beyond words. <3

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 10: Snowshine

Walsh still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here. Emma tries her best to keep her stomach calm when all she wants to do is throw up on his face, projecting an outward cool that she doesn’t feel as he enters the room and looks up at her.

“What the - Emma? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Taking back what’s rightfully mine,” Emma says, gesturing to the box of pictures sitting on the bed beside her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I would hardly call all of those yours.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, asshole.”

Through all of this, James has been watching a progress bar load on the computer screen. With a noise of victory, he looks back to her.

“There you go, Emma. All done.”

“You brought David with you? Mr. Wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly?”

“Oh, buddy, believe me. You’re gonna wish I was David by the end of this. Good job hosting a whole website with a bunch of non-consensual photos on it. But shame on you for making it so easy to break into.”

“You have another brother?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you that David was an identical twin?”

At the little jingle that plays from the desk, he tries to push James out of the way. “What did you do to my computer?”

“Gave it a little tune up,” James tells him, crossing his arms with pride as a little unicorn marches into the center of the screen.

All three of them watch with rapt attention as the unicorn stands and waves, before squatting.

“Oh my god,” Emma says, bursting out in laughter as the unicorn defecates in the shape of an artfully written “fuck you” in rainbow colors.

After a couple seconds, the whole thing emits a screeching noise and shuts off with a loud pop.

“All your buddies that subscribed to your email list got something pretty similar. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll all open it but with the heading ‘Check out the brand new section!’ I’m willing to bet a lot of dudes are about to lose their computers.”

Walsh finally makes it around James, desperately trying to turn on his computer but nothing happens when he hits the button. “All of my business files were on there.”

“You kept all your shit on your personal computer? Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought.” James turns towards Emma on the tail of that thought. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma responds, picking up the box of photographs and handing it over to James. They manage to make it out of the bedroom before Walsh must come to his senses, and he’s after them immediately.

His hand closes around Emma’s arm, and she spins around. On instinct, Emma swings as she breaks the hold. And while James misses taking a snapshot of that hit, he doesn’t miss the one where Emma knees him in the nuts hard enough to bring him to his knees.

“I have the perfect new image for the welcome screen on his trash web page,” James says as Emma backs away. He holds the phone out for her to see and she just barely stops herself from cracking up. “Here, take this. I’ll be right behind you.” He hands over the box, gently ushering her towards the door.

She doesn’t go far, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear what James has to say to Walsh.

“Here’s the deal, you Wizard of Oz-looking monkey piece of shit. All of the accounts for that website are completely wiped out. All that money you made off of people like my sister? That money is so far offshore that you’ll never be able to trace it ever again. Got it?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Walsh says weakly.

“You won’t. You have no evidence. And if you try to do that, or ever try to do this again, I will screw up your whole life. We’re in a digital age now, Walsh Whitney Covington. I have everything of yours now. Personal records, social media, bank accounts, the password to your pretentious little LinkedIn page that lists you as a connoisseur of wood, which… come on, man.”

“That’s all illegal,” he whines back, and Emma is mostly just enjoying the snivelling tone in his voice.

“Yeah? And? I’m sure Emma signed a consent form for those pictures you had posted of her, right? You had her sign away her financial freedoms for the profits on it, too? Don’t ever fuck with our family ever again or you’ll regret it.”

After a couple more minutes of silence, James exits the apartment and gives her a bright smile.

“Now, that was a fun afternoon with my brother. See? We should bond like this more often,” Emma says as they make their way out of the building and back down to where he parked his car.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. Jack would kill me if she found out this is how I spent my day.”

“You’re still with Jack?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I did marry her, after all. She wanted to wait until she made partner to have a baby and so I switched gears and became a stay-at-home dad after she went back from maternity leave. It helps to have a super lawyer as your wife.”

“None of the words that just came out of your mouth are what I was expecting when I called you about all this.”

“Well, it’s not like I send out Christmas cards with updates on the family,” James says, a little resignation in his voice.

“Did you really take all the profits from the website?”

“And refunded the money you spent on that settee you bought there back before you started dating.”

Just as he says it, Emma’s phone dings with a notification. There’s a message from her bank saying there’s been a deposit into her account. Looking at the numbers, it’s way more than what she paid for the moderately priced item, but James shrugs.

“Maybe I got the numbers backwards in my head. Added an extra digit. Whatever. So you mentioned earlier that you have a boyfriend? You haven’t changed your status on Facebook.”

“You follow my social media?”

“Just because I don’t let any of you know about what’s going on in my life doesn’t mean I don’t check up on you.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be at a Christmas party for his company down in New York but someone insisted we do this today.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens his door and climbs into the driver’s seat. No sooner is she seat-belting in when another notification chimes on her phone.

“Did you seriously just buy me a plane ticket to New York City?”

“I’ll hand all of that over to David,” James says, indicating the box she placed in the backseat. “Besides, he and I are severely overdue for a brotherly chat.” Without another word, he starts a route for the airport.

“When was the last time you had one of those? When you were fifteen?”

“Something like that. Hey, text him and let him know what’s going on. I should be back there in about an hour but I don’t want him to worry.”

She shakes her head, doing as he asked and sending a message to David.

As they pull up outside the airport, Emma turns to James. “So, what do I still owe you?”

“Nothing. I got the cash he had stashed in his desk, all the money from his subscription side of the website, and free childcare for the evening after Jack gets home from the office today.”

“Did you tell David that yet?”

“No, but I will. And you know he will - he’s David. Go on,” he tells her when they arrive a short time later. “Enjoy the party.”

“Okay then. And hey, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Emma?”

Her door is open and she’s just about to climb out when he says her name.

“It was nice seeing you,” he admits.

She leans in quickly and hugs him, noting how familiar yet utterly foreign it feels. “Come visit us sometime,” she tells him as she pulls away. She stands there until his car pulls away and he’s out of view before she walks through the doors.

Somehow, James managed to get her the perfect flight so she had enough time to get through security, although she looks suspicious as hell going in with nothing but her purse, if you ask her. It’s still considered early when she lands in the city, but with nothing else with her, she has to get party-ready with nothing but the money in her bank account. Thanks to James, there’s a little bit extra to play with in there.

Emma feels like she should be in some cheesy movie montage as she struggles to find everything she’ll need to get ready. Hair and makeup come first, and she’s thankful the salon isn’t far from a decent looking clothing shop or else her charges in cab fares alone would’ve gotten out of hand.

The dress she finds is perfect - a sleek, black number that doesn’t fit too tight but that doesn’t hide her shape. It’s similar enough to the dress she was planning on wearing to this, the one she borrowed from Ruby as a first-date possibility but put aside in favor of the soft pink she wore instead. She admires the whole look in the mirror as the shop attendant helps her clip tags after Emma pays. She buys two pairs of shoes - a cute pair of cutout ankle boots and a pair of flats - in anticipation of the point in the party where she’ll want to feel her toes again.

It’s only once she’s fully satisfied with the total picture that she heads out, making sure everything she wore down here is tucked securely into the weekender bag the attendant helped her pick out.

This time, she opens the rideshare app for a little more comfort, and then it’s off to the Manhattan Penthouse to finally get to where she wants to be.

