I'm Heather, a 30-something Midwesterner wed to a Southerner. Former theatre major and current church staff. I post Jane Austen, Captain Swan, Disney, Marvel, and stuff that's nice to look at or makes you think. You can also find me on Ao3.
There's a Muggle hotel where Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger meet. Posh. Upscale. But what happens within the walls of the room is nothing short of exploitative.
Approaching the third cauldron, Hermione catches a whiff of parchment and fresh-cut grass. Amortentia, then? But not the distinctive mother-of-pearl, and the steam isn’t rising in spirals. Against her better judgement, Hermione leans over the potion and gives it an experimental sniff.
Her nipples immediately harden.
“Calling it Liquid Lust, though the name is a bit on the nose.”
Neverland changed Captain Hook. He experiences debilitating nightmares that keep him from living his life and being the Captain he once was. Desperate for an end to the flashbacks, Killian Jones seeks help from a woman who promises him healing from past trauma if only he submits himself to her every command. AKA: A Captain Wench BDSM fic where, instead of therapy, Killian gets a Dom.
Read on A03
Chapter 16 - The Captain's Bride
Emma stands in the palace chapel, clasping hands with her betrothed, radiant in the light of binding magic swirling around the happy couple.
Killian gives her one last, lingering glance through the open door of the chapel before smartly stepping away, offering his arm to Lily, who is tugging uncomfortably on her gown. Killian assumes it must be one that was rustled up for her by the palace servants, as it is much finer than anything he’s seen her wearing before.
“Blue said it wouldn’t take long,” Killian says, hoping to assure the obviously nervous lass. “Care for a walk in the gardens?”
Lily takes him up on his offer and the two of them make their way through the hallways - which have now become familiar to Killian - and outside to an overcast afternoon. Killian anticipates rain in the evening. He can feel it in his bones and smell it in the air. Lily looks up at the heavy clouds and around at the beautiful flora, a line of worry still creasing her brow.
“You and Prince Philip seem quickly fond of one another,” Killian says, easily. He still thinks the man is an idiot, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Setting his sights on Lily helped ease the conversation about breaking his betrothal to Emma, and before supper they will both be free to marry to their hearts’ content.
The dark-haired woman at his side blushes. The sight fills Killian with a satisfaction greater than his annoyance at the prince.
“He is very handsome,” Lily says shyly. Killian waits for her to say something else about the man. Surely she’s met other handsome fellows over the years.
“And I-” Lily stumbles over her words, eyes on a flowerbed instead of Killian, “-I feel beautiful around him. Precious. It isn’t something I am used to.”
Killian hesitates. He understands that Lily hasn’t had Emma’s experiences, hasn’t thrived in her work as a whore, but he’s still cautious.
“Does he know?” he asks, bluntly. Lily bites her lip. He speaks frankly. “Does he know who you were- who you are? Because Emma never told him-”
Lily sighs and releases Killian’s arm to wander towards a rose bush. She bends, plucking up a bud, and turns back with a face as red as the flower.
“Do you think he would think me beautiful and precious if he knew?”
Killian closes the distance between them and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gently cups Lily’s face in his hand. He spent hours between this woman’s legs, trying to prove his devotion to her friend. He watched her tease Emma and encourage her and flirt with him. He felt her lips wrapped around his cock and watched her fall apart under Emma’s touch.
She is beautiful. And she is precious. Sod the stuck-up prince if he cannot see that.
Killian tugs the rose from Lily’s fingers and carefully places it behind her ear, where the vivid brightness of the flower offsets her pale skin.
“I think that he is only worthy of you if that knowledge does not change his opinion of you.”
-/-
After supper, Lily and Prince Philip take a walk in the gardens - the former shooting Killian a look of determination that he cannot miss. Killian is grateful that Snow White and David retreat to their own quarters for an early night, meaning that the other guests remaining after the events of the previous evening quickly dissipate and return to their rooms.
It gives Killian leave to spend all night with his Mistress.
However, as he goes to escort her to her chambers, Emma surprises him by turning left at the dining hall when she should go right, leading him away from the wing where she sleeps and toward the more public spaces in the castle. Killian holds his tongue, trusting in both his Mistress and the look of mischief in her eye, until she stops at a door that had been guarded that afternoon but is now suspiciously left unattended.
Emma reaches for the doorknob but Killian cuts her off with his hook on principle.
“After you, Your Highness,” he purrs, dipping into a jaunty bow.
Emma’s tinkle of laughter echoes in the hallway and in the chambers of the Council.
“Does her Highness have some business to conduct?” he asks cheekily once the door is closed. There are several candles lit on stands around the room. Obviously his Mistress had planned for this in advance. Emma is slowly circling the large table, fingers dancing on the chair backs as she passes each one.
“A new law, perhaps, ordering that her royal cunt remain filled at all times?” Killian moves the other way around the table so that they might meet in the middle. “A prisoner dragged in to beg for mercy from the princess?” His breath stops once they do meet, Killian’s heart heavy with anticipation and his cock straining in his leathers. “A-”
Her palm on the center of his chest stops his last teasing suggestion. Killian meets Emma’s eyes, dark with desire, and he senses that this is different. Tonight is different.
“A war council,” Emma whispers, her eyes on his mouth as if willing him to plunder her immediately. “And a handsome, confident, knowledgeable stranger arrives with just the information that we need to win.” Emma’s beautiful green eyes finally meet his. “And he is willing to help in exchange for the princess.”
A shiver of want goes down Killian’s spine.
“In exchange for the princess?” he questions, voice husky with desire.
Emma steps away and gracefully slides onto the edge of the table, swinging her crossed ankles and reminding him, acutely, of the way she would often sit on her desk or on the edge of her bed and order him about.
“In exchange for a night with the princess,” she confirms, eyes dancing with filth. “A night to do whatever he wants with her.” Emma’s hand lands once more in the center of his chest when he steps forward to stand between her thighs. It is an instinct, at this point. It is a natural inclination to touch and caress and stroke what is hers. She may always touch him as she sees fit, no matter what game they are playing.
Killian raises a sardonic brow. “And this princess, she is no blushing virgin, I presume.”
Emma snorts. “Hardly.”
He traces up each of her fingers on his chest, teasing the digits from her palm to her fingernails. Emma shivers slightly at the ghost of a touch.
“She knows all the ways to seduce a man in ways that even he couldn’t have imagined.”
Emma smirks. “She knows a thing or two.”
“She is also clever enough to not allow anyone to trick her into doing anything that she does not want to do.” Killian finally meets her eyes once more, hoping she hears what he is not saying.
Her eyes search his face before a sad little smile tugs at her pink lips.
“This princess, she does not allow herself to be forced into anything.” The tips of Emma’s fingers dig into his chest, grasping for purchase as her gaze takes on a sudden intensity. “She wants to be taken by the handsome stranger.” Emma’s palm slides up his chest and around his body, until she’s firmly grasping the back of his neck, holding him in place, on the verge of pulling him forward to her waiting lips.
Before she does so, Emma continues with their double-speak, her voice rough. “In particular, she is attracted to the effortless way he commands a room and his ability to strategize, which rivals even the princess’s scheming.” Killian cannot hold back his chuckle, which provokes a giggle from Emma’s lips.
“She also likes the way that the stranger looks at her,” Emma says, volume lowering so that Killian must breathe slowly to hear her. She toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “As someone of value.”
Killian’s mind flashes back to the conversation he shared with Lily earlier in the day. At this very moment she may be revealing her past to Prince Philip. Killian is filled with a sudden urge to remind Emma of her own worth.
Setting aside the little seduction of their conversation, Killian closes the distance between them and presses his lips against hers. She tastes like the wine she drank beside him at dinner and like home. Like family. Like familiarity and strength and tender devotion.
“Gods I love you,” Killian murmurs against her lips, taking a deep breath and diving into another kiss. Emma’s fingers tug almost painfully in his hair and Killian’s cock vainly tries to find her sweet center through the layers of fabric and height imbalance separating them. He focuses instead on the kiss and infuses each moment with the passion of his ardor.
“The stranger doesn’t love the princess,” Emma half heartedly protests, hands already sliding his quilted coat off of his shoulders.
“Yes he bloody well does,” Killian argues back. The coat falls to the floor with a solid umph and in a moment his shirt will be next, if his Mistress’s dexterous fingers have any say in the matter. With a finger under her chin, Killian lifts her face and gives her a sincere grin. “How could he not love someone as perfect as you, love?”
Emma scoffs this time. “You didn’t love me right away. As I recall, you hated me.”
Killian pauses, realizing that they’ve never discussed this matter, and it suddenly feels quite important to clear the air. Emma’s hands, which had loosened his buttons but found his arms unwilling to slide out of the garment, have moved on to loosening the ties of her corset and hiking up her skirts and revealing her stocking-covered legs. Killian ignores the urge to kiss the place where the stocking is tied with little blue ribbons and instead takes one of her hands in his own and pulls on her other hand with his hook. Confused, Emma grips his appendage as her eyes turn from her task and back to his focused gaze.
“I didn’t hate you,” Killian says quietly, seriously. Emma blinks. “I hated Pan. And I hated myself. What I had endured. Who I had become. The unhappiness I saw stretching before me. But I didn’t hate you, love.”
He releases one of her hands and tugs on a golden curl, which has escaped from her updo during their embrace. Killian casts his mind back to the day that they met and the day that she claimed him as her own, the first time that the word Mistress slipped through his lips.
“I respected you from the start. But I resented your strength and the power you had over me. And my need for your help.”
With one hand free, Emma can now cup Killian’s cheek in her hand and he leans into the touch, craving it like a newborn kitten. He would spend his days on his knees for this woman, and yet she pulls him up and out of his pain and into the light.
“You were my greatest challenge.”
Killian holds his breath, waiting to be hurt by her words, but it never comes. Because there is love and pride shining in Emma’s eyes.
