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[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Trying Something New: Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief -- a Captain Swan, Once Upon a Time fanfiction

Summary: 

After Rumplestiltskin traps Emma and Killian in the past, they manage to escape him and realize they will have to live in the past in order to catch up to the future.

Read on fanfiction.net or AO3 or below.

Note: Remember that Emma and Killian have given themselves the aliases of Emily and Colin, and they told Marian that her name was Maria. So any POVs that aren't Killian or Emma with an exception or two, will call them Colin and Emily and Maria. I know it will be confusing for a bit, but that's partly why I chose names so close to their actual names, not just to help Emma and Killian remember but to help readers as well.

For my own sanity, Marian's POVs the narration still calls her Marian, but she will call herself Maria. 

Also, while I was writing the muse went wild and decided to bring in a character from a certain kingdom that I wasn't prepared for. 

And the muse decided Killian's new backstory, not me. I don't know why I let the muse out of the kennel, because she always goes wild. 

Hope you guys enjoy. 

Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief

When they arrived in town, Killian led them to an inn further away from the docks where it wasn’t all that busy. The small inn looked quite cozy with its brick facade and warm light shining through the windows. 

He opened the door for Emma and Marian, allowing them to enter first. 

Emma was relieved to be inside where it was warm and where she was one step closer to a bed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could’ve spent walking, even with Killian's support. She felt like a freight train hit her and she'd collapse at any moment. 

The late fall chill was settling in and soon enough winter would be coming. Emma hoped they’d be back home by then if she could get that stupid wand to actually work. 

“May I help you?” An older woman with a kind smile, but sharp brown eyes, looked at them from behind round glasses. 

“Yes, milady.” Killian stepped forward with a charming smile. “My wife,” he motioned to Emma, “our companion,” he motioned to Marian, “and I were all traveling on our way to your lovely town when our horses were stolen.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “Oh my dears, I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

Killian played his part well as he asked her for two rooms; one for Marian and one for them. 

The older woman looked at Emma softly, clearly pleased that a young, newly married couple (according to Killian’s story) were planning on making Marawick Harbor their home. As Killian laid on the charm, Emma smiled small and shy, acting the part of the blushing bride. Honestly, she was too tired to try to speak and add to their act.  

Marian smiled as well, but with her memories gone, she wasn’t too confident in her interactions. 

“Of course, dear.” The old lady smiled a little bigger. “I’m Mrs. Wright. How long will you three be staying with us?”

“Well, we’ll be here for a while.” Killian said. “It might take some time to find more permanent lodgings.”

“Oh how wonderful.” Mrs. Wright smiled. “Since you don’t know how long you’ll stay, perhaps pay for five days and should you find more permanent lodgings before then, you’ll be reimbursed.”

“A lovely idea.” Killian said. “I’ll be paying for both rooms. Poor Maria here lost the most in the robbery. She helped us when we needed it, so it’s only fair to return the favor.”

Emma looked around as the prices were discussed and the room paid for; it was very clean and tidy, which gave her hopes for their room. It was then that Emma realized a flaw in the marriage plan. They’d be getting one room which very likely would have just one bed. Even if it was a big bed, it was still one bed. They’d slept near each other before, camping out in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland, but this would be different. They’d be in closer quarters for one thing. He’d probably be a gentleman and take the floor, but having slept in worse places, Emma didn’t want him to suffer a full five nights or longer if they couldn’t find a place to live. 

“Ready, my love?” Killian asked, turning to her. 

Marian was already following Mrs. Wright up the stairs. 

Emma smiled and took his arm again. Her heart skipped hearing the “my” before love, but she knew that it was just for show for the old lady. Of course, he had feelings for her, but he couldn’t love her so soon? Well, all right, they’d known each other for over a year and a half, but the better part of it they were separated and she hadn’t even remembered him. 

They were led to a room on the second floor, the lady unlocked one for Marian and then the one across the hall for them. One key went to Marian and the other to Killian. “A hot bath will be brought up shortly for both of you young ladies.”

Emma and Marian both thanked her. When Mrs. Wright disappeared, Emma stepped towards Marian. “I could heal your head if you’d like.” Really Emma felt obligated to since they caused her head injury, but she wasn't sure if she could stand to use more magic. 

Marian shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve done so much for me already. Both of you. I don’t even know where to begin thanking you.”

“No need to worry about it.” Killian reassured her. 

Marian smiled before entering her own bedroom. 

“So what do we do now?” Emma asked once they were ensconced in the sanctuary of their private room. Emma unbuttoned her cape, glancing at the single bed at the center of the room. It looked to be about full sized. That would be close sleeping quarters. Emma draped her cape over the back of the armchair by the fire, which was low, but still burning. She ignored the singular bed for now, moving instead to sit in the armchair in front of the fireplace. It was a great relief to sit down. 

“Well, if we’ve learned anything on this adventure, we can’t mess with the main timeline.” Killian said, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. “So best thing to do is stay low. We’ll need to find work and a place to live since we don’t know how long we’ll be here. Marawick is a busy port, but it’s far from your parents and Regina.” He explained. “I can guarantee my crew only docked here in emergencies, and since we know my ship, should that happen, we can easily avoid that.” 

“Okay.” Emma nodded. “What job is low profile?” 

“What skills do you have?” Killian asked. 

“Well, I’m a former thief, waitress, bail bonds person, and sheriff.” Emma said. “I doubt the Enchanted Forest has many female law enforcement officers.”

“Well the military is the law.” Killian said. “But you’re not wrong. Female soldiers are unheard of. I’m not sure about waitresses, but a barmaid might be too risky, especially if someone we knew or my past self showed up.”

Emma could agree with that. In her time, bar brawls were a constant, so she expected taverns in this day and age would be full of fights that would draw way too much attention. “So that leaves me with nothing.” 

“We’ll figure it out, Swan.” Killian reassured her. “We just have to stick together.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

His heart stuttered a bit in surprise before he smiled shyly at her.

Emma’s own heart skipped a beat. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Hurrying over to the door, Killian opened it to find maids with the bath. Once it was settled and they were given towels, rags, and soap, the women asked if anything else was needed. 

“No, thank you.” Emma smiled, allowing Killian to usher the maids away.

Killian set up the privacy screen. “I can leave if you’d like.” 

“The privacy screen is enough.” Emma said, walking behind it. She saw Killian’s silhouette through it due to the firelight behind him. She watched him sit in the armchair, which had its back to Emma. As she took off her clothes, hanging them up, she realized that they didn’t have clothes for bed. With how much magic she used today, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to use it anymore. “What about you?” Emma asked, making conversation to distract herself from that line of thought.

“I can live without one.” Killian said. He took a seat in another armchair and closed his eyes. It had been quite an exhausting couple of days. 

“Why don’t you use the bath after me? I’ll be quick so the water will be warm.” Emma suggested as she soaped herself up. 

“Don’t worry about me, love.” Killian said. “Also, soap in this time isn’t used in hair. You’ll have to use hair oil. Over there on the vanity.” 

Emma glanced over towards the vanity where there were a few bottles of oil, a hairbrush, a comb, a hand mirror, and other items sat ready for use. “Killian, we can both take a bath. We both need it.”