-x-

Tucking away the knowledge that Robin just gave him, Killian settles into his seat with only a lone glance at the empty chair beside him. He has Henry on his other side, and the rest of the Mills-Hood family in the remaining seats. They’ve not even begun when he receives a sharp, bony elbow to the side.

“Hey,” Henry whispers as he leans close. “Isn’t that Emma?”

He turns his head, glancing in the direction Henry is pointing, and his breath catches. Sure enough, Emma is standing there in a black dress that surely should be illegal to look so good in. Her hair and makeup are all done, and she’s scanning the room. It takes another elbow to his ribs for Killian to finally stand up, waving over his girlfriend and attempting to wipe the surprise off his face while he does.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time, actually. I’m so… don’t get me wrong, Swan, but I never expected you’d be able to make it.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking a moment to soak up her closeness.

“Yeah, well, sometimes when you make a deal with the devil to take down satan, you get what you want faster than you expected,” she says, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he knows he’ll get the full story later.

He pulls out her chair for her, pushing it in as she sits. “I do believe we all know one another,” he says to the table at large. “I’d told them to cancel your meal, so excuse me while I get that turned around.”

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re here!” Henry who’d been sitting on his right, beams from ear to ear as he slides over to talk to her.

“Hi Henry. Everyone. Glad I could make it.”

Hearing her voice and the animated conversation that sparks up between her and Henry immediately calms his nerves for the evening, and he hastens to find one of the caterers so he can return to the table.

By the time their dinner is served, he’s noticed no less than four times Henry has pulled out his iPod to jot down something in his notes. He smiles as he watches it happen, watches the gears turn in the lad’s head and the magic take root. He manages to keep it in his pocket for the entirety of the meal, but he’s pretty sure that was due to a questioning look from Regina right as the salads were placed in front of them.

With the rest of the table occupied with their desserts, Killian takes a moment to lean over, keeping his voice low as he whispers in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her face. There’s been a peace evident on her face since the moment she walked in, and he’s intrigued but enjoying it. She was never too tightly wound to begin with, apart from the times she got stuck in her own head. This, he assumes, is due to the business with her ex being all wrapped up.

After the dishes have been cleared, Killian rests in his seat for a bit. There’s still a lot more networking he’ll have to do, but for now he takes the time to relax as he and Robin discuss strategy for announcements. He’s in the middle of helping figure out the order when Emma’s hand creeps onto his thigh. His words falter for a moment, and he can see Emma’s smile get just a little wider.

When her hand travels a little higher, he reaches down, knowing full well that his ears and cheeks are both bright with flush, and takes a moment when Robin is asking Henry a question to fully turn to her.

“Have pity on me,” he whispers, pulling her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, and she laughs quietly, turning her palm to link her fingers with his.

“Just this one time,” she concedes, settling in with their hands clasped.

-x-

Walking into the venue, Emma is momentarily overwhelmed. She forgot that the Storybrooke office isn’t the whole team, and that a lot of the authors would be there, so there’s just a sea of people as far as she can see across the space. But then Killian stands up, her eyes finding his as he waves her over.

And it’s halfway between where she is and where he’s waiting that it hits her full in the gut: She is in love with Killian. She is so in love with that man that she can hardly stand it. He has never once looked at her differently or placed unrealistic expectations on her - he never set out to hurt her.

There, with the lights of the chandeliers glittering overhead, and the backdrop of the city getting dusted in snow, Emma realizes that she is looking at the man she wants to spend all of her time with if she can. Her heart squeezes, even as she smiles and accepts the kiss he places on her cheek as they settle in.

It’s the first time she’s ever been to a party like this, and she has to think it’s going pretty well. While Killian is occupied with his duties, Emma offers to watch Roland so Regina can go with Robin as he makes rounds to greet everyone. Emma follows him as he drags her from one end of the penthouse to the other, eager to show her anything and everything he can.

By the end of the night, her feet hurt and she’s all too happy to get her belongings from the coat check room so she can slip on the flats she bought. She’s leaning against the wall, innocently trying to pry her feet out of the booties when Killian comes up behind her, his hand warm through the material of her dress and his voice hot in her ear.

“Are you trying to kill me tonight?”

“I’m just trying to change my shoes. It’s not my fault your eyes automatically go to my ass when you approach me.”

He looks affronted when she turns to look at him, a smile hiding behind the expression.

“Besides,” she says, “I just can’t wait for you to get me out of this dress.”

“I’m ordering us a car right now.”

It’s amazing; she knows he prefers the quiet and solitude of their little town, but he performs so well in the city - like he was built to live here - and she loves that he chooses not to. They’re both on their best behavior in the car, but Killian purposely sat on her left so his hand can rest on her knee. Rather than spiking that part in her that’s always game for another round of sex, though, it reignites her thoughts from when she entered the party and she stares at him in the dark as the city lights pass them by.

When he notices, he turns to her with a peaceful look on his face, and they smile at each other. “What?” he asks, his fingers tightening once.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking the moment to rest her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey. “Tonight was great.”

Back at the hotel, they at least manage to settle a bit before Killian follows through with her request, with both of them sighing as the dress slips from her shoulders and drops lightly to the floor. They take their time, slow and languid, savoring each moment with each other.

“I know I’ve said this plenty of times, but I am so happy you were able to make it,” Killian tells her as their skin is still cooling. She needs to go wash the makeup from her face but she’s not quite sure her legs will function in order to do so.

“Me too.” She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face and sinking into the wonder that has been the last three months of her life, thanks to this man.

“What is it?” he asks, his expression serious as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I… want to thank you for everything. You went into this without knowing and you still haven’t pushed me to talk about what happened or anything and so I just… wanted to say thanks.”

His smile falters, still there but just a touch disappointed that the words weren’t the ones he was expecting after she set it up to be something else, and she knows how it feels. Her thumb strokes along his cheek, pushing at his smile briefly as she leans in to kiss him.

Maybe next time, she thinks as she moves to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Outside, the city keeps moving on as their world slows for sleep.

-x- December 21: Saturday

As usual, Killian is the one that wakes up first. He sets about ordering breakfast and jumps in the shower in the interim. Emma is awake and sitting up in bed when he comes back out, and he leans over the bed to kiss her good morning.

“David texted me that he’s on his way home. He has everything we took from Walsh and he’s going to drop it off at my place.”

“That’s certainly good news. Even better news is I have coffee and breakfast being delivered soon.”

She chuckles at that. “Perfect. I wish I had more clothes with me, but I suppose yesterday’s will be fine.”

“My luggage is yours, love. I always pack extra just in case, so help yourself.”

Which seemed like a good idea, until Emma walks out of the bathroom after her own shower in one of his button up shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her supple form filling out the garment better than he ever could.

They eat breakfast in bed, the curtains flung open wide to let in the weak, winter sunshine. As they graze their food, Emma books her ticket for their return to Storybrooke, crowing in victory when she scores a seat on Killian’s flight.

“I’ll text David and see if he can pick us up,” Emma tells him when they’re getting ready for their outside adventure, pulling her hat securely over her ears and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

They brave the cold to hit some of the popular winter activities in the city, taking in the Christmas markets and strolling Fifth Avenue. In the early evening, they meet up with Robin, Regina, and the two boys again to enjoy dinner together. With the pressure from the night before long gone, they talk instead of the upcoming holidays.