“I was so proud of you, baby. Every step you took.” Her lips curve into a smile. “And I was terrified because I knew that I was growing to see you as more than just a client. I knew that you felt more for me than you ought and that I would break your heart when your journey was complete.”
Killian steals another kiss, once again thanking the gods that he can. That the end of his journey was the beginning of a new one for her, one he was privy enough to go on with her. That she’s opened her heart up to him, again and again and again, and trusted in him to care for her just as she’s cared for him since the beginning.
“This is not what we came here for,” Emma grumbles, disgruntled, pulling away from his mouth and pouting as she finally manages to get his shirt off of his shoulders.
“And what did we come here for, love?” Killian cheeks back.
Emma tugs her gown up even higher, so that he can see her pretty bare cunt.
“We came here so that you could call me Your Highness and pledge to lead my troops into war if I will let you fuck me hard against this table.”
In an instant, Killian is pressing on Emma’s shoulder with his brace and tilting the curve of her arse with his hand so that her back is on the table and her hips are lined up perfectly for his still-covered but very-much-straining cock.
“Is the princess dripping for me?” Killian coos, teasing her sex with his fingertips, finding her warm and wet and welcoming. He wants to worship between her thighs, and yet his Mistress has demanded his strength as well as his submission, and he always yields to her. Satisfaction fills his chest at having found someone who sees and loves him so completely.
“Yes,” Emma moans.
Killian licks her nectar off of his fingers and begins unlacing his leathers.
“You may have had other lovers, Your Highness, but no one who can fill you like I do-” Releasing himself, Killian enters her with one, firm, slow slide. “-No one can fuck you like I do-” He pulls back so that only the head of his hardness is still inside of her, and draws a gasp from her lips when he trusts back in. And then again. “-And no one else is going to go to bloody war for you, Princess.”
Emma gasps and her hips dance beneath his, encouraging him to take her harder and faster.
“I’m prepared to give up my whole damn life for you, Princess, and all I ask is for one night and a taste of your royal cunt.”
Lost in the fantasy, Emma moans as he takes her higher and higher and higher, until she clenches around him and he spills himself inside of her and Emma groans, “I’m yours,” and he sees heaven with his own two eyes.
It looks an awful lot like an angel of salvation writhing on the Council table in front of him, dripping with his seed and pulling him down for a kiss, wearing his family wedding ring.
-/-
For the most part, Killian and the king keep to themselves on the three-day journey to the last known destination of Lady Belle. There are a few comments on the weather or the spiritedness of the various horses ridden by King David and Killian and the soldiers that join them. A remark about the music or food at Emma’s welcome ball.
Finally, in the evening of the second day, as they finish two bowls of stew at a quiet, cozy inn on the road, David audibly sighs and sets his spoon down in an empty bowl.
“You never answered my question, you know. Not really.”
Killian, who well knows that the soldiers are enjoying a pint and a flirt with the only three eligible women in this little village, still spares a look around to ensure he and the king are alone before he responds, evenly, “And what question was that, Your Majesty?”
David takes a swig of his beer.
“If you could truly be content. In a castle. As a princess’s husband.” His lips thin slightly, the disapproval obvious. “As a future queen’s husband.”
Killian gives him as even a look as he can manage. “Did I ever give you any indication that I couldn’t?”
The king doesn’t speak, but his eyebrows say enough.
“Ah.” Killian frowns. “The pirate thing.”
David nods slightly.
Killian clears his throat and sets aside the last dregs of stew to reach for his flask, newly filled by the barkeep. He is going to need more fortification for this conversation.
“Your Majesty, you seem to be operating under the mindset that a pirate is unable to understand the importance of teamwork, integrity, or nobility. And yet I must tell you that nothing could be further from the truth.” Killian casts his mind back to the passionate arguments he’s been having in his head these last few days, waiting for this conversation to be instigated.
“I initially turned to piracy after serving a king who was so dishonest that he sent his men to find a magical poison with which to kill his enemies in secret. I was young and grief-stricken and believed that all royals must be as untrustworthy as he. Among thieves, I knew I could find a code of honor, a set of rules that let me know where I stood with others.”
Killian pauses for another sip of his rum. “I suppose I also must confess that discovering your daughter’s true parentage helped dispel me of the last of those long-held notions on nobility, as well as my observation of your tenderhearted wife,” Killian tips his flask at the king and tries to appear sincere, not sycophantic, “and you, as well, Your Majesty.”
King David’s eyes widen in obvious surprise. Killian barrels forward.
“If it is not yet clear, I worship the bloody ground your daughter walks on, and if being with her requires me to keep my nose clean, I will gladly wash up and make things right, smartish. You’re welcome to question any of your servants and you’ll find that, besides gambling with your soldiers and sneaking around the castle with your daughter, I have not made any effort to do anything untoward while under your roof.”
Killian pauses, allowing the king to catch up with all he’s laid before him and, perhaps, respond.
David blinks stupidly before his countenance turns irritated. “Do you think I would be happy to hear such a thing?”
Killian shakes his head and keeps his smirk to a minimum. Telling the king that his daughter had enjoyed each of those interactions and instigated more than a few of them will do no good.
“Merely being honest,” Kilian professes.
A barmaid interrupts them to clear away their bowls and ask if they need anything else. Killian flashes her a smile as he declines the offer, David asks for more beer.
“You love her,” the king says once they’re alone again. There’s a resignation in his tone. “You’re loyal to her. You’re capable of keeping your baser desires to a minimum - at least for a little while.” David narrows his eyes. “But why should I believe that you would give up a life of piracy,” he snaps his fingers, “just like that?”
Killian pauses, regrouping with one of the speeches he’s already laid out.
“It would be a lie to say I haven’t enjoyed my life of piracy, as you call it, Your Majesty. There is nothing like the feeling of the wind on the high seas, the joy of battle with men at your side, the sight of gold or some other purloined treasure.” Killian lets his words settle for a moment. “And yet… and yet I would leave it all behind for a life with Emma.”
“Just like that?” David’s tone is dubious.
“Just like that,” Killian echos. “Ever since my brother died, I’ve been searching for true companionship, a family.” His thumb fiddles with the band of a heavy ring on his finger, his mind casting to the partner ring on another finger, two days away. “I found it once, a long time ago, and since her death I’ve been alone again.” Killian wraps his hand around his flask and hopes it isn’t trembling. “I love Emma. I chased her down and came back for her and found her because I wanted to be with her - to be family to one another because I suspected that she was as alone as I was, beneath the image that we each present to the world.”
His words are a gamble. Historically, the king hasn’t responded well to reminders of his daughter’s life before she was found and brought to the palace. It is a barb in the man’s side. Calling attention to his daughter’s life before he knew her is a sure way to get a rise out of him.
To Killian’s surprise, King David doesn’t puff up in indignation. On the contrary, he gets smaller before Killian’s eyes and there is a sad slope to his shoulders as his fingers trace a groove in the wood of the table.
“She would run away with you. If it came down to a choice, she’d choose you, Hook. And I know you’d fight like hell to take her away from us.”
Killian feels faintly nauseous. It is a feeling that lingers as the barmaid brings the king another drink and David takes a heavy swig of it.
On one hand, the king’s words feel like a compliment. The idea of Emma choosing him above anything else in her life - power, security, fortune, family - makes pride swell in his chest. He wants to be the only thing she wants. The only thing she needs. Her purpose for living.
He wants to be the most important thing in her life, that which she would sacrifice everything for. To hear King David say this hope as if it is a foregone conclusion makes Killian feel weightless and bubbly.
And yet.
And yet.
There is a darker emotion weighing him down. Questions that tug at the laces of his boots, wondering if, if it came to it, if she’d truly choose him. All of Killian’s insecurities seem to amply around this man, who reminds him keenly of his brother and all of the things Killian wished to be yet never achieved.
Why would Emma choose Killian when good and decent people like Queen Snow and King David can see the truth of how little Killian is worth?
Struggling through his twisting stomach and brain, Killian cannot formulate words before David speaks again. His voice is small and dejected.
“Snow keeps warning me that if I’m not careful, we’ll wake up one day and find our daughter gone, run off with the man she chooses over us.”
Killian’s heart lurches. He sees now, with sudden clarity, the reasoning behind the king’s strongest objections, as well as the truth that if they cannot settle this matter right here, right now, it will never be taken care of.
He pockets his flask and reaches his arm across the table, offering his hand to his love’s father.
“Emma should never have to choose.” The king blinks slowly, not comprehending.
Killian wets his lips nervously. “I have never spoken an ill word of you to your daughter, Your Majesty. I do not desire to poison her love for you nor encourage her to run from her newfound home.” There is a lesson that he had to learn early on from his Mistress, which David now needs to hear.
“She doesn’t want to be controlled or managed. Emma doesn’t want either of us to tell her who she can and cannot love.” Killian struggles to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he speaks to a man better than he’ll ever be. “And she has enough space in her heart for both of us, I believe.”
King David of Misthaven stares at Killian, astonishment on every feature of his pretty, middle-aged face. After a long moment of studying Killian, he reaches out his own shaky arm and clasps hands with Killian.
It is a difficult thing not to cry right now. Killian holds back, but barely, and he sincerely hopes that David never encourages him to call him Father, because at that moment Killian knows he would burst into tears.
“Emma never has to choose,” David echoes. His grip tightens and his expression turns sheepish. “Which means I must apologize for those times when I have spoken ill of you,” he clenches his jaw, “and you have my word that it will never happen again.”
Bloody hell. There goes Killian’s resolution not to weep.
-/-
Three Months Later
The day that Killian first met his Mistress, he thought her pretty, but nothing special. It took a glance beneath the surface, time to let down his guard and allow her to see his brokenness and vulnerability, before he realized that there was more than met his eye.
Today, as his hand tightens over hers, which is resting lightly on his arm, he understands that he was a fool back then in more ways than one.
Today, Crown Princess Emmaline Eva Ruth, of the Royal House of White, has never looked more resplendent. Her gown is made of golden-colored lace, delicately woven in swirls and flowers and intricate designs that nearly make Killian dizzy. She wears heavy jewels on her ears, to match the rubies on her neck, but on her fingers she has only a single ring, which is large and shiny, but certainly, at first glance, doesn’t seem like something befitting a bloody princess.