Killian wasn’t too sure about that. Then he looked over at the bed. The lone bed. That was an easy enough fix. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

A huff of frustration left Emma over the subject change. Why was he being so stubborn? “We’re adults, Jones. We can responsibly share a bed.”

He sighed, sensing that they’d only end up arguing more about it if he didn’t concede. Maybe she’d fall asleep first and he could sneak onto the floor. It probably wouldn’t effect her as much as it would him for them to share a bed together anyway. “Fine.”

Emma knew the conversation wasn't over and he was still going to fight her on this, but Emma was tired enough to take whatever victories she could get. Sinking into the warm, steaming water, Emma bit back a moan of pleasure. It wouldn’t do to make sex sounds in mixed company, particularly company she knew would enjoy hearing those sounds. Despite the warm water, thinking about sex and Killian in the same go sent a thrill down her spine. Stop it, Emma. Come on, you can’t think about this. When you get back home and things settle down, then you and Killian can have a long talk. 

Emma continued to lather herself up, trying to dismiss the man from her thoughts, despite him being only feet away. 

Killian stared into the fire, desperately trying to block out the sounds of water splashing behind him. The last thing he needed was picturing Emma naked and wet. Shaking his head, he thought about the next steps that needed to be taken. They needed more clothes. Emma couldn’t keep conjuring things or transforming items. She was hiding it, but he could tell that her magic was draining her. Perhaps in the morning, they could go to a tailor and order some clothes. He’d also have to give some money to Marian as she was as much his responsibility now as Emma, even if he felt Emma was his priority above all else. 

He walked over to where he left his coat and took it back to the armchair. Going through his pockets, he emptied everything out onto a small circular table beside the armchair just to double check how much he had after paying for the rooms in advance. A handful of gold and silver coins, which would last them awhile. Various jewelry pieces with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and opals. Those would fetch a good price. He’d probably use up the coin they had while job and house hunting and save the jewelry for emergencies. He returned everything to his pockets and realized the room was silent. He looked over at the privacy screen. “Emma?” 

There was no answer. 

“Emma?” He called again. When there was still no answer, Killian hesitated, but he had a feeling she’d fallen asleep. Carefully, he peaked around the screen, trying not to see anything he shouldn’t. As he looked, he saw Emma was asleep, her head bent back over the tub rim, hair cascading out. Knowing how tired she was, he was loathed to wake her, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to get her out of bath without her consent. He walked over, kneeling next to the tub. Reaching out his hand, he gently shook her exposed shoulder with his hand. “Emma, love, wake up.”

It took a few more shakes and calling her name for her eyes to flutter open. “Killian?” 

“You fell asleep in the tub.” Killian explained. He stepped away and grabbed a towel as Emma moved to sit up. He held it out for her, diverting his eyes. 

Emma sleepily stood up in the tub and took the towel from Killian, shakily wrapping it around her body. She swayed a bit as the fog of sleep refused to clear. Damn, her magic took more out of her than she thought.

Realizing that Emma was still tired, Killian held his hand and fake hand out to her. “Here, love.”

Emma took his hand and allowed him to hook his arm around her to help her out of the tub. “Thanks.” As she steadied herself, she looked up at him. “We don’t have sleeping clothes.”

And she was too tired to conjure any. Killian understood her meaning. “Go ahead and dry off. You can sleep in my shirt.”

Emma nodded and walked over to the bed. 

Killian quickly unbuttoned his vest and hung it up, before pulling off his shirt. He walked over to find Emma sitting on the bed, wrapped in her towel. “Here you are.” He set the shirt beside her and turned away. 

Quickly Emma shrugged on the shirt over the towel. She stood up, straightening the shirt, and dropping the towel to the floor. She pulled back the covers and fell into the bed, letting sleep claim her once more. 

Killian turned after a few minutes and saw Emma passed out, the covers haphazardly over her. His brows drew together with concern. He shouldn’t have pushed her to use her magic so much when she wasn’t used to it. Walking over to her, Killian properly tucked her in before taking his own bath. The water was lukewarm, but that was fine. At least he’d get clean. Once he was done, he took a throw blanket and the other pillow and made a pallet on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept on worse. Finally letting the days catch up to him, Killian let his exhaustion take over and he soon fell asleep. 

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

After her bath, Marian realized since they were robbed, she had no other clothes. She dried off and decided to sleep in her tunic and undergarments. There was no money on her, so she wasn’t going to be able to buy much of anything without a job. 

Colin had been too kind to pay for her room for the week; he and Emily both did so much for her that she felt she could never repay them. 

Still, her lack of memory didn’t sit well with her. Her head ached, but it dull now. Colin and Emily looked so surprised at her amnesia that Marian doubted they were involved. They’d been so kind she doubted there was anything nefarious motivating them to help her. 

But why could’t she remember anything? Even her own name eluded her until Colin told her it was Maria. Her name didn’t feel quite right, but if that’s the name they knew, surely it had to be her name? Who was Maria though? Where was she from? Why had she been on her way to Marawick Harbor? Did she have family here? Or had she left family behind her?

It was all so confusing and overwhelming. 

Dressing for bed, Marian tried hard to think of anything. What was her mother’s name? Her father’s? Did she have any siblings? Aunts? Uncles?

Nothing came to her. Her mind filled with absolute nothingness.

She fell into bed, her dull ache pounding as her mind fought to uncover its secrets. 

Tears filled her eyes as a deep sense of pain and loneliness overcame her. No one knew who she was, not really, and she had no memory of those who knew her. Colin and Emily, kind as they were, were strangers. Even they admitted they’d only just met her on their travels; likely they’d known her for a day or two at most. 

Why had she been traveling alone before? Perhaps she was independent and stubborn. Had she decided to go out on her own? Had she left a home behind to forge a new path?

Her pillow muffled her sobs as Marian allowed the emotions of the day to possess her. 

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

He was up before the sun, still feeling exhaustion in his bones. Pushing himself up, Killian looked up at the bed from his position on the floor, finding Emma still asleep. Good, she deserved rest after everything that she’d been through. Unfortunately, that also meant that he couldn’t get his shirt back just yet. He hoped to get some things done this morning, but he didn’t want to wake her. Perhaps he could don his vest and coat, but that would get him some strange stares. It wasn't cold enough to have his coat fully buttoned up. No, he’d just have to wait until Emma awoke. 

Killian rose from the floor and stretched away the soreness from the past few days and sleeping on the floor. After a good stretch, he went over to where the water pitcher was and poured a glass. Leaning against the dresser, he watched Emma sleep while he drank the water. Sometime in the middle of the night, she moved to the middle of the bed, her arm stretched out over one side. Her face was relaxed in sleep, not peaceful, but at least open and unguarded. It was a nice sight to see. One day, he hoped to see her unguarded in her conscience state as well. 

He wondered if Marian was doing all right. Before they headed out into town, he’d need to give her some money to buy herself some things. While they had to look out for Marian, Killian wished he could keep his focus on Emma. Even though Marian had no memories, surely some things from her life still stuck with her, but Emma was completely new to this world and he had to help her learn. It would be hard to help her with Marian around and not raise Marian’s suspicions. 