It’s clear that Henry is willing to keep the magic alive for Roland, asking the younger boy what he’s planning on asking for Christmas when they go to see Santa after the meal is over. When Killian catches Henry’s eye a short bit later, the lad smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

After dinner, they set out on their own again to see the Rockefeller tree in person. They stand there, watching the lights twinkle and the skaters on the rink until neither of them can feel their toes and their noses are bright red.

Sinking into their hotel bed that night, Killian makes sure to set his alarm, but Emma grabs for it before he can set it down.

“Just wanted to double check. Wouldn’t want to miss your alarm or anything,” she says, that smile hidden in the corner of her mouth.

“Cheeky woman,” he says quietly, making sure to kiss her hard and lovely before they each burrow under the covers.

There’s another message from David waiting for Emma when they wake up letting her know they’ll be there to pick them up. Thankfully, with no luggage, their disembarking process is much faster and they’re able to get out of the departure door right as David and Snow pull up.

While they go their separate ways when they get back to town, he and Emma have a standing appointment for later in the afternoon to take everything that was acquired from Walsh’s apartment to send it off properly, as she did with her uniform.

He sets to work on a mission, unpacking his bag and stripping off his dirty clothes to throw everything in his hamper. There’s still time before he meets with Emma, but since he’s been out of town since Friday, he’s behind on his weekend duties and he knows he’ll feel better if he takes the time to do it now rather than waiting. He throws his clothes in the wash, opting for warmer clothes for their task ahead. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the machine to be done, he takes the time instead to pack a picnic of sorts for the task ahead of them. Those items and a blanket all go into a tote bag he got from the last publishing conference he attended.

Shortly after his laundry is folded and put away, Emma breezes through the door with a large box in her arms.

“Ready?”

“Aye, just let me grab my keys.”

He locks the door behind them on their way out, and then they make their way to the beach closest to his flat. There’s a fire pit that was built ages ago, large stones surrounding it and a fresh pile of logs that Killian would place money on betting that David set it up for them.

As he sets to work lighting the fire, he hands Emma the tote to start unpacking their items. She hums happily as she finds the soup, and again when she opens the second thermos that has the hot chocolate. He’s just finishing with his task when he turns to see her pouring the drink into each mug he brought, and raises an eyebrow as she tips a generous amount of whiskey into each one.

She shrugs when she sees his look. “Believe me, I’m going to need it,” she says after a sip to taste-test.

They stay on the beach much longer than most people would in December, with fresh snow occasionally falling around them. But they make sure each individual picture makes it into the fire. As delicately as they can, they remove them from the box, and he hands a stack face-down to Emma for her to fold each picture so he can feed it into the fire.

She sets the thumb drive on the rocks around the pit, making sure to give it a solid stomp before throwing that in as an afterthought.

“I’m sure it’s terrible for the environment but I need that thing wiped from existence.”

When each item has met its demise, including the box it was all packed away in, Emma puts out the fire using every precaution he’s sure David taught her.

Back in the comforting warmth of his place, Killian pulls out every blanket he owns and waits for Emma to come out of his bedroom from getting changed into pajamas. He piles them on top of her, going to change his own clothes before joining her on the couch. He holds her while she processes the whole thing - some anger and tears, some relief, until she falls asleep on Killian’s shoulder and he has to shift around until they can both stretch out.

He doesn’t fall asleep until long after she does, whispering a quiet “I love you” against her hair before he finally falls asleep, as well.

-x- December 23: Monday

They’re still on the couch when Emma wakes up, if only just barely. She’s facing Killian, her back pressed against the couch, with Killian’s arm looped over her waist. She’s just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he’s teetering off the edge. Now wide awake, she peers down to see Killian wincing on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy, love,” he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She’s stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. “Good morning to you, my sweet couch hog.”

“We could’ve moved at any time. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I love you and wanted you to rest more than I cared about my own comfort,” he responds, only realizing as he finishes speaking that he may have said too much. His eyes, wider and brighter blue than she’s ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

“I love you, too. But that’s a little dramatic of a reason for why you’re now on the floor.”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Or time. This time just happens to be on my remarkably uncomfortable area rug.” She can’t help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair. Hangover be damned, she loves this man so much.

“Thanks again for last night. I was a bit of a mess,” she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand to dismiss her words.

“Sometimes, we just need to throw a mini-rager and burn a bunch of illegally obtained pornographic materials. You sure we’ll never need any of that as evidence in case there’s some kind of criminal investigation?”

“James was pretty clear with Walsh about what would happen to him if he tried to pursue legal action. Not only that, but every picture on the website has been removed and the only thing that pops up when the site is unlocked now is a picture of Walsh clutching his junk with an expression of pain on his face.”

“I wish I could’ve been there to see you make that hit,” Killian admits, pushing up off the cushion to stand. “Come, love, let’s sail away to the kitchen where I can recite dirty poetry to you and make you breakfast.”

She laughs as she takes his hand, because while he doesn’t recite dirty poetry, he does make her breakfast and convince her to play hooky with him for the day. And when he takes her to bed a short time later, he infuses her skin with the words of his love over and over again.

It’s the first time in years he doesn’t stick to any kind of routine at all, and they’re both perfectly okay with that.

-x-

Epilogue

#captain swan #cs ff au #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #csrt

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artistic-writer · 7 years

Text

Talk Irish to Me :: A CS AU :: Rated E

Title: Talk Irish to Me by @artistic-writer [ full res fanart ]

Summary: Modern AU. Emma has often wondered why Killian and his entire family have Irish names, despite his sultry British accent. As it turns out, Killian not only has an Irish heritage that he is extremely proud of, but he also speaks the ancient Gaelic tongue rather well.

Rating: E

AO3

A/N: So @hollyethecurious and I were talking about how Killian and his entire family have Irish names and yet he has a British accent. So, i mentioned, like you do, that i should i write a fic where Emma asks him about his family and why. So I did. And because I am me, made it a glorious smut fest too.

Prepare your panties, @winterbaby89 @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @rouhn @resident-of-storybrooke @wordsmith-storyweaver @totheendoftheworldortime

and tag and reblog to share with all your thirsty, thirsty friends!

———————————————————————————————————

“Killian?” Emma whispered from the doorway of their bedroom, the dim light of the hallway spilling through her legs, across her bare feet, and casting her faint shadow across the floor in front of her.

Emma got no reply, only the soft sigh of her sleeping boyfriend as he stayed deep in his slumber. Since she had left the bed, Killian had stretched into her space and across the entire bed. As usual, his was sleeping naked, the covers barely hiding his modesty. Emma smiled to herself, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the painted surface of the door jamb.

She loved watching Killian sleep. It was one of her more enjoyable hobbies, simply because of the beauty of him. She loved the way he slept, his handsome, chiseled features softening into a boyish visage as he rested against the pillows. The way he fidgeted under the sheets with a little scrunch of his nose and a gentle frown on his face as the soft, white cotton slipped below his waistline, exposing the soft trail of dark hair that lead to the most glorious of treasures.