Princess Emma’s hair, swept up into something elaborate, is dotted with more rubies that sparkle as she tilts her neck back-and-forth, taking in the crowd that is gathering in the entryway below, filing into the ballroom. From their position at the top of the stairs, they can see everything, but those who have come to preen and gawk do not spare them a glance, hidden above as they are.
“Deep breath, love,” Killian murmurs, his own eyes surveying the crowd, hand patting hers in the crook of his elbow.
“I thought that was my line,” Emma grumbles right back, no real heat to it. She pushes playfully against his side, but not nearly hard enough to throw him off-balance. “Aren’t you nervous?”
“Exceedingly,” Killian confesses. He can feel her gaze shift to him, trying to gauge his honesty, and Killian meets her eyes before he leans into her and brushes his lips across her forehead. “And yet, not nervous at all. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long, long time.”
Emma scoffs by his side. “You are turning out to be much more traditional than I ever expected, baby.”
Even after almost a year of her saying it, Emma’s use of the endearment never ceases to make Killian’s spine feel soft and warm. She unmans him with the term, but in a way that is safe and comforting.
“We both know that isn’t true,” Killian teases right back. There are no servants nearby and the crowd below wouldn’t be able to hear them even at this volume, and yet Killian lowers his voice.
“As soon as you made me yours, I wanted to let the world know how bloody lucky I was to have been cared for by you.” Killian’s nose skims down Emma’s hairline at her temple. “I would have been happy to be the princess’s pampered pet, and yet you’ve given me much, much more.”
Killian’s cock is rising at the reminder of all that he has shared and someday wishes to share with his Mistress, a fact that she doesn’t miss as she mutters, “Down, boy,” her voice a mixture of ribbing at that command that he loves so dearly.
A servant comes to collect them before they can rile each other up any further, and after a short journey through the hallways, they’re at the top of another staircase - a grand, sweeping one in the ballroom - and though the last time Emma walked down this staircase to a crowd it was alone for her first public appearance as the found princess, today Killian descends by her side, keeping her steady and not missing how her fingers tighten on his arm a few times and her serene expression is a bit stiff.
“Everything will be fine, Mistress,” Killian murmurs out of the side of his mouth as they walk through the parted crowd to the raised dais where the Blue Fairy waits for them. Just as her use of baby often brings him comfort and peace, his use of Mistress bolsters his love and reminds her of her inner strength. Emma’s back straightens subtly and, when Killian spares her a glance, there is a fierceness to her eyes that is hard to miss.
His love is a force to be reckoned with. Only a great fool would underestimate her.
Hand and hook assist Emma up the three steps to the raised circle in the center of the space. Though they are to clasp hands now and gaze at once another, Killian goes off-script by pausing, taking both of Emma’s hands in his own, and slowly lowering to one knee, and then to both knees, humbling himself before Emma and her parents and the whole damn kingdom.
He hadn’t told anyone he had planned to do this. But Killian hadn’t been telling a falsehood earlier. He has always wanted the world to know about Emma’s claiming of him. And he isn’t ashamed for others to know what that claiming looks like.
Killian lets his voice echo in the ballroom, which has grown as quiet as the grave at his unusual act of submissiveness.
“I give my body in service to you, Your Highness. I am your servant. Use me as you will.”
Amid the quiet gasps and the sounds of men and women muttering their surprise at something akin to an oath of fealty - little do they know Killian’s already given her one - Killian draws Emma’s hands to his mouth and brushes gentle, yet passionate kisses on the backs of her knuckles, finally daring to meet her eyes.
There are some tears threatening to fall, but Killian can tell that they are tears of overwhelming joy, not annoyance or fury, and that allows Killian’s heart to return to a regular pace. It still twists in his chest, however, overwhelmed by the solemnity of this day.
“I love you, Mistress,” Killian whispers, too quietly to be overheard by anyone except Blue, but that cannot be helped. He continues covering Emma’s hands with kisses, his body and his eyes saying what his mouth cannot.
He loves her.
For all time.
Truly and completely.
He has never taken her love of him for granted.
For one long minute, Emma merely allows him to pay homage in as appropriate a manner as he can, now that she is a princess. He is determined that no one will claim that Captain Hook is manipulating Princess Emma or storming into the castle, determined to overtake it for his own nefarious means. No - he comes on his knees, ready to serve his Princess, his bride, as his Mistress.
Emma gently extracts her hands from his grip and, as he was trained, Killian rests his hand and his hook on his lap, awaiting her further orders. He doesn’t have to wait long before Emma leans down and gently cups Killian’s face in her hands, thumbs smoothing across the stubble on his cheek.
“You are mine, Killian,” she says, her own husky voice carrying across the room. The words coat Killian’s heart in a layer of warmth and honey. He’s never been so happy as he has in being hers. Emma’s hands - small but strong - move to his shoulders and she tugs lightly. “Now stand at my side, where you belong.”
Of course his love would have her own response to his submission - one that reminds the kingdom that she has chosen this pirate as a love match and she doesn’t intend to keep him in the shadows or locked in her chambers, but rather right with her as she runs the kingdom or marches into battle.
With an indulgent smirk, Killian does as his Mistress bids, and he finally grasps one hand and she wraps the fingers of her other hand around his hook.
A breath, a moment, a preparation for Blue’s ceremony to come, and then it is all shattered.
“Well wasn’t that touching?”
The voice is one from Killian’s nightmares, and, even expecting it, there’s no hiding from the terror that sweeps through Killian’s body and twists his bowels.
“That display of twue wove is enough to make me cry!”
Without breaking stride, the Crocodile summons a bloodred handkerchief out of thin air as he makes his way through the parting crowd, each step a sharp click on the marble floor. He feigns dabbing at the corners of his dry eyes, then tosses the handkerchief in the air, where a woman in a horrible shade of yellow darts away from it with a shriek.
Finally before his quarry, the Dark One pauses and lifts his hands with a dramatic flourish.
“Sorry I’m late,” he grins insincerely.
The Crocodile ascends the dais, and though every instinct screams at Killian to pull Emma behind him, to block her body with his own, he manages to keep his feet planted as he glares at his oldest foe, his greatest enemy.
The creature raises his hand once more and stretches his talon-like fingers toward Killian. “I’ll be taking that heart now, pirate.”
In a flash, Emma has pulled the sword from the scabbard at Killian’s side, knocking the Crocodile’s claw away from Killian’s chest, and there is a moment when his yellow eyes narrow in fury, training on Emma and preparing to do his worst to get what he wants.
But then, those eyes widen as he realizes what is staring him in the face.
It is no ordinary sword. The pommel is thick and ornate, but the blade has been broken, and what remains is decorated with intricate designs that, when Killian first saw them, made terror dance up and down his spine.
“What the hell is that?” the Crocodile hisses, eyes dancing between the blade, the bride, and the groom.
“Another way, Rumple,” a voice answers from behind the creature.
Something passes across the Dark One’s face - something strange and strangely human - and, for the first time, Killian begins to believe that this plan might work. The Crocodile’s shiny gold coat goes pale, turning into the hideous hue of vile swamp air, and he turns slowly to face the woman who has stepped forward to speak.
She is still as much a beauty as the day Killian left her to rot in a cell in this very castle. She now has laugh lines framing her smile and little crow’s feet near her eyes from her countless hours in the library she built in her thriving city. But time has been kind to Lady Belle, and though her chestnut locks have turned into a mixture of silver and bronze, her hair is just as thick and her mind is just as clever.
“I found another way, Rumple,” Belle repeats. She’s kept moving forward, and so has the Crocodile, and they meet somewhere in the middle, his hands dancing uncomfortably by his side but her own much more calm, much more poised, much more ready to say her peace.
“Belle?” the Crocodile asks, as though he cannot believe his own eyes.
She smiles softly, and though Killian wonders how anyone could ever love so hideous a beast, she must see something in him, because her gaze is as soft as any looking upon the person who holds their heart.
“I never gave up on you,” she says. “I kept hope that, one day, you’d be ready to get rid of the Darkness.”
Belle reaches out and takes the Crocodile’s hand, and it is as though she’s cast a spell. All of his terrifying bravado dissipates, leaving behind a man with a curved spine to takes her hand in both of his and steps even closer, trembling slightly.
“We can do it, Rumple. I know we can.” Belle gestures with her free hand to Emma and Killian, watching with bated breath on the raised dais. She gives Emma a conspiratorial smile, which makes the Crocodile turn, now taking in the sight with a surprised expression. “And we can do it without hurting anyone,” Belle continues. She nods and, at the cue, Emma leaves Killian’s side and walks down the steps, to the creature who helped her parents find their True Love but also murdered Killian’s own love. Princess Emma holds out the broken blade with both hands, offering it to Rumpelstiltskin.
“We would give you this, in place of the heart you demanded. It should offer you the same results, but with no additional bloodshed.” Emma squares her shoulders when the Crocodile does not immediately take the weapon from her, and her voice gets lower, more demanding, and more reminiscent of the Mistress.
“If you continue your attempts to kill my husband, you’ll find the full weight of Misthaven will be against you. We protect our own, you see. He is mine.”
The Crocodile still seems confused. Killian has never seen him so thrown off. Even when Lady Belle pulls their joined hands to her chest and he turns back to her, the creature doesn’t go on a rampage as expected. He merely observes her, curiosity on each feature.
“This is your chance to show me that you’ve changed, Rumple. Prove to me that you can be the man you’ve always wanted to be.”
He finally speaks, voice thick with incredulity.
“You want me to be a coward, Belle? To not fight? To let him win?” Though the Crocodile sweeps out his arm to indicate Killian, his eyes are still focused on Lady Belle.
“True bravery is to know when to step away from a fight,” Belle replies quietly.