When he finished his water, he perused the room for something to do. There were a few books, but nothing piqued his interest, so he chose to sit in the armchair. Once Emma was awake, they’d dress and get Marian and then get some breakfast. Then they’d get clothes and much needed items. After that, permanent lodgings would be a priority. Jobs would be another matter. Since this was a port town, perhaps he could be a fisherman or find some job on the docks. Those were the ones he was best qualified for. For Emma, that would be a little harder. Marian was another story altogether. 

They agreed a barmaid was too risky for Emma. There weren’t truly any jobs that her bail bonds or sheriff skills would be of use. It truly was unfortunate how limited jobs for women were in the Enchanted Forest. There had to be something that Emma could do. Though they wouldn’t know what jobs were even available until they ventured out in the town.

He watched the sun rise through the window of the inn, lost in thought as his mind turned to ways to return to their future. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t a viable option, but Killian didn’t know much of other sorcerers or witches around who could help. They still had the wand, of course, but Emma hadn’t gotten it to work. He wasn’t sure if Rumplestiltskin had been lying or not, but if he’d been telling the truth and Emma’s magic was back, then why hadn’t it worked? What was keeping them here?

As the morning sun rose higher, Killian's attention returned to Emma. Concerned that she wasn't waking, he walked over to the bed, sitting at her side. Gently, Killian brushed a few errant locks away from her face. "Emma?" 

No response. She was breathing; her chest rising and falling steadily. 

That was a relief, but Killian wondered if her magic use had unintended consequences. "Emma, love, can you wake up for me?" 

Not even a groan or grumble left her. She was warm to the touch, but not feverish. She was sleeping, just not waking. 

There was a knock on their room door.

Killian silently cursed. Clearly her magic exhausted her, but it wasn't something he could explain to the maids. Not if they wanted to keep her magic secret. "Who is it?"

"It's Maria." Marian called through the door. 

Killian waked over to the door and opened it, pulling her inside, before shutting the door. 

Marian registered that he was shirtless and tensed up. "Now just wait a minute, you cannot just manhandle..."

"I know, I'm sorry." Killian said, cutting her off. "Emily isn't waking up." He headed back towards the bed, not sure what to do. 

"What do you mean she's not waking up?" Marian followed him, concerned. 

"I think she used too much magic." It was the only thing Killian could think of for Emma's state. "She's not use to using it so much."

Guilt settled in Marian's gut. Hadn't she pushed Emily to use her magic? "What can I do to help?"

Killian brushed his hand against Emma's cheek. He figured she'd be all right for now if she was just sleeping off the ill effects, though Killian worried about just how long Emma would stay like this. "For now, I don't think there's anything we can do." He turned to Marian. "I need to go around town and get some things done. Since we didn't have sleeping clothes, Emily borrowed my shirt. Can you help me change her into her undergarments?" 

Marian nodded, walking over to the vanity where Killian folded up Emma's clothes the night before. 

Killian leaned over Emma and whispered. "Forgive me love. I'll be on my best behavior." His joke fell flat even for him. 

When Marian brought Emma's undergarments and tunic over, they worked together to undress her and redress her, Killian keeping his touch as light and noninvasive as possible without causing suspicion. After all, he was meant to be Emma's husband. This wasn't supposed to be the first time he ever saw her fully unclothed. With Marian's help though, it was a quick process. 

"Could you stay here with her?" Killian asked Marian. "I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Not at all." Marian said. "You've done so much for me, this is the least I can do."

Killian nodded gratefully. He pulled on his shirt and began to fully dress for the day. "I don't know if a healer can help her, but I look around for one. I have other things to do, but I'll come check in when I can. If there are any changes, send someone for me." He ensured all of his coins and jewels were on him. Once he was ready, Killian couldn't help himself, he went back to Emma and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back, Swan." He whispered. "I promise you'll be all right." 

He turned to Marian. "Take care of her." 

"I will." Marian said, not sure exactly what she else she could do.

Killian left the room with a determined stride. He needed to find a healer, but not just any healer. He needed one who understood or had magic. Could he find one here? 

Mrs. Wright might know where to start. 

He headed down to the front desk. 

"Good morning, Mr. Jones." Mrs. Wright greeted. Then she saw his grim expression. "Is everything all right?"

"My wife seems to have fallen ill." Killian said. "Do you know where I can find a healer?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Wright said. "There's a woman who lives near the docks. Vivienne Wilder. I'm not one to fall ill myself, but others say her touch is like magic."

Magic. That intrigued him. "Thank you, Mrs. Wright."

Now, he needed to find out if it was like magic or actual magic. 

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

“Oh leave me alone.” An old man growled at the young woman standing before him. His scowl deepened the wrinkles on his pale face. One milky blue eye didn’t see ahead of him, while the other glared at Vivienne Wilder, the resident healer of the Wharf.

Vivienne, who looked in her twenties, sported long black hair in a tight bun. Sepia skin stood out underneath her pale yellow top, and her brown corset and skirts were plain. Sharp dark eyes rested under an arched brow. “Mr. Holbrook, I need to check your ankle.”

“Grandpa.” A young red-haired girl of about ten poked the older man in the shoulder. “Let Miss Vivienne take a look. Grandma says it’s been bothering you.”

“I don’t need no healer.” Mr. Holbrook huffed. “Me ankle is just fine.”

His granddaughter shook her head and spoke to the healer. “Grandma says he’s been limping for days now. Thinks he pulled something.”

“You hush now, Eileen.” Mr. Holbrook admonished. “I can move around just fine.”

“Mr. Holbrook, are you in pain or is your ankle just causing discomfort?” Vivienne asked, deciding to ignore his cantankerousness. 

Holbrook huffed. “It’s just fine I tell you.”

Vivienne shook her head. “Fine. If it’s causing true pain I suggest drinking a cup of ginger tea in the morning and at night.” She handed a vial of oil to Eileen. “Also, rub rosemary oil along the ankle every night and wrap it in a cold compress.” 

“How much for the oil?” Eileen asked.

Vivienne smiled. “No charge this time, but if he’s still having problems, let me know.”

“I ain’t having problems.” Holbrook grumbled. 

Vivienne shook her head and walked away. Mr. Holbrook would come around; he was just old and stubborn. She needed to see to other patients. While she'd lived in Marawick Harbor for just over a year, it took time to earn trust and build up her reputation. 

It wasn’t the first time she had to start over and she doubted it would be the last. There were times she missed home, of course, but going back wasn’t an option. 

As Vivienne turned up an alley, an old woman caught her eye. Wrap in a cloak of black, with silver hair framing her ancient features. 

The Crone’s grey eyes pierced Vivienne in place.

Vivienne curtsied. “Well met, Wise One.” 

“Well met, daughter.” The Crone said. “Lir’s son returns. He has the Light with him.” The Crone was never one to beat around the bush. 

Vivienne’s heart stopped for a long moment. “The older one or the younger one?” 

The Crone grinned showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “The younger one.”

“And he has a Savior with him?” Vivienne scoffed. She remembered him well. Always trailing after her and his brother. Unlike his brother, Lir’s younger son inherited the sea’s tempestuous nature. Leap first, think never. 

“Not just any Savior.” The Crone said. “The Savior. The one to finish what your father began.” 

Disbelief was a rather paltry term for what Vivienne felt in that moment. “The Savior?” It took a moment longer to compose herself. That’s why the Crone was here. “You need something of me?”