Emma often thought about waking him up, or at least covering him back over, but why bother? When the naked human form was so perfect, why should it be hidden away?

Now, however, was not the time to get distracted by Killian and his nakedness. Now was not the time to feel the flutter in your heart because he had rolled over onto his front, the muscles in his back rippling under the exertion and his already mussed hair becoming even more inevitable for your fingers. Now was not the time to notice that he was clutching your pillow to his face, scruff lightly catching on the material as he inhaled your scent.

No. Now was the time to wake him up and go and find a Christmas tree.

“Killian?” Emma sang his name a little louder, her voice sweet and smooth as she glided barefoot across the room.

“Hmmm?” Killian murmured into her pillow, pulling it harder to his body as if it was her.

Emma reached the end of their bed and rested her hand on his cotton covered foot, softly drawing circles over the inside of his ankle with her thumb. He stirred a little, pulling his foot from her grasp and sliding it away from her under the covers. Killian sighed, his whole body relaxing back into sleep with a small snore like grunt.

Emma rolled her eyes and a smirk crept across her lips. Despite the fact that he had been in the Navy, had sailed all over the world, had taken a job as a harbour master in their sleepy little coastal town, on his days off, Killian enjoyed nothing more than sleeping in. If she didn't know any better, Emma would have bet money on him being dead.

“Hey…” Emma purred, lifting her knee onto the end of the bed. She planted her hands on either side of Killian’s body, her fingers disappearing into the softness of the comforter, and crawled up over his sleeping form. “Kiiiilliiiiiiaaaan,” Emma whispered again, her lips brushing the back of his ear.

Killian groaned a little, clearly fighting with sleep as his eyes twitched and rolled under his eyelids. He inhaled hard and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the familiar tingle as his skin tightened all over his body making his lips twitch into a sideways smile. “Yes, my love?” he mumbled, his voice gritty from sleep.

Emma swayed over his back, the fabric of his shirt that she was wearing brushing the bare skin and bulge of his shoulder muscles. “Good morning,” Emma purred, nuzzling her nose behind his ear a little more and smiling into the nook there.

Killian felt the stir of arousal in his groin and even though he had yet to open his eyes, he knew exactly what Emma was up to. She wanted something, what he wasn’t sure yet, but the time in their relationship had taught him many things about Emma Swan. She had many tells and when she wanted something, she knew how to get it.

“Good morning to you too,” Killian rasped, turning his head a little to look at her behind him. Emma’s hair was still ruffled from her sleep and the shirt she as wearing was way too big for her, her shoulder poking out of the crew style neckline where it had slipped down.

“Do you remember what day it is?” Emma asked sweetly, smoothing her hand over Killian’s back, tracing the contours of his muscles with her fingertips. He let out a moan when she followed her fingers with her lips and planted delicate, featherlite kisses across his broad shoulders.

Killian frowned, trying desperately to remember an anniversary he might have forgotten, although, with the way Emma was assaulting his skin with her wicked mouth, all he could think about was how he would much prefer her particular type of torture lower down his body.

“I must admit,” Killian shivered when Emma kissed the middle of his back, the nerve endings around his spine screaming out for the feel of her lips. “I am struggling to remember anything at this precise moment.”

“Oh?” Emma teased, shuffling back down his body a little, tracing the planes if his back with her hands. “Am I distracting?”

Killian chuckled lightly, stretching out under her when she shifted position and rolling over until he was on his back. His hardening erection bobbed against his stomach under the covers and he quirked his eyebrow at her when she smirked playfully. “What do you think?”

Emma hummed contently, the sound in her throat a sultry purr that made his skin prickle once more. She kneaded the skin on his thighs, sucking in a breath through her teeth as she moved to straddle his lap. Killian matched the sound she made, watching her face light up with excitement as the green of her eyes darkened with arousal. Another one of her tells.

“I think…” Emma said slowly, her voice like warm honey as she dragged a single finger through the soft, dark hair that littered his chest. She teased the area around his nipples with her thumb and Killian clenched his jaw, his eyes fluttering closed once more. “I think…” She repeated, watching his nipple harden under her touch, a sly grin erupting across her face when she felt his length harden between her thighs. “...you have forgotten,” she accused, her voice losing its passion and adopting a seriousness that Killian had come to learn often meant he was in some sort of trouble.

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, shifting his legs under the covers, a pink hued blush creeping over his cheeks.

“You have forgotten,” Emma narrowed her eyes and stilled her hands on his chest, fingers curling into the luxurious chest hair there.

Kilian watched her pout, sitting astride his painfully hard erection and sighing with an air of drama. “Nonsense,” Killian shook his head, letting his body slip down the bed so that he could feel some friction between them. It was slight, a teasing brush of Emma’s inner thigh, and he held her in place with two strong hands to her bare hips. His fingers danced under the hem of his t-shirt and he smirked when he discovered Emma was wearing no underwear. “You look so good in my shirt,” Killian growled, letting his eyes roam over her torso hungrily.

“Don’t change the subject,” Emma chastised, slapping his chest playfully. “You said we could get up early and go and pick a Christmas tree,” Emma huffed.

“Aye, I did,” Killian agreed, hoping that Emma wasn’t making up something of a ruse to catch him out. “But that was before you...you know,” Killian nodded down between them, jerking his hips upwards so that Emma could feel his early morning tumescence.

“This is my fault?” Emma laughed through her smile, unable to keep up her angry facade any longer. Her body had started to react to his touch on her hips, the heat between her thighs growing hotter and damper.

“You know what you do to me, Swan,” Killian grinned boyishly.

Emma raised an eyebrow and accepted his compliment with a sideways smirk. “I suppose…” she agreed with a half hearted mocking tone.

“Don’t do that,” Killian told her softly, his thumb brushing over the warmth of her thigh.

“Do what?” Emma said shyly.

“Don’t pretend you are worth nothing,” Killian told her firmly, reaching up to clutch at the front of his t-shirt with one hand. He bunched the material between his fingers and pulled her forward gently until they were face to face. “Not when you are worth more to me than anything in the entire world.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, Killian’s words simultaneously making her heart swell and tears prick at her eyelids. Christmas was hard for her, he knew that. She had never had much of a home growing up in the foster system, often running away from any family who showed her affection because she was suspicious of their intentions. She had lived on the streets, slept rough and knew what it was like to actually feel worthless as everyone around you sneered and ignored your pleas for the smallest of amenities. Since Emma had met Killian, he had spent every second he could showing her just how much she meant to him, and she loved him for it.

“I love you,” Emma breathed, her lips so close to his that she felt her own breath fog against his face.

Killian’s lips slid into a quick smile and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “I love you too, Swan,” he whispered, pulling on the shirt until their lips finally touched.

Emma relaxed, letting her body press into his as she kissed him through her smile. It started out chaste, their lips pressing together with a slight twist of their heads and a satisfied groan coming from their throats. Emma rested her elbows beside his head, carding her fingers through his hair, holding his face to hers with a gentle grip on his ruffled locks. She arched her back, pressing the swell of her breasts to his chest and grinning wider when she felt him twitch between her legs.