Another moment, suspended in time, between the life that Killian has been living and whatever will come to be - death or happiness, pain or pleasure - he cannot control what will happen next, only recall that the journey which got him here was one he would never forfeit.
Emma shouldn’t protect him again. Her people don’t need to go toe-to-toe with the Dark One. If this gamble doesn’t pay off, she shouldn’t let revenge consume her as it consumed him. He’s already made her promise as much, and now all that is within his power is to trust in the woman who has gotten him this far.
“You didn’t give up on me?”
The broken, hopeful quality of the Crocodile’s voice is enough for Killian to know what will happen next. The creature reaches for the broken sword that Emma has offered, giving her a short, yet still deferential bow, and, without sparing a glance for his eldest enemy, he pulls Lady Belle close, chuckles, “That makes one of us!” and then the pair are gone in a plume of burgundy smoke.
The trap was set.
The creature was ensnared.
The bait can now go free.
Killian reaches out his hook and meets the eyes of the woman he loves more than his own bloody life.
“Are you still mine?”
Emma’s grin makes Killian feel as though he could fly.
“Damn right I am.”
-/-
Celebrations go long into the night. Killian’s crew are all in fine form, drinking their weight in expensive alcohol and flirting outrageously with the rich women of the court. Mullins has spent most of his evening in a dark corner with a wealthy widow with a sharp tongue and a deep pocketbook and Fredrickson is turning bright red trying to dance with the shy daughter of a baron.
Lily and Prince Philip have returned to Misthaven for the occasion, and though Killian will never be overly fond of the prince, he’s pleased to note how content Lily is with her new life, and to see her new betrothed looks at her as though she’s a true lady. King Philip and Queen Aurora, who are also present, have taken in Lily as one of their own, and she radiates with happiness at her place in the world.
The night is a whirlwind of merrimaking. Killian takes a turn on the dance floor with Snow, who is always light on her feet, and smiles fondly at the sight of Emma being spun by her father later on in the evening. Killian dances with Lily and drinks with his men and catches Emma’s eye across the ballroom, nearly before the sun has risen, and he knows without hesitation what his love’s wish is.
They slip out of the ballroom as the celebration is still in full swing, Emma’s hand firm around his hook and him following her as her loyal pet, the man who would follow her anywhere. Shortly after he and King David returned to the castle with Lady Belle and a plan, servants opened up the other side of Emma’s suite and settled him into the space, and though he’s never slept in the bedroom adjoining hers, he’s made full use of the closets and finally branched out with his wardrobe somewhat, finding the line between fashion and function that makes Emma’s eyes fill with desire when he emerges from his wardrobe in the mornings.
Their feet carry them on the familiar path to their chambers and Emma impatiently dismisses any of the guards who linger in the nearby hallway, which Killian takes as a positive sign that things are going to get very loud, and his Mistress would rather they not be overheard.
His cock, which has been half-hard since their eyes met a few minutes ago, swells to full stiffness.
The door properly closed and locked behind them, Emma smooths her hands down Killian’s arms, brushing her fingers across the back of his hand and across his hook, and then she takes three long steps backwards and scrutinizes him.
This is his clever Mistress. Seeing. Plotting. Planning. How delicious to let her use him to her heart and body’s desire. And not just now, but as long as they both live.
“Say it,” she whispers, her voice hardly louder than a breath, but enough to make Killian’s heart pound with expectation.
He knows what she wants to hear. What she always wants to hear.
“I am yours,” Killian says, simply, allowing her to see the devotion on his face. She soaks it in as though she’s tasted the sweetest liquor, intoxicating her with pleasure and contentment.
“I belong to you,” Killian adds. “I am yours to do with as you wish.”
Emma’s shoulders square. Her spine straightens. She breathes in deeply through her nose, surveying him, and as she exhales, the corners of her lips turn up into a soft smile that warms Killian from the inside out.
“Now everyone knows,” Emma says. “The whole damn kingdom knows that you’re mine. Were you proud of yourself for getting on your knees up there? They’ll be talking about that stunt for generations. I’ll be known as the princess who tamed a pirate.”
Killian’s own lips turn up. “Good,” he says smugly. Emma is obviously refraining from rolling her eyes.
“I should punish you for your cheek.”
She won’t. She loved it too much.
“You will do whatever you feel is best,” Killian replies evenly. He will take whatever she gives him tonight. For the past several weeks they’ve both been strategizing and worrying and overthinking. She needs to feel in control again. He needs to turn off his brain. If a flogging or her false cock is a part of that, so be it.
“I will,” Emma agrees. Her smile turns smug. The tension from the last few weeks and from tonight are fading away. He’s glad.
Emma takes another three steps backward and jumps onto the foot of the bed, her legs swinging in a very familiar fashion, revealing silk slippers dyed the same gold as her gown. She leans back on her hands and tilts her head playfully.
“Time to strip and kneel and let me see what belongs to me.”
Killian’s hand is at his collar, loosening buttons immediately, and a smile springs to his lips, full of hope and promise.
“Yes, wife. I am yours to command.”
We have come to the end, my friends! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey - inspired by a conversation on Discord on Christmas Eve, posted for the first time on my birthday mid-January, and finally completed and posted here in September! This has been a labor of love and I am so thankful for those who gave this story a shot and left lovely comments along the way. I hope that you can imagine all the sexy happily-ever-after moments these two will share, making their dreams come true together.
Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!
The “enrichment in the enclosure” meme has a lot of truth to it. We need to shake things up a bit to keep happy. It doesn’t have to be big, but if you ever feel stagnant or a little bluh try going on a walk on a route you haven’t been in or something. It really does help.
#literaly agreed #it sounds like a frigging joke #but the reason our childhood feels like time was slower #is because we did so much new stuff #once you get used to things everything speeds up #so changing routine #doing something new #literally feels like extending your life #you got this #I believe in you
reblogging with @arczeroes‘ tags because they blew my mind a little and I think you should read them
We have all seen this comic by Genildo Rocha memed to hell and back, but the fact is that he drew this after one day changing seats on the bus he took home and realizing that the view from that side was much nicer and that improved his day a lot. Both men are self-portraits of the author - the one who never changed his point of view, and the one who took a chance. The writing on the original comic can be translated as “choose the happy side of life!”
Change your usual seat, order something new at a café, read a book from a genre you dont usually do. That is indeed enrichment!
Hi, I noticed your story has conflict in it, and I was wondering why you didn't just write people who are right doing everything correctly with a note saying "I enthusiastically co-sign everything in this story"? Must be some kind of mistake haha
Keira Knightley: [Matthew MacFadyen] is just such a nice man. I think that helps [when someone is your love interest]. I think that helps when you meet somebody [who will potentially be your cast mate] and you think, "Well, you're just lovely." And is also such an amazing actor. So, what fun.
Rosamund Pike: And when he can completely mask the niceness and put it under the arrogance and standoffish-ness that Darcy appears to have. And then [you] melt. Oh, so good.
Pride & Prejudice (2005) Dir. Joe Wright
Matthew Macfadyen for CBS Mornings (2024)
Keira Knightley and Rosamund Pike for Vanity Fair (2025)
sad boys with British accents & big blue eyes who were previously villains but if we’re being SO for real never even did anything THAT bad & honestly consistently helped the protagonists against way worse villains despite being supposedly “evil” & then just basically became babysitters for their heroic blonde love interest’s beloved child & consistently proved themselves to be moral & trustworthy enough so that the heroes trusted them to look after & bond with the team’s child constantly but were still (totally unfairly) treated like dirt & called a villain all the time — my beloved 🖤
If Lois were the kind of person who could turn off her reporter brain for half a second, she might be able to step back and enjoy the view in front of her. The Wayne Enterprises building is the tallest in Gotham, and it's no accident that they've chosen to hold their gala on the eightieth floor, too high up for guests on the balcony to consider what's on the street below as they watch the sun set over the water.
The canapés are good, at least, if a little showy, and when Lois had ducked into the bathroom earlier, she'd overheard a conversation by the mirrors that she's going to have to chase up with her contacts in Internal Affairs at Metropolis PD, so it's not a total wash. Still, the whole point of Wayne Enterprises issuing this invitation had been some kind of press strategy that she's sure is meant to have primed her to be nice to Bruce Wayne during their interview tomorrow. It might have been more effective if Bruce Wayne had actually decided to show up.
At the very least, as far as she can tell, Wayne's non-appearance wasn't some kind of calculated power move on the part of the company. The only reason that Lois is even out on the balcony right now is because she'd seen a small handful of anxious-looking board members moving less-than-inconspicuously towards the balcony doors, and she knows how to spot a story when she sees one.
She's placed herself behind a large ceramic planter, suddenly grateful that Clark had been unwell enough to beg off of the party at the last minute. (She still feels a little bit bad about that; she should've known that his Kansas constitution wouldn't have been able to handle chicken and rice off a street cart, but Lois had been starving when they'd gotten off the train, and the handful of similar carts in Metropolis could never seem to get their hot sauce right.)
She's found that he's surprisingly useful in an interview situation--there's a certain type of person who can smell the farmboy on him from a mile away, and they underestimate him frequently enough that they never bother to guard against probing questions--but there's no way his too-tall frame would be even a little bit hidden here, no matter how much he slouched.
Lois keeps her eyes on her phone, pretending to scroll as she listens closely and makes mental notes of leads she might follow up on, and maybe it's her one-track mind that stops her from noticing what everyone else does until the people she's eavesdropping on gasp mid-conversation. She looks left and right before she even thinks to look up, but when she does, she's met with Superman, alighting onto the balcony with a grace that she's never seen in a person with shoulders that broad.
"Miss Lane," he says, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, "a little bit far from the Metropolis beat, aren't you?"
"I'm not above traveling for a story," she says. "And how is it that you know my name?"
"I'm familiar with your work," he says, and Lois can't help but picture him flying through the sky, coffee in one hand and the Planet in the other.
"Likewise," says Lois. "I'm a little surprised to see you in Gotham. Looking for new digs now that Maxwell Lord has gotten into the superhero game?"