“The Savior is untrained. Reckless with her magic.” The Crone said. Her ancient eyes looked Vivienne up and down. “You’ll have to do.” 

“Me?” It didn’t take long for her to understand. “Me? You want me to train the Savior in the craft?” 

“It isn’t as though your father is available.” The Crone lamented. 

Of course, she’d prefer it if he was. Vivienne thought bitterly. Her father was The Sorcerer after all. “What of Lir’s son?” 

“He remembers nothing.” The Crone shrugged. “That is for the best. He’d be much more dangerous if he did.” The old woman stepped forward, looking Vivienne straight in the eye. “Train the Savior, and you will be rewarded.” Then she disappeared in a swirl of mist. 

“Fuck.” Vivienne cursed. The last person she wanted to deal with was Killian Jones. 

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

His eyes searched the market for a new mark. Sure, he got proper work once in a while being a lamplighter or a courier ever so often, but Dodger couldn’t let his skills get rusty. 

Any thief worth their salt kept perfecting their art. 

A new face to market caught Dodger’s attention. Average looking fellow, with a thick beard. His clothes were rather nice. A determined stride told Dodger the man was on a mission, which meant he’d be too focused on his goal to pay much attention. 

Dodger used the alleys to get ahead of the man. It looked as though the man was headed in the direction of the docks, so Dodger hurried along in between buildings, coming out near the end of the market, closer to the Wharf end. 

He was now in front of his mark, watching the man walk through patrons with ease. Dodger pretended to be looking at stalls as he made his way towards his mark. Passing by closely, Dodger’s feather light touch fished a few coins out of the man’s pocket. 

Smirking at his success, Dodger didn’t expect a hand on his arm, jerking him back. 

Fierce blue eyes glared at him. “I’ll have my coins back, if you please.” 

His mark marked him. Great. Okay, time to play the innocent victim. 

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Dodger’s offended act was instinct. Even as he looked at the man, sensing danger, he thought maybe he could keep it up. After all, how dangerous could this posh bloke be? "Whatever do you mean?"

The man rolled his eyes. “I don’t have times for games. Hand over the coins and I won’t alert the authorities.” He held out his hand expectantly. 

Dodger stepped back to put distance between them. “Good sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about." He needed to convince this man that he was wrong; if he left now, the man would alert the soldiers, and Dodger hadn't gotten caught in Marawick yet, but he didn't have the means to leave the city. 

The man smirked and Dodger's blood ran cold. Calculating anger filled blue eyes. Dodger swallowed. You sure know how to pick 'em, Dodge. 

"Perhaps you didn't hear me clearly." The man stepped closer, hand grabbing Dodger's arm in a vice grip. "I've no time to mess about. Give me my coins, and I won't gut you like a codfish and leave you here for the vultures to pick apart."

Something in the man's eyes made Dodger believe his threats. Unassuming as the man was when Dodger marked him, this man was far from unassuming now. Dodger debated for a moment longer; run or give in. Though he doubt he'd be running from this man for long. He handed the coins over. 

"Thank you," The man grinned tightly before walking off. 

Dodger watched him go, an intense curiosity filling him. Just who was that man?

Don't do it, Dodge. He told himself. Leave it be.

Ah hell, he was the Artful Dodger. When did he ever leave well enough alone?

Dodger kept to the shadows as he followed the man into the Wharf. 

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

Emma woke up in a meadow of pink flowers. The sun shone through the canopy of trees, birds chirped, but the world felt as though it was covered in haze. 

"Killian?" Emma called out. Where was he? Where was the inn? She remembered being in the bath and then briefly Killian helping her out. 

She was fairly certain that she fell asleep in a bed. "Killian?" She slowly stood up, looking around at her surroundings. 

"He isn't here." A man spoke, appearing out of nowhere. 

Emma stepped back. "Who the hell are you?"

The man appeared young, in his late twenties or early thirties, it was hard to tell. He was dressed in a thick, brocade shirt, underneath a brown leather tunic vest, and brown pants. His dark brown eyes felt ancient as they looked her over. "I'm Merlin." He said simply.

Emma stared him down as she processed that. "Bullshit."

Merlin grinned. "You're parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, you've met the Evil Queen, Rumplestiltskin, Peter Pan, and your lover is Captain Hook, but Merlin existing is a stretch?"

"Hook isn't my..." Emma shook her head. "Never mind. So what, Camelot and Excalibur are real too?"

"Indeed they are." Merlin smirked knowingly. "But they are also concerns for another time. Right now, I'm more concerned about your appearance here."

"Where is here?" Emma asked. 

"The Astral Realm." Merlin said. "A plane of existence in between living and dead." He motioned to the meadow around them. "This is the Middlemist Meadow of Camelot. I used to tutor my students here. It's a place I find calming. You see, I'm in between life and death myself, trapped for eternity. This is my piece of home." Merlin focused on Emma. "It worries me that the Savior is here."

"I'm not dying, am I?" Emma asked, fear gripping at her heart. She didn't want to die without seeing her family or Killian again. 

"Depends on how you came to be here." Merlin said. "What happened, Miss Swan?"

"Uh, well, it's a long story." Emma said. 

Merlin smiled patiently, a paternal air about him. It made Emma wonder just how old he truly was. "I have plenty of time." He sat down amongst the flowers and beckoned Emma to join him. 

Warily, Emma joined him, uncertain about whether or not to trust him. Even so, she briefly explained her plight leaving out some details here and there she didn't deem necessary, but explaining about the time travel and her overuse of magic. 

"Ah, so you've been training under the Evil Queen." Merlin said. 

Emma hadn't mentioned that. "How did you know that?" Her eyes narrowed as she leaned away from him.

"The Astral Realm transcends realms." Merlin said. "I can be anywhere, any time, and watch anyone."

"Creepy." Emma huffed. 

Merlin shrugged. "It's useful. I've seen Storybrooke and I'm aware that Regina and the Dark One are the only two people you could learn magic from. Considering your magic is the antithesis to the Dark One, he certainly would never teach you. That leaves Regina, and she isn't one to actually sit you down and explain things."

"You're right about that." Emma said. "So what is happening to me?"

"You're fine." Merlin said. "You're in Healing Sleep."

"What is Healing Sleep?" Emma asked. 

"Magic drains the system." Merlin began. "Regina uses magic all the time, so she's built up a tolerance to the drain. More than that, she also isn't very powerful and limited on how much magic she can expend, so even if she felt the drain, it wouldn't cause total exhaustion. There are certain beings, demigods, products of True Love such as yourself, elves, true sorcerers, who have so much power that it's harder to control. You aren't limited on how much magic you can use like Regina is, which means you can overdraw your power. Thus causing Magical Fatigue. Healing Sleep happens when you over use your magic to the point your body forces you to rest in order to refill your magical reserves."

Disbelief overcame her. "Wait, I have unlimited magic?" 

"No, you have a higher limit of how much magic you can use." Merlin explained patiently. "True Love is the most powerful magic of all, but you don't have the same benefits of other species, who have power. You're still a mortal, you still bleed, and you will fatigue. Even after training and building up your tolerance, you would still need to watch how much magic you call upon." 