Killian’s hands trailed down the side of her body, brushing over the super soft cotton of his shirt and around the curve of her breasts. He felt her nipples harden through the fabric, pressing into the hardness of his chest, the hair there tingling with anticipation. Killian’s hands found her knees and he dragged the back of his fingers up the backside of her thigh, laughing with her when Emma began to giggle into his mouth.

“Stop it!” She cooed, breaking their kiss for just a second, not even opening her eyes to chastise him as she rolled her forehead against his.

“Stop what?” Killian teased, turning his hands over and replacing his tickling sensation with his fingertips. He danced them over the soft skin of her behind, following the curve of her ass up and down, pushing the hem of his shirt up her back.

Emma’s nimble fingers found Killian’s jawline and she gently curled her fingers around his ear, tugging on the elf like cartilage half heartedly. Killian responded with another sweep of his hands, pushing the shirt further up her body and then scratching his fingernails down her spine. A passionate gasp escaped Emma’s throat and she panted hard against his mouth, grinding down on the hardness that poked at the apex of her naked thighs.

“Oh, don’t stop,” Emma whimpered, tilting her head back and letting Killian plant his soft kisses down the underside of her jaw.

“Which is it, love?” Killian smirked against her skin, cradling her head with one hand and nipping at the quickened pulse under her skin. “Stop,” he kissed her again, open mouthed with a little pressure to her skin that made her skin flush hot, wrapping his arms around her body as he sat up and held her to him. Emma gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders fruitlessly. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall and when her eyes fluttered open to meet his darkened gaze once more, she swallowed hard. Killian slid his hands down her body, never taking his eyes from hers for a second, finally stopping them on her behind and pulling her hips into his roughly. “Or don’t stop,” he growled.

Emma let her hand slide onto his chest, threading her fingers through the crinkle of chest hair that she found so delicious. She was turned on, there was no denying it, and Killian quite clearly was, but she knew what he was doing. She knew his ways almost as well as he knew them, so she narrowed her eyes at him and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What?” Killian cocked his head to one side, letting one eyebrow jump up on his face and he glared at her with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“I know what you are doing,” Emma accused, unable to stop her hands from skimming over his torso, outlining the planes of his ribcage with her fingernails.

“Yeah?” Killian gave her a open mouthed grin, his perfect smile biting down on the tip of his tongue. “And what am I doing, Swan?”

Emma shuffled herself a little, knowing exactly what it would do to him. She felt him tense, the throb of his erection pressing into her inner thigh as she brushed against the sensitive tip of him. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat and Emma watched it with a predatory stare. “You are trying to distract me so that you can stay in bed longer,” she said matter of factly, shifting her weight again.

“You got me.” Killian gritted his teeth and felt the tip of his member begin to ooze under her teasing, his body reacting to her instantly like an obedient dog to its master. “Is it working?” He choked out, digging his fingertips into the jut of her hip bone so that she would stop.

Emma moved again, sliding backward on his lap and the immediately forward. Her sodden folds wrapped themselves around the girth of his hardness, slicking her juices along his length, and Killian’s eyes rolled back in his head. Emma leaned forward until her lips were millimeters from his ear and felt him shudder as she slid over his painfully firm erection again when she changed the angle of her hips. “What do you think?” She purred darkly, flattening her hands against his chest and pushing hard.

Killian flopped back into the pillows once more with a chuckle but his throaty mirth was soon gobbled up by Emma’s mouth on his, her kiss more hurried and urgent this time as she swiped her tongue over the outline of his bottom lip and begged his tongue to meet hers. Killian complied, lifting his head from the pillow as he drove his tongue into her mouth, teeth clashing and raw passion erupting between them in a frenzy. His hands found the hem of her shirt and he yanked it upwards, the teasing and tenderness between them dissipating instantly as he fought it over her head and tossed it to the floor.

“I will take you to buy a tree later…” Killian gasped between kisses.

“Shut up, Jones,” Emma rasped, her hands finding his hair and bunching his dark locks between her fingers as she tugged on it.

“I promise…” Killian panted, the pleasurable pain in his scalp shimmering all over his body when Emma pulled harder on his hair, tugging his face away from hers and looking down at him with a breathless, blackened stare.

“Jones!” Emma barked and the way her voice echoed around their room, bouncing off of every wall and returning to his ears set Killian’s soul ablaze. Her tone was firm, sending him into a panic that he rather enjoyed. It was seductive, authoritative, commanding and quite possibly the sexiest thing she had ever said to him.

“Say that again,” he matched the timbre in her voice with his own commanding growl.

Emma’s lips curled into that irresistible smile he loved so much, her nipples becoming even harder against his chest when she realised how aroused he had become from her simply taking charge. “You like the way I say your name?” Emma teased, loosening her grip on his hair and smoothing it away from his forehead lovingly.

“Aye…” Killian whimpered, putty in her hands.

“You want me to tell you what to do too?” Killian nodded weakly, his saucer like eyes begging for her every command. “Like a mistress?” Emma purred, clawing her fingernails down the bump of his ribcage and curling her lithe fingers around his length as she reached down between them. Killian exhaled hard, his hips rutting into her hand, desperate to feel the friction of the skin moving over his length.

“Aye…” he breathed, his voice barely audible. They had never played this game before and it was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

Emma let go of his erection and slapped him across the face. It was light and playful, not hard enough to sting but enough to shock him into a state of seriousness that made him break out in a sultry smirk and a deep, feral growl to escape his throat. Emma winked at him flirtatiously when she knew he was enjoying himself, lifting her hips so she was hovering over his rock hardness, the heat of her core scorching his skin.

Her hand found his face, stroking his cheek and sliding down his features until her fingers spread around his jaw, grabbing his face and making him look at her. “Aye, what?”

Killian’s lips twitched into a nervously excited smile and he ran his tongue over the ridge of his teeth. His heart was taking off in his chest, threatening to burst right from his sternum, and Emma was barely even touching him. “Aye, mistress,” he panted quickly, almost pathetically.

Emma released her grip on his jaw and patted his cheek. “Good boy,” she purred provocatively and snaked her hand back down between them once more. When she wrapped her hand around him once more, Killian gasped and slammed his head back into the pillows. He thought he might come then and there from her torture, but through a clenched jaw he simply melted into the mattress and let all sorts of groans escape his throat.

“Do you want to know what good boys get?” Emma shook him from his whitened reverie with her voice as she continued to pump his length slowly at first and then quicker, harder, stopping just as his body began to stiffen beneath her.

“Wha...what, mistress?” Killian stuttered, fighting off the urge to spill his seed over his own stomach.

Emma leaned forward even more until her chest was crushed flat to his, her hips lifting slightly above where her hand was stroking Killian’s erection. She couldn’t resist pulling his earlobe between her teeth, soothing the reddening flesh with her tongue and kisses immediately afterwards. At the same time as she assaulted his gorgeously elfish ears, Emma positioning him at her entrance, letting her hips rock back and taking the tip of him inside of her molten core.

Killian grunted, his entire body stiffening beneath her and if Emma didn’t know better, she would swear she saw tiny beads of sweat forming on his browline from fighting off his orgasm. He gulped hard, his mouth dry from his heavy breathing. “Fuck...what do they get, mistress?” Killian repeated his desperate question, not sure how long he would be able to stay his rapture.