"Not quite," says Superman, and there's a slightly pinched set to his mouth that sets off Lois's reporter instincts.
She scans the balcony and the party that lies beyond it, trying to see whatever he can see. "Should I be concerned?" she asks, in a hushed voice. "It's better to let me know now, because taking eighty flights of emergency stairs in these heels is something I need to brace for."
He smiles at her, the tension disappearing from his mouth and shoulders. "You'll be safe here, Miss Lane," he says, looking warmly down at her. "I promise."
He's so sincere that it genuinely throws Lois off for a moment, and she scrambles to make some kind of quip to regain her equilibrium. "People in Gotham really can't make that kind of promise and keep it," she says, in the same kind of no-nonsense voice that Jimmy says she puts on anytime she's trying to curb Clark's worst Pollyanna instincts.
But if Superman is put off by her telling him what he can or can't do, he doesn't show it. The smile stays on his face as he looks at her, holding the kind of eye contact that makes her forget a little bit of the world around her.
"Well then, Miss Lane," he says, "I guess it's a good thing I'm not from Gotham."
Before she can say anything else, he's gone with a little whoosh of air, bound for one of the warehouses by the docks.
Lois watches him go, then decides that maybe she should cut out of the gala while the elevators are still working, just in case.
Neverland changed Captain Hook. He experiences debilitating nightmares that keep him from living his life and being the Captain he once was. Desperate for an end to the flashbacks, Killian Jones seeks help from a woman who promises him healing from past trauma if only he submits himself to her every command. AKA: A Captain Wench BDSM fic where, instead of therapy, Killian gets a Dom.
Read on A03
Chapter 15 - The Mistress's Protection
Emma is grateful that her mother doesn’t even pretend that they will take Killian anywhere besides her quarters.
His feet drag on the floor as the two of them practically carry him out of the ballroom and down the hall, opting to use a small, hidden staircase that spits them out practically in front of Emma’s door. Killian’s eyes are glazed over and, when she presses a quick kiss to his cheek at the top of the stairs, his skin is cold and moist. Clammy.
He’s in shock.
“Get him off his feet,” Emma commands, too absorbed in caring for her Captain to notice that she’s given an order to Misthaven’s monarch. But her mother isn’t phased at all, helping to steer the Captain to the cluster of cozy chairs beside the fire and sinking into a seat of her own once Killian’s placed.
“Baby?” Emma sits beside Killian and holds his face in her hands, examining his expression.His eyes are focused on her, and yet she can tell that his mind is far, far away. “Baby?” she repeats herself.
Killian hums. The sound is confused.
“I need rum,” Emma murmurs to herself. A rustle of movement has Emma turning, desperate to defend her Captain, and she can feel his own body tense next to her, but it is only her three ladies in waiting, all flushed and flustered at the door.
They take in the state of Killian and the fact that the queen is sitting across from the pair of them, cheeks pink and chewing on her thumbnail. One of the maids - the brave one - steps forward. “Highness?”
“Rum,” Emma says louder, more firmly. “Get me some fucking rum.” Her gaze cuts to the other two, flanking their friend. “And a bath. The biggest one in the castle. Piping hot.”
The women scatter and Emma turns to her mother. “Tell me what you promised him.”
Snow’s thumbnail leaves her mouth. She doesn’t need Emma to explain her request.
“Whatever he wanted. We were desperate to find you.”
Emma nods. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision - Rumpelstiltskin could have asked for the whole damn kingdom - but she isn’t surprised to hear her mother’s response. Snow and David lead with their hearts. They would have sacrificed anything at their disposal in order to get their baby girl back. Emma hides a rueful smile as she tucks a strand of hair behind Killian’s ear, checking to see if he is still in shock.
“You know that was a terrible decision, right? And all you got was an unpolished, rude, foul-mouthed whore.”
The words fall out without her thinking. Tonight had been stressful enough even without the Dark One showing up and threatening to kill her lover. Being Misthaven’s show pony. Worrying about getting things right. Having to dance with Prince Philip and sell a romance that she couldn’t be less interested in devoting any more of her energy to. And this - the realization that her parents made a reckless choice for so little payout - it loosens her lips more than she should allow.
“Emmaline Eva Ruth.”
Never in her life has Emma been addressed like that. Like a mother chastising her child. Emma freezes and slowly turns to face Queen Snow, who is frowning.
Emma falters. “What?”
“What did you say?”
Emma attempts to brush Snow off. “Nothing that wasn’t true.”
“You’re right.” Snow stands up and wedges herself on Emma’s other side on the small loveseat. Torn between caring for her lover and addressing her mother, Emma takes Killian’s hand firmly in her own as she shifts her body to face Snow. She looks determined in a way that Emma hasn’t seen before. In a way that makes Emma’s heart thump uncomfortably.
“You don’t speak or behave like a princess who was pampered in a castle. You had to fend for yourself, making you stronger and cleverer.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “You’ve already told me that these things will benefit Misthaven-”
“Fuck Misthaven!” Snow White snaps. Emma blinks, now completely thrown off. The Queen’s eyes are blazing with a fire that Emma feels in her gut. The same fire that has burst from Emma before. A fire she understands, at her core.
Snow White pulls one of Emma’s hands away from Killian and squeezes so tight that it hurts. Her other hand pinches Emma’s chin to keep her in place so that their eyes meet.
“Fuck Misthaven,” she says again quietly, intensely. There are tears gathering in the corners of Snow’s eyes but she doesn’t look sad. She looks furious. “We weren’t desperate to get you back because the kingdom needed a princess. We were desperate to get you back because you’re our daughter and we love you.” Her voice drops into a hissing whisper. “No matter what.”
Emma’s throat constricts.
“But I’m not sweet or kind or-”
Snow laughs. It always sounds like the chiming of bells. It always sounds perfect. Like every other part of her mother.
“And we don’t care,” she whispers. There are tears in Snow’s eyes. “That’s what love means, sweetheart. Just as you are. Flaws and all.” Her thumb caresses Emma’s cheek. She nods over Emma’s shoulder. “Your Captain feels the same. He doesn’t love you because of what you can do for him. Or because you’re perfect - although the way he looks at you tells me he thinks you’re pretty close.” Her fingers tighten even further around Emma’s hand. “He loves all of you and would do anything for you. And your father and I feel the same.”
As if he’s been summoned by name, the chamber door flies open, revealing King David, expression frazzled, and his tense muscles relax somewhat at the sight of Emma, Snow, and Killian on the minuscule couch.
“Blue’s set up a temporary magical block around the castle. The Dark One won’t be able to return any time soon.”
Emma releases her mother’s hand and turns to Killian, gripping his face and looking into his haunted face.
“Do you hear that, baby?” she whispers. David might not hear the term of endearment as he crosses to the sitting area, but there’s no keeping it from Snow. She can feel her parents’ sharp gazes as she drops several kisses on Killian’s cheeks and then leans her forehead against his own. “He’s not coming back. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
“M-M-Mistress,” Killian stutters. He blinks twice and fat tears roll down his cheeks. Emma kisses each one before it can crest the line of his jaw. “Mistress, I thought I’d lose you too.”
Away from the ballroom and the dangers of the Dark One, Emma finally allows herself to feel the fear that she’d managed to keep at bay before the beast. Raw, feral fear. Fear that Rumpelstiltskin would spot Killian as soon as he appeared and torture him for fun. Fear that he’d hurt Killian before she could protect him.
And fear that the Dark One would murder her just as he murdered Killian’s last love. Fear that Killian would have to go through that pain of grief once again. Fear that he’d lose all of his bravery that she’d helped him build back up and return to a half-life of a broken spirit and waking nightmares.
The last thing Emma wanted was to be the cause of another heartbreak for her Captain.
“I’m right here, baby,” Emma whispers back. She releases his face to take his hand and press it to the center of his chest, where her heart beats at a wild rhythm, still full of fear and nerves. “And my heart is here too. Right here where it belongs.”
Killian releases a heavy sigh and more tears slide down his cheeks. Rather than catch them all, Emma pulls him forward, resting his cheek on her breast, and chances a look at her father, daring him to order Killian back to his own measly quarters or away from Misthaven altogether, thundering on about a ruined ball and the kingdom’s first opinion of their lost princess.
But she sees no such thing.
There’s an unfamiliar light in David’s eye as his eyes sweep Emma and the pirate with one ear pressed to her heart. Killian is shaking and Emma readjusts her grip, moving closer, taking on more of his weight. David watches with a frown that feels more sad than judgmental.
“I’m not marrying Philip. And I’m tired of you pretending that I will.”
Apparently this is a night for Emma to speak her mind. She presses her lips together, wondering if she oughtn't’ve said it that way at this time. But it is too late. She’s finally been honest with her father and she will pay for her words.
David holds out his arm, eyes staying on Emma, and she feels her mother shift as she rises off of the loveseat. Emma almost forgot she was there. With the fluid grace of two people who’ve known one another for longer than they haven’t, Snow tucks herself under her husband’s arm and leans her head on his shoulder.
“No you shan’t,” David agrees quietly. Snow’s hand squeezes David’s waist and, as if she’s communicated something unsaid, David sighs and continues. “And I’m sorry that I pushed you further than I should have.”
Emma blinks in surprise. She hadn’t expected her father’s capitulation, much less for it to happen so quickly and be coupled with an apology. She goes for broke.
“However, if I am required to be married for Misthaven’s prosperity, Killian is willing to marry me.”
Both the queen and the king pause, assessing the petrified couple on the couch before them. Snow once more squeezes her husband’s waist, but this time he doesn’t say a word. She does instead.
“Tonight has been a trying night. And Blue has gathered other fairies together to see if any of them have an idea what happened when Rumpelstiltskin tried to take your heart. Let’s save more serious discussions for tomorrow, after we’ve all gotten some rest.”
Emma opens her mouth to protest, but Snow cuts her off with a look.