"Okay, well, I'm stuck in the past for the next four years," Emma sighed. "I'll need to learn this stuff. I just need to wake up first."

"Fate already has a teacher in mind." Merlin smiled. "You'll meet her soon. As for waking up, well, depending on your body's recovery time and how much magic you used, you could be asleep for days, or weeks, or..."

"Don't finish that sentence." Emma glared. "If you're some great sorcerer, why can't you teach me?"

"I'm indisposed at the moment." Merlin said. "You can only meet me in the Astral Realm, but it's dangerous to spend too much time here if you're a novice. It likes to play tricks sometimes, which means if you aren't careful to spot them, your soul could move on into the Afterlife."

Definitely want to avoid that. Emma thought. "Is there a way to speed up this sleep?"

Merlin's infernal knowing grin returned. "You'll learn in due time. Until then, rest and enjoy the Middlemist." 

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

Marian ate only a little of the soup the maid brought up for her and Emily. She told the maid that Emily was just sleeping off her illness, and she hoped she was right. Emily was still breathing, and she was warm. Nothing seemed amiss other than Emily would not wake. 

Marian attempted to wake her for lunch, but the blonde woman didn't react. Not a mumble from her lips, not a flutter of her eyes. 

She worried that Emily might not ever wake up. Colin was convinced that her magic had something to do with this, and he would know better being Emily's husband. Marian wondered if this was common. She wasn't surprised by magic existing, though her memories were gone, so surely magic was commonplace.

Why then did Colin and Emily want to hide Emily's magic? Was magic good to have, or was it dark? Colin and Emily didn't seem like bad people, and Emily's magic seemed so helpful.

Could she really trust these strangers after all? Or was it better to move on, and try to rebuild her life on her own? Her gut said Colin and Emily didn't mean any harm, but they also didn't know her. Should she try and find out who she was? Should she ask them if she mentioned where she was from and why she was moving here?

It was just strange that everything was gone. Even her dreams were hazy images, but nothing indicating her past. 

Marian sighed, pushing away her half eaten soup. She glanced where Emily lay, sleeping peacefully, wishing she could sleep just as well. "Why can't I remember?" She whispered to the silence around her. She looked at her hands. There were callouses, light as they were, so she was used to work off some sort. 

But what work? Did she do cleaning? Was she a barmaid? A seamstress? That was just another thing to figure out. Once Colin returned and she knew Emily was going to be all right, Marian needed to go into town and figure out just what to do next. She couldn't rely on them forever. It was time to figure out what little she could and go from there. 

Starting with a job. 

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

Killian waited outside a boarding house, where he was told the healer currently was checking on a patient. He hoped this Vivienne could help him. He figured someone with magic would be better, but perhaps the healer knew someone who could help with their situation. 

He just wanted Emma to be all right. He couldn't let anything happen to her, not when he promised to get her home. Not when he needed her safe and happy for his own sanity. 

A young woman with black hair exited the building, a basket of herbs, potions, and poultices in hand. 

Killian pushed off the wall of the house across the street and put himself in her path. "Excuse me, Miss?" 

The healer froze at his voice before turning to face him. Oddly, her dark eyes recognized him. 

An uneasy feeling settled over him. Had Emma unintentional glamoured the face of someone from around here? He doubted it. 

The woman glared at him. “How can I help you sir?” Her defensive stance had Killian backing up a bit.

He wasn't sure why she didn't like him, but he wasn't going to chance pissing her off more than she already was, not when he needed her help. “So sorry to bother you.” Killian smiled gently. “My name is Colin Jones. My wife and I recently moved to town.”

Surprise flickered over her expression. Vivienne relaxed a bit, realizing Killian truly didn't seem to remember her. Though she was confused about the wife part. The Savior couldn't be his wife, could she? That was a dangerous match if that was the case. As it was, the Savior needed to work on her glamour spell. It worked well for non-magical people, but if Vivienne could see through it, then so could the Dark One, or others a might more powerful. This close to the sea, it would be better to disguise Lir's son as strongly as possible. "And why am I interested in this information?"

"I heard you're the healer in town. My wife fell ill on our travels." Killian said. "I hoped you'd come look at her. She's not waking up."

His concern for the Savior was genuine. What did he mean by her not waking up? 

Vivienne wanted to tell him no and go back to her rounds, but the Crone wanted her to teach the Savior. It seemed that for the time being Killian and the Savior were a package deal. Vivienne would deal with that later. "Does she have a fever?"

Killian shook his head. "No, she's warm, but not feverish." Killian glanced around and slowly stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. "What do you know about magic?"

"Enough." Vivienne challenged. There was no way she'd give away her hand. Not to him. "Why?"

"Because my wife has magic." Killian spoke lowly as to not be overheard. "I think she used too much of it." He looked at her imploringly. 

Here's where Killian not having his memories hampered him. He'd been one of her father's best students, all the more why Vivienne disliked him, and now he had to come to her for basic magical knowledge. She'd feel smug if she didn't hate him so much. 

Alas, she had to teach the Savior, so she'd have to suffer Jones all over again. "All right, take me to her and I shall see what I can do."

His immense relief was palpable. "Thank you, miss."

"Vivienne." She introduced. "Vivienne Wilder."

[elizabeethan]

Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head. 

  The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father. 

  In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested. 

  He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

  All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later. 

  And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time. 

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: What are you doing?

  He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

  Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

  Killian: That’s also where we live.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing. 

  Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother. 

  Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought. 

  Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips. 

  Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

  Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

  Killian: Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

  It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

  Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again. 

  Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters. 

  Killian: I do. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

  Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent. 

  Killian: And for how that just sounded. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days. 

  Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex… 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes. 

  ~~~~

  Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. 

  Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child. 

  “Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose. 

  The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved. 

  “I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma. 

  “The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange. 

  She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

  “Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

  “Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them. 

  “It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited. 

  “I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his. 

  It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner. 

  Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her. 

  But then, she speaks. 

  “Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears. 

  “Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after. 

  “About the oarfish…”

  He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

  “I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

  He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

  “Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

  His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly. 

  “If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

  Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs. 

  “I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times. 

  “I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”  

  “And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

  He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy. 

  “You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after. 

  “Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

  To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family. 

~~~~

I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you

@kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones-blog @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @winterbaby89 ​@ultraluckycatnd @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @pirateprincessofpizza @killianslefthook

[hookedonapirate]

I’LL WAIT A LIFETIME OR TWO

Summary:

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry.

Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. She couldn’t ask for anything more. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

The Idea of You AU

Rated: M

AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

If I didn’t have the privilege of witnessing the anger brewing in Elsa’s eyes the next evening, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor would definitely give it away, the sound hurting my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

Henry bounds into the foyer, his eyes bright as he heads toward the staircase. “Hey, Elsa.”

“Oh, hey, Henry,” she greets him much more warmly than she did with me. “How are you feeling?”

His brows knit together as he pauses to give her a puzzled look. “I’m great. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Elsa replies with an exaggerated grin. She shoots me a pointed glance.

Shit.

She’s definitely on to me.

Oblivious to our silent exchange, Henry continues his ascent up the steps, taking them two at a time.

As soon as his bedroom door clicks shut, Elsa pivots toward me, her hands planted firmly on her hips and one eyebrow arched in accusation. “He seems awfully lively for someone recovering from food poisoning.”