Emma smirked. “They get to fuck their mistress,” Emma whispered into his ear, sinking lower onto him.

“Oh, gods...f...f…fuck,” Killian gasped, the heat enveloping him instantly and the ridge of her muscles pulling him deeper.

“Are you a good boy, Jones?” Emma asked coyly. “Do you want to be my good boy?”

“Oh fuck yes, mistress,” Killian begged with a hasty nod.

Emma moved her hand that had previously been restricting the amount of him she could fit inside of her, and slammed down onto his hardness in one swift move. She stilled instantly and Killian’s back arched from the mattress, his hands grabbing onto the wooden headboard above his head. Emma waited for what felt like forever, his eyes pinched closed so tightly that she could only see white around the wrinkled skin there, until eventually he relaxed a little and exhaled slowly as he opened his eyes again.

“Are you okay?” Emma broke her character for a second, cupping his face in her hands and her eyes flitting over his features with concern. This was a new level of arousal for Killian and for a second, she thought she might have broken him. He swallowed hard again and nodded with a weak smile.

“I’m good. I just need a minute,” he puffed.

“Did I make you…?” Emma felt Killian pulse inside of her and clenched her muscles around his hypersensitive length.

“No, not yet,” Killian shook his head, his breathing quick and short from the exertion of his heart. “I’m just a tad too excited,” he laughed.

Emma grinned, pressing her lips to his and rolling them over. They stayed intimately joined, Killian’s weight pressing down on her as she widened her legs to accommodate him between them. This time Killian threaded his fingers through her hair, smoothing his thumb pad over the apple of her cheek as he teased her tongue with his, delighting in the illicit whimpers that erupted from deep in her mouth. Emma hooked her arms under his and her hips opened up even more when Killian nudged her thighs apart with his knee, gently starting to move inside of her.

“Okay?” Emma asked softly, tracing the curve of his ear with a single digit until he opened his eyes once more. They gazes locked, blue clashing with green and both darkened by desire.

“Aye,” Killian smiled sweetly, the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

“Good,” Emma said sternly, smoothing her hands down Killian body, over the soft, fluffy hair of his behind and pulling him hard, making sure he was seated within her as deep as he could possibly go. “Now, fuck your mistress.”

Emma couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. There was a time, not that far in the past, when she was angry about Killian not rising from their bed and taking her to pick a Christmas tree. She had dreamt about the chill in the air, the smell of pine and freshly cut wood, the sweetness of sap and the laughter of families as they chose their oversized Christmas decorations. It was something she had never experienced until now, and the thought had her all giddy with excitement. But now? Something else had her stomach in knots.

As it turned out, staying in bed wasn’t such a bad idea. They had played their little game, twice, and then once more in the shower before scuttling back to the bedroom, warmed from the spray of scalding water and steam and basking in their post coitus afterglow. They had no need to get dressed, simply drying each other off with the soft, fluffy towels and diving back under the covers that smelled of sex and love.

“Thank you,” Emma smiled softly, her voice sweet and full of meaning as she rested her head on Killian’s chest. His arm was wrapped around her, his fingers splayed out over the curve of her spine and his thumb lightly brushing the swell of her buttock.

“For what?” He gave her a quizzical look, his wayward eyebrow jumping on his face like it so often did.

“For just being you,” Emma toyed with the patch of chest hair in front of her nose, stroking the deceivingly soft hair between her thumb and forefinger. “For loving me.”

“Well, I honestly have no choice,” Killian grinned, covering her hand with his own and sliding them both over his heart. He turned his head slightly and waited for her to look up at him. “You hold my heart, Emma. You always have and you always will.” Killian leaned forward and pressed his lips to her hairline, pulling her body into his at the same time. “You are my family,” he mumbled into the soft, golden warmth of her hair as he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Emma felt a wash of overpowering love cover her entire body. She had very little experience in the way of family. She knew what one was, but she had always doubted that she would find one of her own. Foster families had tried, making her feel welcome like an awkwardly underage tenant, but it had never felt right. She had never felt safe. Until now.

“How come you have never really talked about your family?” Emma pressed, slipping her hand from under Killian’s and lacing their fingers together.

“I have,” Killian frowned. “You know of Liam,” he said and shifted his body so that he was laying next to her, head flat on the plump, cotton covered pillow and he was facing her.

Emma rolled her eyes and Kilian smirked, his lips twitching to try and hide his enjoyment at seeing one of her more endearing quirks. “You know what I mean,” Emma snuggled further into the duvet until it was covering her shoulders and she was eye level with him.

“Well, apart from my brother,” Killian reached up and brushed a strand of Emma’s freshly washed hair away from her brow, tucking it behind her ear and letting the silk like texture of it flow over his sensitive fingertips. “They were all gone when I was very young. I don’t remember them much,” he said sadly, dropping his gaze.

Emma lifted her hand and placed her flat palm to his cheek, his faintly red scruff tickling her skin. Killian had told her only snippets of his past and each time he had done so with a sadness that made her heart wrench. His parents, Brennan and Alice, had been killed in a car accident on their way home from their anniversary dinner, their two sons Killian and the older Liam being left in the charge of their grandfather.

The old man was a farmer and had done his very best to raise two fine boys, both of then enlisting in the Royal Navy after they had grown into even finer men. Liam was the biggest, strongest and more logical of the two boys, his floppy curled hair and baby blue eyes capturing the hearts of everyone he met. He had risen to the rank of Captain, eager to make his grandfather proud, and so he did. When he was unfairly ripped from the world during a skirmish, his grandfather was crushed and died shortly after. Killian had then defaulted his military career and moved as far away from everything that reminded him of his family as he possibly could.

“What about your grandfather?” Emma prodded gently. She knew Killian had nothing but love for the man and often spoke of him with such fondness.

“Ah…” Killian chuckled, skimming his hand over her shoulder. “Sorley Jones.”

“Sorely?” Emma laughed.

��Aye, Sorely,” Killian grinned. “It’s the Irish form of Samuel,” Killian said proudly, a small reminiscent smile plastered on his face.

“What was he like?” Emma smiled, eagerly awaiting his words, her eyes flitting over his features as he lay opposite.

Killian’s bottom lip pursed and he shrugged. “He was old fashioned and strict, from what I remember,” he began, his lips twitching into tiny smiles as he was assaulted with memories. “He was also handsome. I remember him being like a film actor or something.”

“That must be where you get it from,” Emma shuffled herself closer to him and nudged her knee between his legs.

“Quite,” Killian agreed modestly.

“Was he Irish?” Emma asked, her fingers lightly scratching his chest hair once more.

“Aye,” Killian declared proudly. “The Jones’ are very, very Irish,” he chuckled. “Liam and I grew up in England because our parents moved there for work, and our grandfather relocated to be with us when they died, but we are all Irish,” he grinned with a wink.

“Is that why everyone has an Irish name?” Emma teased. “Despite your heavenly British accent.”

“Are you mocking my heritage, Swan?” Killian narrowed his gaze, hand finding her hip once more.

“Absolutely not,” she smirked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“I will have you know Ireland is rich with history and heritage that I am very proud to be a part of,” Killian sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “But, if you want to mock, I suppose I’ll just save my Gaelic tongue for another lass.”