“We’re not saying no, sweetheart. We’re just telling you to get some sleep.” Snow’s eyes dart to the pirate huddled against Emma’s chest. “And it is certainly not fair to discuss your future with the Captain when he’s in such a state.”
Killian is no longer sobbing, but he is still trembling, and Emma pulls him close as both of her parents drop kisses on the top of her head. The ladies in waiting return before they leave, bringing in a bath and several footmen with buckets of water to heat beside the fire. To Emma’s great surprise, neither of her parents make any move to tell Killian to leave her quarters - either now or once he’s recovered from his shock, and for that Emma is grateful. She strokes Killian’s hair as the two of them watch the water being prepared and, once the last footman has left the room, Emma gently extricates herself from beneath her pirate.
His hand grips her skirt with unnatural strength and a wild frenzy appears in the eyes that had become so dull.
He’s crying again, clinging to the silk of her gown and curving his spine until the top of his head presses against her corset-covered stomach. Emma’s belly lurches. Killian’s hook is digging into one side in desperation to keep her close, and Emma gently grasps the appendage to carefully turn it away from the fragile fabric of her gown.
“Captain?” Emma uses her other hand to tilt Killian’s chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes, forcing herself to look down at his terrified expression. “Baby? Can you be a good boy for me?”
Killian nods and sniffs pathetically.
Emma grants him a benevolent smile. Her thumb strokes his pale, damp cheek. “I know you can, baby. You’re always such a good boy for me. My good and perfect boy.”
His eyes briefly close, lost in pleasure, and then they snap back open.
“Anything, Mistress,” he whispers hoarsely.
She leans down to kiss his opposite cheek, letting her lips linger and feeling how such a simple action makes tension release from his body.
“Your Mistress needs to get undressed to give you a treat,” Emma murmurs into his ear. “Sit quietly on the seat and watch me get ready to take care of you. I promise that I won’t leave your sight, but I cannot remove this gown on my own.”
Killian whimpers. She waits for his verbal confirmation before stepping away.
“You’ll stay here, Mistress? You swear?”
Emma kisses his cheek once more. “I swear, baby. I swear. You can watch me the whole time.”
He sighs, momentarily leans his temple against her own, and then pulls away.
“I can be good for you, Mistress,” Killian says quietly. “You know I can be.”
Emma offers a small smile. “I know, baby.”
Slowly, so as not to frighten him, Emma back away so that she is closer to her wardrobe, and spreads her arms in invitation for her ladies in waiting to surround her and begin to remove her from the ridiculous monstrosity of a dress they wrestled her into a few short hours ago. The thing is large and ostentatious and highly impractical. Layer by layer they remove the facade of royalty so that they can lay her bare. Finally, she is in a simple shift, giving her lover the same careful look she’d been giving him the entire time she was being undressed.
He needs to know that she is alright. And she is desperate to know the same of him.
The three women make quick work of filling the tub with the now-hot water as Emma turns to observe them at the task. One of them, Linny, lingers for a moment, standing right in the corner of Emma’s vision.
“Do you want us to call up a butler to see to the Captain’s clothes? Or would you rather one of us-?”
Emma’s eyes meet Killian’s in time to observe how his whole body flinches at the insinuation. Her strong, brave, terrifying, amazing pirate. Scared to be touched. A potent mixture of fear, rage, and possessiveness rises up in Emma’s belly. She draws to her full height and glares meaningfully at the woman who dared to suggest something that would scare her Captain.
“Anyone who touches him gets their hand cut off. Immediately. Is that understood?”
Linny’s blue eyes widen in surprise.
“Ah- ah, yes, Your Highness. I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”
The three women scamper out of the room like rats on a sinking ship, leaving Emma alone with her traumatized pirate and a bath full of hot water.
Emma only knows one way to repair what has been broken in her Captain. Only one way to care for him and chase away the nightmares and the fear.
It is easy to let the persona of the Mistress come to settle on Emma’s shoulders. She’s been halfway there since her parents left the room. Emma straightens and gives Killian a hooded look.
“Strip. Show me what belongs to me.”
Killian takes three slow, deep breaths. The man always hastens to obey her every order. But tonight, clearly, he needs a moment to compose himself and remember who he is. To remember whose he is.
When he’s remembered, Killian stands and begins to remove his clothes, unhurried but focused. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he reveals his beautiful, strong body. His is a physique formed through hard labor and constant swordfighting - drills and actual battle. Her Captain’s muscles are lean and strong and she knows the story of every single scar because he revealed them to her with the same quiet passion present as he told her all of his secrets.
His body belongs to her - flaws and all - and when he lowers himself to his knees and bows his head, Emma feels the heady rush of power that the sight always inspires.
He trusts her to care for him once more. He’s frightened out of his mind, and yet he hasn’t run away. He is right here, kneeling before her, relying on her strength to carry him when he’s weak.
“I never got a chance to tell you how handsome you looked tonight, Captain,” Emma says quietly. She keeps her distance, all the better to observe him, and her heart flutters at the way his chin lifts and he honors her with a genuine smile.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he grins.
Thoughts of distance fly out the window. Emma strides forward and tickles her fingertips down the strong line of his jaw.
“I would have been proud to be on your arm tonight, baby.”
A shiver erupts from Killian’s spine. Now the unfocused expression in his eyes is due to a certain dreaminess, not dread.
“You spoil your pet, Mistress.”
“Not enough, baby.” Her fingers comb through his hair. “Not enough.”
Emma's body yearns to be connected with her Captain’s once more. To feel his skin against her own. To hear his heart beating beneath her ear. To card her fingers through the hair on his head and on his chest and tug slightly. To watch his sweet submission and feel her own power over this powerful man.
To know that only she can help him right now.
“Get in the bath,” she orders quietly.
She joins him once he’s settled, batting away his hand that attempts to wash her skin for her, because she longs to assess him first. Color is returning to his cheeks and his skin is as warm as the water that splashes against the sides of the tub. She covers every inch of him with a sponge before handing it off to him and closing her eyes in pleasure as he takes his turn touching her.
He lingers in the places that make her long for him. She can feel the heat of his desire soaking into her skin along with the familiar scent of the soap he had brought to her room only hours ago.
“Who do you belong to, baby?” she asks as he lathers up her back.
“You, Mistress,” he breathes against her damp skin.
Emma leans back on his strong chest, gently extracting the sponge from him and moving his arms so that they wrap around her stomach.
“Were you worried I wouldn’t protect what was mine?” she whispers. He hesitates and she leans back more, nuzzling into his neck. “I promise you won’t be punished.”
She won’t punish him, but his answer could very well punish her instead.
“I was more worried that he would hurt you, Mistress.” Killian nuzzles her right back and his lips brush against her temple. “I was back on my ship, watching him rip Milah’s heart from her chest.” His arms tighten around her, as though the Dark One has returned. “I wouldn’t survive if I lost you, love.”
She wouldn’t either.
“I’m safe,” Emma says quietly. She shifts his hand so that his palm rests over her heart and takes long, deep breaths, relaxing as she feels him relax. “My heart is still where it belongs.”
His gentle kisses up and down her throat are the very picture of devotion. To the world, Captain Hook is fierce and flirtatious, cruel and cunning. But here, with her, worshiping his Mistress, no man has ever been so tender.
Emma needs to make love to him. Immediately.
She reaches behind her, finding his cock, and she gives it three firm tugs. “Sit on the side of the tub, baby,” she moans. “I need you inside of me.”
When her Captain is scared or lost in a bad memory, his manhood struggles to rise. Taking him in her mouth, the faint taste of sweat and soap on her tongue, Emma settles in for a difficult task. But, to her delight, Killian’s length swells in her mouth and his knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the tub and groans in the quiet of the room.
“Mistress… Bloody hell, Mistress, your mouth is perfect. You are perfect.”
His simple words chase away the lingering insecurities of the night. No matter if she uses the wrong goblet at dinner or trips over her own two feet on the ballroom floor, she will never lose esteem in her Captain’s eyes. He thinks she is perfect.
Even though she was a whore. Even though she doubts herself. Even though she doesn’t know how to be a princess.
Emma releases him with a loud pop and looks up at his face, suffused with pleasure, and warmth rushes between her thighs, along with a sense of urgency in her chest.
“Back in the tub. Now.”
The bottom of the bath is slick, making it difficult for Emma’s knees to find purchase as she fits him inside of herself. But Killian’s hand on her backside keeps her steady as she begins the long, steady slide until he’s fully sheathed.
“Baby,” she breathes, eyes fluttering closed. Emma doesn’t move. She just breathes in this moment, this sense of rightness with the world. He’s alive. She’s alive. They’re together.
Killian’s lips caress her cheek.
“This was it, love,” he whispers. Emma’s eyes open slowly and her head cocks in curiosity. Killian continues, his beautiful face filling her vision. “My anchor. My way back.” His hips shift beneath her, hand on her arse tilting her slightly, pressing deeper inside, hitting the perfect spot. “You gave me this. To cling to when I’m scared. To fight for when I’m discouraged.” Killian’s lips meet her own and his are trembling.
“You gave me home.”
Killian’s words break the damn that has been keeping Emma’s emotions contained through such a long and stressful night. Tears stream down her cheeks as Killian drags her body up and down his cock, helping her chase the pleasure that she craves. He doesn’t ask why she’s crying. He doesn’t need to.
“I love you,” Emma whispers. He’s been the only thing keeping her sane. Losing him is unfathomable. She’d be a wreck. She cannot be who her parents and kingdom want her to be if not for Killian. She cannot be happy without Killian.
Her tears fall into the tub as the mixture of fear and relief and bliss escalate, sending her to a height she’s never yet known. Killian is right there with her, whispering words of love and adoration to his Mistress, his princess, his Emma, his love. By the time she’s shattered around his cock and he’s filled her with his seed, they’re both crying and they have to help one another out of the tub, wiping wet faces and wet bodies, before they curl up together in her bed.
“I am done wasting time pretending that there is any man for me besides you,” Emma vows, face buried in his chest.