My cheeks heat under her penetrating gaze as I attempt to deflect. “Teens, right? They bounce back so quickly.” Judging by the skeptical tilt of her head, she isn’t buying it. Which really shouldn’t be surprising. I should’ve known she’d find out about what happened with Walsh before I got the chance to tell her the truth. “Want some wine?” I’m definitely going to need some liquid courage for this conversation.

Elsa follows me into the kitchen with a resigned sigh. “Yes, we’re going to need it...but you know I’m not letting this go, right?”

“I know. That’s what the wine is for..” With a shaky laugh, I grab two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I fumble with the corkscrew, struggling to open it as my nerves take over. I hadn’t planned on telling her about Killian yet, but images from last night’s encounter with him flash through my mind—his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue felt inside me, the way he felt inside me—and I know if I don’t tell someone soon, I’m going to burst. Our night together was the best I’ve ever had. And usually, I tell Elsa everything, so not telling her feels wrong, almost illegal.

“Em, why did you ditch Walsh last night?” she asks, her tone teetering between reproach and intrigue. 

An involuntary sigh escapes me as I pry the cork loose with a satisfying pop and pour a generous amount, the rich, ruby liquid cascading into our glasses. “How did you know Henry didn’t have food poisoning?”

“Because you would’ve told me. You usually tell me everything.” She accepts her glass, her gaze downcast, tone softening. “Though lately, it doesn’t seem that way.”

My insides twist, a cold, clammy stream of guilt slithering down my spine. I should’ve told her the truth from the beginning. In fact, I never should’ve agreed to a date with Walsh in the first place. “I know and I’m sorry…I would’ve told you sooner…it’s just…it’s complicated.”

She looks up at me with a raised brow. “Complicated how?”

I lift my gaze, as if I could somehow see through the ceiling to where Henry’s room is. “We should take this outside,” I propose, reaching for the wine bottle and my glass.

We transition to the patio to continue our conversation under the stars and twinkling lights of the pergola, beyond the ears of any curious listeners.

Elsa sinks into the plush sofa as I ignite the fire pit, the warm flicker of the flames casting dancing shadows around us. I ease into the rocking chair beside her, and we cradle our glasses as we pick up where we left off.

Taking a deep breath, a smile slowly spreads over my lips, unrestrained. “You have to promise to not judge me.”

“Judge you? Why would I judge you?” Her eyes narrow, then widen, her face paling as I take a sip of my wine. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Neal.”

I almost spit out my drink, the mere thought leaving a bitter taste in my mouth and making my stomach churn. “No, God, no!” I exclaim, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Thank God.” Elsa’s shoulders relax and she lets out a breath. “Then what is it?”

“Well, remember when I said lunch with Killian was strictly business?”

“Yeaaah.” Elsa studies me for a moment, then her eyes light up. “Ha! I knew it!” She leans forward, pointing a finger in the air. “I knew there was something more going on between you two.”

I peer into my glass. “I didn’t rush to tell you because I wasn’t sure where things between us were going. But now…” I bite my smile. “Now I think I might really like him.” It feels amazing to get that off my chest.

Her face lights up, then dims a little, her brows furrowing. “Okay, then tell me this—why agree to go out with Walsh?”

“Because I stupidly thought I could forget Killian…but that failed.”

“Okay.” She observes some more for a moment, connecting the dots, putting the pieces together. Then I can actually see the pieces click into place because her eyes sparkle as she lets out a squeak. “You had sex with him, didn’t you?!”

“Shhhh! Not so loud,” I whisper, my blushing smile giving myself away.

Elsa clamps a hand over her mouth, her eyes glinting with apology. “Oops. Sorry.” She removes her hand, speaking more quietly. “And how does Henry feel about all this?”

I shrug, my stomach twinging with guilt as I trace the rim of my glass. “He doesn’t know yet. I’m not sure how he’d react, you know? I’m not even sure what this is.”

“I understand, but you should definitely tell him soon, before he finds out some other way.”

“I know, I’m planning on it. I’m just not quite ready yet.” I don’t think I’ll ever be.

Her eyes light up. “So, tell me everything. How did this thing with Killian even start?”

I take a sip of my wine before launching into the story of how we met in the trailer and everything that’s happened since. The guilt in my stomach eases slightly as I finally share my secret.

“Wait, Killian…isn’t he Henry’s idol?”

“Yes,” I admit, biting my bottom lip. “Which is exactly why I can’t tell him. And also because of the age gap. He’s closer to Henry’s age than he is mine.”

“How young are we talking?” Elsa leans forward, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Twenties…mid-twenties,” I specify hesitantly, avoiding her gaze as I swirl the wine in my glass.

“So?” She waves her hand dismissively, a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s nothing.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “So, don’t you think it’s weird?” 

“No, why would it be?” Elsa’s tone is confident, reassuring as she reaches out and places a hand on my arm.

I narrow my eyes at her, remembering all the late-night conversations we had when Neal left me for Wendy, who is thirteen years his junior and also in her mid-twenties at the time. The judgment, the scrutiny he got from us as we dissected their relationship with such disdain. Closing my eyes briefly, I shake my head, trying to understand why she’s taking this so much easier than I thought she would. “Hang on, so, when Neal does it, it’s gross, but when I do it, it’s fine?”

“Yes,” she answers without blinking. “Because Neal was married when he got together with Wendy. You’re not.” She smiles. “And also because I hate him and I love you.” She leans back, her expression thoughtful. “I can’t believe you’re dating a rockstar. It’s so...not you.”

I laugh, more of the tension lifting from my shoulders. “Tell me about it. But he’s more than just a rockstar, Elsa. He’s kind, funny and he just…he makes me feel like...like I can be myself. Like, who knew the one guy I can do that with is someone who can’t even walk outside without attracting flocks of fans and paparazzi?”

She smiles warmly. “Then I’m happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way.” Her smile dims. “Just be careful.”

I furrow my brows. “Be careful of what?”

“Of getting too attached.”

“What do you mean?”

Elsa sighs regrettably. “I just don’t want you to fall in too deep only to get your heart broken. I mean, like you said, he can’t go anywhere without attracting attention. Every time he steps outside, It's raining women, and as much as I’d love to believe you are one in a million in his world, he is still a man. A celebrity, to boot.”

I wave off her words, at the same time trying to wave off the ache in my gut. I had a similar thought during the car ride on the way to dinner last night, but I convinced myself this is only a fleeting dalliance. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? This is just a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I am enjoying the ride while it lasts.”

She eyes me skeptically, not sure if she quite believes me. “You sure you can handle this?”

“Please, I totally got this.”

~*~

On Monday morning, the events of the other night replay in my mind, bringing a smile to my lips as I stretch languidly beneath the sheets. Killian’s touch still lingers on my skin, his presence a phantom warmth beside me.

Pushing aside the covers, I slip out of bed and pad softly across the room. The days have felt different since our encounter, lighter somehow. I feel lighter, like I’m floating on a cloud and can’t seem to come back to the ground. In the kitchen, I reach for the canister of cocoa powder, sugar and milk, deciding to make Henry something special this morning.