Emma gasped, pulling back and lifting her head from her pillow in surprise. “You can speak Irish?” She squeaked, sitting upright and clutching the covers to her chest before settling back against the headboard.

“Aye,” Killian shrugged with a grin. “My grandfather taught me.”

“Oh my god,” Emma clapped excitedly, her cheeks flushing with the prickle of heat and her skin buzzing to life. “Say something,” she beamed, her eyes widening and her fingers twitching.

Killian laughed and ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek. “Oh, you don’t want to hear me speak an ancient tongue,” he huffed as he rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Are you kidding?” Emma screeched, scandalized by his words. “I can’t think of anything that would turn me on more right now.”

Killian raised his eyebrow again. That damn thing had a mind of its own, and he swore Emma’s entire body was rigid from tensing in anticipation. “I warn you,” he cleared his throat and pushed himself up into a sitting position next to her. “I’m a little rusty,” he coughed again, pulling the covers up to his waist and taking a deep breath.

Emma watched his face twist and turn with thought, wondering what to say to her no doubt. His lips jerked into a sly grin a few times and he laughed to himself, either psyching himself up or thinking better of what he was going to say. “Keep it clean, Jones,” Emma warned, reading his mind.

“Alright,” Killian conceded. “Here goes.” Killian cleared his throat one more time, changing his features as he looked up at her, reaching out to cup her cheek in his palm and run his thumb over the outline of her lips. “A dhéanann tú mo chroí ag luí mar na taoidí faoi sholas na gealaí, mo ghrá duit an solas i dorchadas na farraige is doimhne,” Killian breathed, watching the light spark behind Emma’s eyes and her breath catch in her throat.

There as a pause between them where Emma didn’t know what to say. She was caught between wanting him to say more and between wanting him between her legs to soothe the ache that had developed there. Killian gave her a boyish smile and stared deep into the green of her eyes as the hue of them changed to a darker shade of emerald. His other hand came up to cup her face, mirroring his other and holding her face in his hands.

“Tá tú níos áille ná an lae an lae thar an aigéan stillestáin, is é an tsíocháin agus an tsíocháin atá ag cur gach rud timpeall air mar mo ghrá duit gach lá,” He whispered as he leaned forward, tilting her head backwards and ghosting his lips over hers.

Emma all but melted into his touch, her body seizing from his words. The Irish language wasn’t particularly pretty by any means. It was harsh, guttural and spoken from way back in the throat, but the way Killian made it sound and the way he was boring into her soul with the passion in his eyes had her paralyzed. Killian’s thumbs brushed over her cheeks, coaxing her back to him with a soft smile.

“Alright, love?” he breathed when her eyes fluttered open once more.

“I’m...that was...” Emma gulped hard, her body finally listening to the instructions from her brain. “What did you say?” She asked softly, her hands finding the bulge of his biceps and holding on like she might fall if she let go.

Killian blushed, hard, the rosy red tint creeping across his cheeks faster than the blood rushing to his ears. “Lovey stuff,” he winked, letting his hands slip to her neck when he was sure she would be able to hold her head up by herself once more.

“Like what, exactly?” Emma prodded with a grin. “I want to know.”

“Alright,” Killian licked his lips and rolled the bottom one between his teeth. “The first part was, ‘You make my heart swell like the tides under the glow of moonlight, my love for you the light in the darkness of the deepest ocean’.”

Emma shrugged. “Naturally,” she teased. “And the second?”

“That was, ‘You are more beautiful than the dawn of the day over the stillest ocean, its silence and peace enveloping everything around it like my love for you each day’.”

Emma swallowed another lump down her throat. “Wordy bunch, you Irish, huh?” She laughed nervously.

“We try,” Killian smiled.

“Can you…Can you talk dirty?” Emma arched a single eyebrow on her face and met his stare with a sultry grin.

“Oh, you’d like that?” Killian bit his bottom lip and eased Emma back down into her prone position. She nodded innocently and let him move to between her legs, the chill of the room creeping into the space between them when Killian loomed over her. His eyes roamed down her body, a small growl rumbling from his throat as he bit down harder on his lip.

“Talk Irish to me,” Emma whispered seductively, scratching her fingernails down his chest and letting her hand jump from his body to hers where she slipped her finger between her folds. Killian watched her hand with a gasp, instantly inundated with the scent of her arousal as she parted her legs even more to accommodate her hand. Emma grinned wickedly, watching him struggle with his composure. “If you think you can,” she challenged, her words breathy and almost a whimper as she slicked her juices over her clit.

“Is breá liom an boladh milis milis a d'éirigh leat agus cuireann sé orm ar a fhios agam go ndéanfaidh mé sin duit,[1]” Killian purred, dipping his head to kiss Emma on the cheek, his lips quickly following the line of her jaw and down the slender stem of her neck.

“Oh shit,” Emma said on a breath, her skin igniting itself under his assault. Killian shuffled down the bed, his own arousal evident as it solidified and bobbed against his stomach, his lips tasting every inch of Emma’s body they could reach. She smelt like their shower gel, the natural sweetness of cherry and coconut filling his nostrils as he inhaled her between kisses.

Killian ignored her aching breasts on purpose, dragging his tongue down the valley between them and steadying her hips with two strong hands, holding her firmly in place as he dipped his tongue into her navel. He grinned when he heard Emma moan but he wasn’t sure if it was his doing or the fact she had slipped a finger inside of herself, arching her back against his face as she rode her digit.

Killian slid lower, trailing his hands down the side of her thighs, his heart taking off even more in his chest when he came face to face with Emma masturbating for him. Because of him. Her heady fragrance assaulted his senses and his mouth began to water, his entire body reacting to her like a dog to a steak. He watched her bite her bottom lip with a coy smile when he spread her thighs even wider, two warmed palms pushing gently against the soft skin of her inner thighs and exposing her to him fully. He grabbed her hand and Emma frowned, lifting her head off of the pillows and looking down at him confused.

“Ba mhaith liom blas a thabhairt duit,[2]” Killian growled, watching her arousal coat her fingers and glisten in the light. Emma froze, not sure what he was saying exactly, but relaxed with a whine when Killian closed his mouth around her fingers and sucked, never breaking eye contact. He hummed contently, massaging her fingers with his tongue, an indication of his oral talents that made her shudder. “Dé, blasann tú dochreidte.[3]”

“Oh my god, Killian…” Emma whined, slamming her head back down onto the pillow beneath her. She let out a sigh, mostly frustration from his slow torture of her body. “Just…” Emma grunted when he kissed each of her inner thighs, ignoring the area she wanted his lips the most. “Just...taste me already!”

Killian grinned, enjoying the way she was helpless to him. “Mar is mian leat,[4]” he said smoothly, closing his lips around her swollen nub and sucking gently on the bundle of nerves.

Emma gasped, her entire body stiffening under his mouth as his tongue drew circles around the outside of her entrance, lapping at the treasure there. Killian Jones wasn’t just a wonder of language, he was a marvel at many things, the king of cunnilingus and right now he was worshipping Emma in exactly the right way.