“I think I caught that,” he rumbles. “As well as your parents wanting me to be part of the conversation.” Killian’s arm squeezes her waist.
They lie together like that for a long time, just breathing in unison, thanking the stars above that they are both alive and well enough. Eventually, Killian breaks the silence, surprising Emma as she had assumed he had fallen asleep.
“Love?”
Emma hums in response.
“What happened? Why didn’t the Crocodile take your heart?”
She pulls away enough to look him in the eye. His expression is sheepish.
“Things got rather confusing there for a while. That part is blurry.”
Emma takes his hand, which has been resting on top of her hand which has been tracking his heartbeat, and she moves it so that his hand now covers her own heart.
“I have no fucking idea. I could feel his hand grab my heart, but then when he tried to take it out, it was like he got stuck. My chest felt cold and then warm and he got blown back by something.”
Killian stops breathing.
“He couldn’t take your heart?”
Fresh tears spring to Emma’s eyes as she shakes her head, relief returning to her body. She’d been so scared, and yet she’d been perfectly fine. Somehow, some way, she’d been fine.
They cry together again.
-/-
Before falling asleep, Emma coaxes Killian back to full hardness, tucks herself in the crook of his body, and fits them together with her back against his chest. There’s a needy ache between her legs and in her chest as she drifts off, held by and connected with her pirate. She doesn’t want to let him go, even in sleep, and if she has to spend another day apart from him, they might just run off together and be done with all this princess nonsense.
The sun is nearly at its zenith when Emma finally stirs, Killian’s cock no longer inside of her but once again hard, and she presses her arse against him, trying to find the right angle to take him in again.
“There’s my needy princess,” Killian rumbles behind her, voice thick with exhaustion. His confident touch on her hip helps him get aligned and they both groan, satisfied, when they realize how slick she is with wanting.
“Mine,” he growls as he begins to fuck her, slow and deep and demanding. “All mine.”
Emma whimpers and nods, fingers finding her swollen nub. The events of last night are coming back to her now. And though their intimacies in the tub soothed their mutual fear of either of them being killed by the Dark One, there were other pains her pirate experienced, including his inability to publicly claim or be claimed by her.
“Yours,” Emma agrees.
“You’re never dancing with that ponce prince again.”
He bats her hand away and circles her bundle of nerves himself. Emma bucks against his perfect touch so that she has to push back against his cock and now they’re both fucking one another.
“And the next time that a ball is hosted in this palace, it will be our wedding being celebrated, Your Highness.”
Emma, who’d been teetering over the edge, falls over it at his words, muscles gripping his perfect cock, desperate to stay connected, and her good boy fucks her through it until she’s spent, at which point he curses, “Mistress,” grunts, and seizes up as he coats her walls with his release.
Her entire body goes limp, heavy with exhaustion and bliss, and she moans in contentment that he’s still inside her, even as he’s softening. She could happily lie in bed with him all day, fucking over and over again. It is the sort of thing she indulged in several times back when she was the Mistress and he was the Captain. But it was never like this. It was always her in control, not him, and there was always a longing for something more that filled her with guilt.
But the way that he drops kisses on her shoulder as he thrusts gently, pushing his seed further and further inside of her, there’s nothing to feel guilty about.
He chose this. He chose her. When she was a whore. Now that she’s a princess. When she healed him. When she needed him to strengthen her. He’s chosen to be with her and stuck around in a way she’d never allowed herself to believe could be possible.
“You’re still here,” Killian murmurs against her skin. “Did I imagine last night?”
Emma shakes her head and leans into his touch. “No. Did I imagine what you just said?” She twists her neck, lowering her shoulder and he kisses her as she wants. “You want to marry me?”
Killian’s eyebrows rise into an amused, flirty expression. She loves that. She loves the way she’s been able to get to know him these last few weeks - to see his full personality.
“Surely that isn’t a surprise.”
But it is. Why would she assume a fearsome pirate would ever want to get married? Before, to a whore who could never be faithful to him. Now, to a princess, living in a world that will always look down on him.
Emma ignores the tenor of his response. She turns fully in his arms, whimpering at the loss of him inside of her body, but quickly tangling their legs together and dropping a kiss onto his sweat-slicked chest.
“You want to get married soon,” she says, matter-of-fact.
“I would marry you today, love.” Killian’s fingers trace the line of her jaw and she doesn’t have to look up to know how serious his expression is right now. “I would marry you this exact moment and not leave this bed for weeks.” His kiss drops on the top of her head before he pulls her even closer.
“I am not going anywhere. I am not giving you up. I thought I explained that.”
Emma feels his determination and it soothes her. His incomprehensible devotion, it bolsters her.
Eventually, Emma rings for her ladies in waiting, who bring a tray of food for two as they’ve missed both breakfast and lunch. Emma wolfs a few bites down and Killian remains on the bed, naked beneath the sheets, leaning against the headboard with all of his calm arrogance returned, and he takes a large bite of a nectarine as he watches her get dressed.
His gaze is heavy. Unwavering. Comforting.
Killian tangles their fingers together once they make their way out of her chambers and through the castle, following the bustle of noise and activity to the Council chambers. The guard outside gives Killian a look of suspicion, one Killian returns with a wide, toothy smile, but a glance at their joined hands has the man rethinking his first instinct to block their entrance, and his lips thin as he opens the door.
Inside, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.
It seems as though every member of the Council has made it for today’s gathering. Convenient, as they were all present the night before. Blue - the leader of the fairy folk - sits on her mother’s shoulder, frowning deeply. King David is on Queen Snow’s right side and her dear friend Grumpy - a dwarf - is on Snow’s left. He is frowning as well. Emma spots Sir Graham and his wife Lady Red. The couple joined them for dinner three nights ago and had completely opposite opinions on Emma’s pirate. Graham had joined with her father’s hatred of him. But Lady Red had flirted with him - she is still quite beautiful in her middle age - and Emma had been more relieved than jealous. She figured that Killian could use more friends with her parents’ ears.
Among the other Council members - some Emma recognizes, some that she can only identify from the sketches her mother showed her - are Prince Philip and Lily, sitting cozily side-by-side. Emma has never before seen Prince Philip in the Council chambers. Although he’s royalty of an aligned kingdom and her own betrothed, he’s strictly stayed out of Misthaven’s business, something for which Emma has been grateful.
Apparently Prince Philip has some sense of boundaries.
Or he did.
“Emma!”
Queen Snow stands up and throws her arms around Emma, kissing her cheek and lingering for a moment and sighing, as though relieved to see Emma up and moving. Emma leans into the embrace, seeking the same solace her mother tried to provide the night before, and, not for the first time, she wonders what life would have been like if she’d been able to grow up with this woman as a mentor, as a mother.
Would she have been braver? Stronger? Kinder?
“How are you, sweetheart?” Snow asks, hands cupping Emma’s cheeks and eyes scanning her face. Snow’s voice is quiet enough that no one else can overhear, even though the room, which had been filled with a cacophony of voices a moment ago, is silent.
“We’re gonna be fine,” Emma replies at the same volume. She squeezes Killian’s hand, which she had refused to release even though Snow was hugging her. She’s done with hiding. She’s done with all of that.
Queen Snow’s eyes dart to the pirate and, after a moment of hesitation, she throws her arms around him as well, ignoring the few gasps in the room and someone’s annoyed harumph. Killian tenses for an instant, eyes wide, and as Emma recalls his recoil the night before at the idea of being touched by anyone else, she begins the motion of pulling her mother away from her Captain.
And then, it all changes. Killian’s eyes close and he leans into the embrace, bringing his hooked arm around Snow’s body and pressing the curve of the weapon against her back. His entire body relaxes for just a breath, his fingers even relaxing in Emma’s hold, and he murmurs, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and when she pulls away, there is dampness in the corner of one eye.
“We weren’t sure if you two were going to be present today,” Snow says, louder, voice now businesslike as she smooths down the front of her gown. “Last night was trying and so I told the servants not to wake you.” She gives Grumpy a significant look and he stands up with a scowl and vacates his seat, which should belong to Emma. “But I am glad that you are here now. We’re still in the midst of discussing what to do next.”
The barrage of noise that had preceded their entrance returns at full force and Emma blinks, stepping back slightly on instinct, but the queen only holds up a single finger and it all falls silent.
“Sit, Emma. We’d like your opinion.”
Emma stays right where she is.
“You’ll want Captain Jones’s as well. He and Rumpelstiltskin go back centuries. His knowledge is invaluable.”
Emma stares the room down, waiting for their protestations. She may be leaning on Killian’s specialized history, but that is merely an excuse. Most of all, she wants to know if her pirate will ever be welcome at a table like this. Because, despite his self-serving attitude when it comes to things like laws and ownership, Killian’s knowledge of politics across the realm and his natural leadership are invaluable skills no matter what foe Misthaven may face.
But does anyone else see that? Or will Emma be forced to choose between the life she never got to have and the man that she loves?
King David clears his throat significantly. His eyes flick from Killian to a servant in the corner.
“Bring over a chair for Hook.” His jaw clenches. “Next to my daughter.”
There is a shuffling of seats and movement and, though Killian goes to pull out Emma’s chair, her father gets there first, and Killian swallows heavily before backing away and sitting beside her. David pulls his daughter into his arms, his hand cupping the back of her head like an infant, and his chest rises and falls with a deep breath.
“I thought we lost you again,” he whispers, quiet enough for her ears only. Emma shakes her head and pulls back.
“You didn’t,” she assures him. Her voice is thick with emotion. She’s forged a relationship with her mother, her mentor as the future queen, someone who doesn’t judge what she did to keep a roof over her head. But her father has felt further away. His eyes are surprisingly soft at this moment and Emma realizes that she’s never allowed herself to fully comprehend that he, too, loves her.
Imperfectly. Not without stumbles and discomfort. But still. He loves her. Just for a second she catches a glimpse of the grief he felt over the twenty-eight years when he believed her lost. And she would bet everything that if he loved her mother less, he’d never have been able to make it through that pain.