I whisk together the ingredients, watching the chocolate meld into the creamy liquid as visions of Killian, his strong hands, his blue eyes, his glorious, naked body filter through my mind. The rich aroma fills the air, and I can’t help but hum a tune under my breath—one of Killian’s songs that’s been stuck in my head since last night when I was watching his music videos in my room, listening through my AirPods.

“Morning, Mom,” Henry greets me as he enters the kitchen, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning, Kid.” Pouring the cocoa into a mug, I add a generous swirl of whipped cream.

“Is that a Midnight Moon song you’re humming?”

“Uh, yeah, it was on the radio and I couldn’t get it out of my head.” I look away from him, sprinkling the cinnamon over the whipped cream, hoping he doesn’t see right through me. But when I look over at him again, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, their songs tend to have that effect on people.”

I turn and present him with the steaming mug, the whipped cream forming a soft peak. “Made you some hot cocoa. With extra everything.”

Henry takes the mug, his brow furrowing slightly as he eyes me with curiosity. His gaze is so much like mine—observant, searching. He’s always been perceptive, even as a child, picking up on the unspoken emotions and the hidden stories behind a smile.

“Thanks, but...what’s the special occasion?” Henry asks, taking a tentative sip of the cocoa. “It’s not my birthday yet.”

“Why does it have to be a special occasion for me to make you hot cocoa?”

“Because you only make me hot cocoa on my birthday, holidays and when I’m sick.”

“Why can’t I whip up my son his favorite treat on a nondescript Monday simply because I love him to pieces?” I reach out, wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tight, leaving a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He wipes at the spot, narrowing his eyes at me. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’ve just been kinda floaty since yesterday.”

“Floaty?” I repeat, feigning ignorance while trying to keep my expression neutral. My heart beats a little faster under his scrutiny, the secret of my night with Killian suddenly feeling like a bright neon sign above my head.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard you humming songs in the kitchen before, you’ve been super nice and smiling a lot.” Henry studies me over the rim of his mug, his green eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “Did you hit it off with that Walsh guy?” He immediately shakes his head. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

“I’m fine, Henry,” I assure him, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the butterflies dancing in my stomach. “Everything is completely normal.” I flash him a reassuring smile.

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, thanks for the hot chocolate. It’s really good.”

“Anytime, kid.” After he leaves the kitchen, the corners of my lips tug into a smirk as I sip my own hot chocolate.

~*~

I’ve been dreading lunch with Neal ever since the word “yes” slipped out of my mouth and I stupidly forgot to cancel. He claimed he wants to discuss Henry’s upcoming birthday, but why couldn’t we have done that over a phone call? Or via text? Why did I have to meet him in person where his face will just remind me of how much Henry mirrors his father?

But the anticipation of meeting Killian tonight in his hotel room is what will get me through a dreadful hour of having to sit and chat with my ex. Killian had called me yesterday to set something up, knowing he’d be in the area with the band. And I, of course, said yes.

As if seeing Neal isn’t bad enough, he insisted on meeting at Soho House, where he conducts most of his business deals over power lunches. I can’t deny the exquisite art collection here and its aesthetic appeal, but the atmosphere drips with pretension and judgment.

I step into the rooftop garden room, which basks in the California sunshine, wicker lanterns hanging overhead, swaying softly in the breeze. Olive trees sporadically dot the space with their gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves, the floor-to-ceiling windows affording panoramic views of the sprawling West Hollywood hills.

As I head to Neal’s favorite table positioned in the back corner, laughter echoes from the center of the room near the koi pond, freezing me in my place, the air leaving my lungs. The sound is familiar—a timbre I’ve come to associate with one person in particular, a sound that always sends a tingle down my spine—and it draws my gaze like a magnet.

Even from behind, Killian is unmistakable—the tousled dark hair that never seems entirely tamed, broad shoulders tapering down into lean muscles. My skin tingles when I think about how soft his hair felt between my fingers as his tongue was buried inside me, how good those muscles had felt beneath my fingertips when he was driving into me. The images make me shudder with pleasure, heat pooling in my core.

My heart skips a beat, and I find myself changing course, making my way to Killian instead. He, his bandmates and a few women, Mary Margaret among them, sprawl comfortably around a table strewn with half-drained glasses and plates of food, their boisterous laughter and animated conversation permeating the air.

A twinge of jealousy gnaws at my insides at their closeness and camaraderie. I want to be a part of it, to be a part of Killian’s world.

His piercing blue eyes find mine, locking me in place for a heartbeat too long. I force a polite smile, reminding myself to breathe. “Killian,” I greet, approaching their table with feigned nonchalance.

“Emma?” He launches from his seat and approaches me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I look over at Neal, and thankfully, he’s too busy, his face buried in the New York Times, to notice me over here.

I can tell Killian wants to kiss me, his eyes dropping to my lips, but then he looks over at his group. “You guys remember Emma, right? From Coachella?”

A chorus of hellos from the group greets me warmly, and I smile back, waving at them. Judging by the relaxed smile on Liam’s face—on all their faces—Killian hasn’t told them we slept together. He mentioned his brother’s protectiveness, so I wonder what Liam would say about Killian being with a forty-year-old woman.

“Would you like to join us?” Killian asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Yes, please, you should join us.” Mary Margaret gestures me over.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say regretfully, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear. I would much rather stay here with them—with Killian—than go over and have lunch with Neal. “I’m meeting Neal here for lunch.”

Killian’s eyebrow arches just slightly—a silent question mark hanging between us. “Neal, as in your ex-husband?” His mouth twists into a small frown, his dark eyes flickering with something akin to jealousy.

“Yeah. But believe me, it’s nothing more than ‘just lunch.’”

“Mind if I swing by to say hi?” he asks, his casual demeanor belying the intensity of his gaze.

“Sure, why not,” I gesture over at Neal’s table in the corner, knowing full well the ‘why not’ part. But it’s too late to retreat now.

As Killian’s arm slips from my shoulders, I wave once more at the group and continue to Neal’s table, taking a seat across from him. He’s impeccably dressed, as always, his brown hair perfectly coiffed. He engages me in small talk as I cradle my chin in my hand and nod when necessary, but I can’t really hear what he says because all I can think about is how close Killian is. I can’t see him or hear him but I can feel his presence, and I’m on the edge of my seat, ready to run back over there, but I’m mustering all the willpower inside me to stay put.

“Emma, you look...distracted.”

“Just the usual whirlwind at the gallery,” I deflect, grateful for years of practice keeping my emotions under wraps.

“So, I’ve been thinking about Henry’s birthday,” Neal says, taking a sip of his water. “I want to buy him a car.”

I raise a brow. “A new car? Neal, that’s…expensive.”

“It’s not new. It’s used.” Neal taps his phone a few times and then turns the screen toward me. “I’ve been looking at this one.” It’s a picture of a sleek, red convertible—exactly the type of car I’d expect Neal to pick for our son. “I thought it would be perfect for Henry’s seventeenth birthday. He’s getting his driver’s license soon.”

I stare at the image, my heart pounding in my chest. The car is beautiful, no doubt, but the thought of Henry driving through the chaotic streets of Los Angeles behind the wheel of such a powerful vehicle makes my stomach churn.