“Oh...yes, right there…” Emma panted, her hand flying down to clutch a handful of Killian’s hair in her grasp. Killian increased his attentions, tongue flicking over Emma’s clitoris and hands holding her legs apart when they threatening to clamp his head in place. She was close, he could always tell, the quiver of her thighs beside his ears and the spasm of her body giving her away. “Killian...I’m going to come…”

“Teacht domsa, Emma,[5]” Killian whispered, curling two fingers inside of her and stroking the ribbed edge of her g-spot the way he knew she liked.

“Fuck…” Emma squeaked, her climax reaching her in a flash of stars and a wave of invisible fire that scorched her entire body. Killian let go of her legs and Emma’s powerful thighs clamped around his head, holding him in place as he relentlessly sucked on her clit and stroked her, slowing his assault as she relaxed from her crippling orgasm.

Emma was still reeling from her first release when Killian surged upwards, hastily wiping his scruffy chin with one hand and towering over her in a flash. Emma instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into the base of his spine and hands clutching at the skin of his back when, in one swift, well orchestrated move, Kilian buried himself inside of her. The sensation of being full overwhelmed her and Emma buried her face in the crook of Killian’s shoulder. He had stilled, not moving but instead content to feel the spasm of her inner muscles around his length, desperately trying to pull him deeper. A small sheen of sweat coated both their bodies from their raw elation, the simple act of coming together such a trigger for them that they both reacted in the same way.

Killian shifted his weight and Emma groaned, her already hypersensitive core pulsing once more as he dragged his length out of her and then slid back in. Her nectar coated his erection on each thrust and when he angled his hips just so, Emma cried out and he knew he was hitting all the right spots.

“God...Killian…” Emma clawed at the skin on the back of his neck, her toes curling.

“Is breá liom an bealach a chaitheann tú mo ainm nuair a bhíonn muid ag tá gnéas fiáin agat,[6]” Killian murmered into her ear, his breath hot and humid and making her hair stand on end.

“Yes, oh...god, right there....”

“Is é seo an méid is mian leat? Tá mé taobh istigh de do ghnéas fiáin, go dtí nach féidir leat do chuid géaga a rialú agus iarr orm do chuid focal comhleanúnach deiridh a stopadh,[7]” His words were incoherent, and Emma had no idea what he was saying, but she recognized the tone of his voice and the seductive droll of his question. His hips pistoned into her faster, huge hands clutching at the soft, round swell of her behind and lifting her from the bed so that he could dive deeper into her on each thrust.

“God, yes! Fuck, yes!” She screeched, her second orgasm creeping up on her when from out of nowhere and making her shake in Killian’s arms. He held her close, feeling the thumping of blood that had rushed to her cervix, pulsating around him and rending her absolutely helpless in his hold. Killian’s own release was quick to follow, the noises Emma made as she came his tipping point and he spilled his seed into her almost instantly.

Killian lifted his head first, pressing his lips to the sweaty skin of Emma’s shoulder as he slipped his hands from under her behind and let her rest back onto the mattress. Breathless and flushed, he swiped his hand over her brow,reveling in the glow of her skin that he had created. Emma’s eyes fluttered open and she let her legs fall from his waist, heavy and tired from the spasm of muscles that had racked her whole body.

“How was that, love?” Killian grinned, panting hard and slipping out of her with a welcomed wince. His orgasm was always so intense with Emma, sometimes he felt it for hours afterwards.

Emma had no words, instead blowing out a exaggerated breath and silencing his laughter with a hungry kiss. She grabbed the sides of his face and encouraged his tongue into her mouth, slow and languidly stroking her own. Killian tasted faintly of coffee and their spearmint toothpaste and he groaned into her mouth appeased.

“That was amazing,” Emma told him when they broke the kiss, her fingers tracing the contours of his face and committing them to memory.

“I have one more,” Killian smiled, slipping from the bed with a grunt and skipping across the bedroom towards his wardrobe. Emma watched him with a frown when he disappeared into the walk in, the rattle of wooden coat hangers and a small curse the only sound she could hear.

“In the wardrobe?” emma called out, sitting up in the bed and ignoring the fading throb in her sex.

Killian emerged as naked as when he had gone in and Emma narrowed her eyes with a sideways smile. “Is breá liom tú,[8]” he said firmly, hands behind his back as he stalked towards her unashamedly.

“Okay…” Emma said slowly.

“Ba mhaith liom grá leat gach lá ar feadh an chuid eile dár saol,[9]” Killian breathed, his neck flushing hot with heat and a lump forming in his throat.

“That’s two,” Emma teased but her smile slipped from her face when Killian reached the edge of the bed, steadying himself with one hand on the nightstand as he drop down on one knee.

“Marry dom, Emma Swan,[10]” he rasped, his voice breaking from her nerves as he produced what was hidden behind his back. Killian opened the small, blue velvet hinged box with a snap and held it out towards her on trembling hands.

Emma stopped breathing, the colour draining from her face as she looked up to him speechless and then back down to the ring in his hand. It was white gold, a simple band with an ornate ruby red stone cut perfectly and set between two crafted white gold hooks. Emma clutched the duvet covering her chest and her breathing became shallow.

“Marry dom, Emma Swan,” Killian repeated nervously and she looked back up to him in shock. “Say something, love,” he pleaded awkwardly, suddenly petrified that Emma’s flight response had finally outweighed her fight.

“You don’t have to be a genius to work out what you have just said,” She whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Emma…” Killian began but she cut him off quickly.

“Yes,” she said simply, firmly and triumphantly, a wide grin erupting across her face.

“Yes?” Killian jumped to his feet.

“Yes!” Emma screamed, falling back onto the bed as he tackled her back into the covers and began kissing her face. Emma clutched him to her, giggling as he whispered promise after promise against her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips and her ears. “On one condition…” she said suddenly and Killian froze, pulling his face back to look down at her.

“Anything,” he smirked.

Emma reached beside them and pulled the ring from the box, slipping it onto her finger and admiring how perfectly it fitted around the delicate digit. “You talk Irish to me more often,” she winked and bit her bottom lip.

Killian growled possessively and took her ringed hand in his, pulling it to his lips where he brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Mar is mian leat.[11]”

/End notes:

With special thanks to my very good friend, who is in no way associated with any sort of fandom but just so happens to be Irish and speak Gaelic. I really appreciate his help, even if i did nearly choke him to death of his coffee with some of the stuff i wanted translating. Fun fact: Gaelic is so old there is no word for "fuck" or "fucking" so we had the closest thing to it, which is "maxing wild sex" ROFL

So Killian says:

1 - I love the sweet, honey scent of your arousal and it turns me on knowing I do that to you. 2 - I want to taste you. 3 - Gods, you taste incredible. 4 - As you wish. 5 - Come for me, Emma. 6 - I love the way you scream my name when we fuck. 7 - Is this what you want? Me buried deep inside of you, fucking you, until you can't control your limbs anymore and beg me to stop with your last coherent words. 8 - I love you. 9 - I want to love you every day for the rest of our lives. 10 - Marry me, Emma Swan. 11 - As you wish.

#talk irish to me #cs au ff #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs ff au #rated E for smutty times #fanart for fanfic #actually had a friend translate smut to irish #now i can never show my face at work when he comes in again #HE KNOWS

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