Emma pulls her father back into another embrace, not allowing herself to break - not here, not now, not in front of this crowd - but allowing herself to feel like his daughter, like his baby girl, and begin appreciating his love just for what it is.
“Love?” Killian murmurs when she sits down. The weight of his hand on her thigh is heavy and comforting, and Emma places her palm on top of his hand and gives him a gentle squeeze.
“I’m fine,” she lies. His eyes say that he doesn’t believe her. “Fine enough,” she amends. Another squeeze and Emma straightens her spine and surveys the table of Council members.
“I’m not sure what I missed,” she says, breaking into the whispered side conversations, and suddenly everyone goes as quiet as they were for her mother. Pushing down her vulnerability and fear, she continues addressing the Council. “Did you already discuss why the Dark One couldn’t take my heart?”
All eyes turn to Blue and Emma follows their gaze.
“True Love,” she says simply, sweetly. Emma bites her lower lip to hold in her gasp.
True Love? With- with Killian? Or-
He feels her tense and his wrist flips so that their fingers lace together.
The Blue Fairy continues. “Your parents’ True Love is a rare and powerful thing. And such a thing can withstand even the forces of darkness. At the very least, I believe you to have a natural ability to shield yourself from dark magic attacks. At the most, it could be that you have an inclination toward spellcasting and can be taught how to use magic yourself.”
Emma’s heart stops beating and all the noise in the room gets very quiet for a moment. Her? A spellcaster? A magic user? Emma’s mind struggles to adjust to this idea - as unlikely as the concept, just a few weeks ago, of her being the Crown fucking Princess. Emma shakes her head slightly, trying to clear it, and a shoulder presses against her own.
Killian’s spicy scent helps draw her back to the present, along with the teasing words he whispers into her ear.
“I already knew you had a magical cunt, Mistress. It cast a bloody spell on me.”
Emma huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes. Killian’s humor makes everything suddenly seem less serious, and she shoots him a thankful glance.
“I suppose we could address that another time,” Emma proclaims, all eyes darting back to her. She takes a deep breath, setting aside her shock at Blue’s revelation. “For now, let’s address the most pressing issue.” Emma turns fully to Killian, breaking their hold under the table and steepling her hands beneath her chin.
“Captain Jones has been attempting to kill the Dark One for centuries. Captain, if you would please elucidate us on Rumpelstiltskin’s weaknesses and known motivations.”
Despite the fact that Emma had fought for Killian to have a place seated beside her, the pirate immediately stands, his feet shoulder-length apart, hand grasping his hook behind his back and cutting a very impressive, very imposing figure in this room of leaders.
Gods does she want him to fuck her on this table.
As Killian launches into what he’s learned about the history of Dark Ones, the location and protections around the Dark Castle, and some of Rumpelstiltskin’s nefarious deals with a number of leaders across the realm, Emma has to keep reminding herself that pulling up her skirts and stroking her wet cunt would not be a good impression for her first Council meeting. She’s next to her mother, for heaven’s sake.
But Killian is incredibly attractive like this. Emma can easily picture him giving his men orders aboard his ship in this exact same stance - solid and commanding. In charge. Self-assured. And there’s a not-so-small part of her that’s proud to see her Captain, her pirate, so confident, knowing that she helped turn the facade into fact.
He’s amazing. In complete control of the room. He answers every question calmly and thoroughly. Lady Red looks as though she too is holding back from throwing herself at the Captain. And even the General of Misthaven’s forces is giving Killian looks of begrudging respect. Once the questions begin darting around the room about if they should mount an attack on the Dark One, how they should go about it, and when such a thing should happen, it is Killian who brings the room back to silence by raising his hook.
“I feel as though we are forgetting something important.” Killian clears his throat and looks straight at her mother. “The Crocodile demanded my heart. I could give it to him.”
The silence is heavy with tension. Indeed, it does seem the simplest solution. Simple, but unthinkable.
Emma is halfway out of her seat when Killian’s hand firmly lands on her shoulder, pushing her back down, his gaze unwavering from the Queen of Misthaven. Emma’s own heart plummets to the bottom of her stomach.
A pause.
“We are not doing that, Captain.” Snow White’s voice is clear and calm. As commanding as Killian’s had been, but quieter and sweeter. The way she responds leaves no room for arguments, even as Emma’s eyes dart around the chamber and memorize all of the dissatisfied frowns that greet the monarch’s pronouncement.
“Why?”
All gazes fly to Sir Graham, who had remained silent during the course of the meeting, keeping his own counsel while whittling a piece of wood. He’s still working on it, even as he interjects, however, perhaps feeling the weight of focus shift to him, his eyes rise up along with a single eyebrow, nonchalant.
“I wouldn’t expect you to question my decision to protect someone’s heart from being stolen from them, old friend,” Snow says drily. There is a small smile in the corner of her mouth and Emma wonders if there’s a story there that Emma has yet to be told.
Graham’s face remains impassive, but his brow softens slightly. “Of course not,” he murmurs. His focus shifts to Killian and he cocks his head. “I just wondered why he wants your heart so badly, Hook.”
The huntsman’s eyes drop back to his project, returning to his whittling as though he hasn’t just thrown everyone off-balance, and this time when Emma attempts to stand, Killian allows her to do so.
Every instinct in Emma’s body screams at her that she needs to check in with her Captain. Old traumas are resurfacing, old histories are being dredged up, and she knows that this cannot be easy for him. She knows how his body can betray him and he can get lost in his mind, living the horror of waking nightmares. Ignoring the room full of Misthaven’s leaders gaping at them, Emma takes Killian’s hand back in her own and steps closer to pull him to her and gauge his emotions.
There is no need. Killian is grinning at Sir Graham, something wild and free, and Emma’s heart lurches in confusion.
“Bloody hell,” he chuckles. Killian repeats himself. “Bloody fucking hell!” His voice is booming, echoing around the space, and Emma is sure that a few of the stuffier Council members are offended - including her own father - but Killian’s amusement is contagious and she smiles, having absolutely no idea what she is smiling about.
Killian pulls Emma closer before she can take the step of her own free will, and for a wild moment she thinks he must be seeking comfort, but instead he pulls her back slightly so that he can speak more directly to her mother, on her other side.
“He wants to break the Dark Curse. He doesn’t want to be the Dark One any longer. I once found a ritual to break the Dark One from the curse, but since it required the heart of someone who knew the creature before the curse, I ruled it out on principle.” Killian smirks down on Emma, every inch the debonair rogue. “Naturally I wanted to be the one who skinned the Crocodile, not another in my place.” His focus returns to Snow, quick as a whip. “If the Crocodile desires to break the curse without it killing him, that is a vulnerability we can exploit.”
The Captain’s eyes sweep the room, landing on the General, a broad, dark man named Julius.
“Years ago, I encountered a prisoner in this castle, being held by the Evil Queen. I thought she had once been a captive of the Dark One, but I soon realized that she had fallen in love with the beast. I assume Queen Snow and King David released her along with other prisoners after Regina’s fall. If there are records of where she’s gone, perhaps she could provide insights on the Crocodile’s change of heart.”
General Julius’s eyes meet Snow’s for just a moment, confirming her agreement, before he nods, and his leaving the room spurs the adjournment of the entire Council, now feeling as though they have made some headway on deciding how to handle the matter of the Dark One and his interest in the apparent pet of the returned princess.
“Well, no one threw me to the wolves, Highness,” Killian mutters in her ear, pulling her even closer to his side so that he can be heard through the chatter of the room.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Emma sniffs. Her free hand wraps around Killian’s arm, keeping him from letting her go, and though half the room is trying to pretend as though they aren’t gaping at the pair of them, Emma couldn’t care less. He is her pirate, and she intends to keep him.
“Because my Mistress is so bloody terrifying,” Killian teases, eyes sparkling.
Emma smirks, but cannot help getting serious with him.
“Because you were so bloody brilliant,” she praises under her breath, impersonating his rhythm of speech and delighting in the way the tips of his ears turn pink and his whole demeanor changes. He blossoms under her affections, with her praise, and she luxuriates in the way that she can turn him both soft and hard with a few carefully-selected words.
She leans in closer, turning her back to the room. “I want to fuck you on this table.”
Killian goes still.
“Mistress,” he breathes.
Emma turns her head and inhales deeply, restraining herself from nibbling on the shell of his ear or running her tongue along the strong line of his jaw.
“I take it back.” Killian’s body tenses. “I want you to fuck me on this table. I don’t know that you understand how unbelievably handsome you are when you’re in your element and in charge.”
Emma spent her entire adult life trying to manipulate strong, influential men who have used their powers for ill. She took her time breaking them down and building them back up into kinder, more compassionate leaders. And every step of the way, it was their submission that she craved, their weakness.
Killian Jones is the first man that she rejoiced in watching be strong. This is the first time that she hasn’t found strength something to be afraid of, but to be relished. She’s proud of his strength, and she longs to watch it continue to grow and develop and thrive side-by-side with her own.
She can’t imagine a better partner for her. A better prince beside the princess. A better king beside the queen.
The room is halfway emptied when General Julius returns with a few pieces of parchment. He goes straight to Emma’s parents and Killian, noticing, walks the two of them closer to the conversation.
“That is a three day journey,” David says, a frown deepening the lines in his face. He looks between Snow and Julius and nods, resolute. “We gather supplies today and leave at first light.”
“We?” Snow looks up at him, hopeful, but he shakes his head.
“We all know you must remain here, sweetheart.” David kisses the back of Snow’s hand with the familiarity of decades of doing it, but she still looks at him with a brightness in her eyes as though it is the first time.
“I will send some of my best men with you, Your Majesty,” Julius assures the king. “We should be prepared for anything.”
There’s a way that Killian tenses beside Emma that acts as a warning before he says words that she never expected.
“I quite agree.” Killian takes a deep breath and his eyes catch her father’s. “Which is why you should take me with you as well, Your Majesty.”
Tagging folks who might be interested - Let me know if you want on or off this list!
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