“It looks like a great car, Neal,” I say carefully, trying to mask my anxiety. “But... don’t you think it’s a bit much? We usually have a price cap. I got him some screenwriting supplies—a drawing tablet and ‘Save the Cat’.”

“That’s okay. He’ll have something educational and something powerful.”

That has me sighing. He’s totally missing the point.

“Look, he’s a responsible kid, Ems. And he’s going to need a reliable car for college visits and everything else coming up.”

“I know he’s responsible. I just worry about him driving in LA, especially with all the traffic and...well, everything.”

“Relax, he’ll be fine. We’ll make sure he gets extra driving lessons if that helps. I just want to give him something special. Plus, it’s a safe model with top-notch safety features.”

“Which won’t do him any good in the event of a rollover,” I point out, the thought making my stomach turn. 

Neal waves a dismissive hand. “Highly unlikely. Convertibles have centered gravity. They have a lower risk of rolling over than other vehicles.”

I shake my head, unconvinced. “That may be true, but I think a Chrysler Pacifica would be a better choice for a first car,” I suggest, arching an eyebrow at the impractical choice for a new driver navigating LA’s hectic streets.

Neal chuckles, shaking his head. “Ems, he’s going to be a high school senior in the fall, not a soccer mom. He needs something cool to impress his friends. You don’t want him to get laughed at, do you?”

I roll my eyes. On one hand, I appreciate that Neal is discussing this with me before making such a big purchase. On the other hand, I doubt anything I say will sway him in a different direction. So, coming to me first is rather pointless. This entire lunch is pointless. “Well, excuse me if I think safety trumps ‘cool’ when it comes to our son.”

Before Neal can respond, Killian strides over all suave and gallant.

Saved by the bell.

He’s wearing a Metallica t-shirt with a graphic of an electric guitar under the band name, slightly faded and perfectly worn, the short sleeves showing off the tattoos inking his arms. His ripped jeans hug his frame just right, the tears and frays artfully scattered across the denim. A vast contrast to Neal’s perfectly tailored charcoal Brioni suit, with a deep purple silk tie.

I’m now realizing how much my tastes have changed over the years. I used to prefer the polished, business type—men like Neal, who exude success and confidence. But now, I find myself more attracted to the rugged bad boy look. Or maybe it’s just Killian I’m attracted to. The thought makes me smirk inwardly. He looks good. And he smells good. Really, really good. The urge to touch him is unbearable.

He flashes me a toothy grin. “Fancy seeing you here, love.”

Neal’s eyebrows arch in a silent question as he takes in Killian’s appearance, like who is this guy?

“Hi, I’m Killian.” He extends his hand, and despite Neal’s initial skepticism, he shakes it reluctantly, meeting Killian’s with a cautious grip.

“Neal.”

“Good to meet you, Neal.”

“Likewise,” Neal replies, the word coated in cordiality. His brow is raised and there’s a slight tilt of the head, his lips slightly parted.

“Killian’s uh…he’s…”

“An art collector…who has an eye for beautiful artwork, like the ones in Emma’s gallery.”

I smirk, more amused by the way Neal’s looking at him than how casually Killian just strolled up to us and introduced himself to Neal.

“Is that so?”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your lunch. We’ll touch base soon.”

“Sounds good,” I say casually, taking a sip of my water.

Killian flashes a grin before leaving a trail of tension in his wake.

As he walks away, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There’s a heaviness in my chest, the weight of unsaid words and hidden glances. But here, with Neal’s analyzing gaze on me, I can’t afford to reveal how deeply Killian’s proximity affects me.

“Interesting character,” Neal comments after a moment, turning his attention back to me, though his gaze lingers on Killian’s retreating figure.

I bite my tongue to refrain from saying anything to that.

“He seems familiar though. Didn’t I see him on a late-night show?” 

“Maybe,” I murmur noncommittally, smoothing out the napkin on my lap.

“Is he an actor?”

I shake my head, sipping my water. “No.”

“Cassidy!”

I’m saved by the bell once again when Greg Mendell, Neal’s friend and fellow attorney, strides up to their table.

“Mendell,” Neal greets with a firm handshake.

However, this interruption is not as welcome. By me anyway. In fact, my stomach twists at the sight of him as the memories of the night I found out about Neal’s affair resurface. Greg and his wife were both there, both well aware of what Neal was doing behind my back, yet they smiled and laughed over dinner as if everything was fantastic.

Greg turns to me. “Emma, this is a pleasant surprise. How are you doing?”

I force a polite smile. “I’m great. How are you? How’s Tamara?”

“Tamara’s great. Thanks for asking. She’s been buried in her work as usual. Lots of late nights at the lab.”

I nod, pretending to be interested, and thankfully his attention on me is brief. He and Neal get into a heated debate about a recent case as my phone vibrates in my purse. I discreetly pull it out and glance at the screen. 

Killian: Yep, hate him even more.

I choke down the laughter threatening to escape. I look up, but Neal and Greg are still caught up in conversation, paying me no mind. My phone vibrates again, my heart skipping a beat when I read the next message.

Killian: Gods, I missed you.

Killian: You look beautiful btw 😍 

Me: So do you. 😚

Killian: Meet me in the lavvy in 5 minutes? 😉

I bite my bottom lip, the sweet ache of our night together rushing back full force.

Me: Can you make it in two?

The response is immediate.

Killian: Absolutely.

I almost knock over the chair in my eagerness to get up. The two men both pause from their conversation to look at me. “Sorry, I just need to step out for a moment.” 

“Everything okay?” Neal asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Fine. Just fine,” I reply hastily. “Be right back.” I smooth out my skirt, trying to appear calm and collected. But on the inside, my heart is racing. When I pass Killian’s table, his gaze meets mine, that familiar hunger that was there the night we made love, igniting in his eyes, making my skin heat, a small smile pulling at my lips.

This is crazy, I tell myself. I’m about to get it on in the restroom if that wink emoji is any indication. But it’s too late. I’m already stepping inside the ladies’ room.

The door opens not a minute later, Killian slipping in and locking it with an urgency that mirrors my own, filling the small space with his magnetic presence. His intense blue eyes lock on mine, sending a spark through my veins. The air thins as he steps closer, and we’re swept up in an intense kiss that’s as explosive as it is urgent, leaving no room for hesitation or pretense. It’s as if we’re both starved for this contact, this affirmation that the other night wasn’t just a dream. His kiss is urgent, demanding, and I respond with equal fervor, tangling my fingers in his tousled hair. The world beyond these walls ceases to exist, and there’s only Killian and the way he makes me feel—alive, wanted, aflame.

He presses me against the wall, steadying us in our shared recklessness. I bury my hands in his hair as he wraps his arm around my waist. Needing this man like I need air, I fumble for his jeans, hastily undoing them as Killian shimmies up my skirt so it’s around my hips. A soft moan escapes me, lost in the echo of our hushed urgency. We’re consumed by the moment, giving in to the pull of desire that has become our gravity. It’s reckless and wild, a fire we’re both too willing to stoke.

He lifts me up by the back of my thighs, wrapping my legs around his waist and setting me on the sink as he pushes my panties aside and presses the velvety head of his cock against my entrance. The conversation I had with Elsa tries to creep into my already foggy brain, but I push it aside as I push my hand inside his pants. There are things I want to ask him, but there’s no time for it now.

Our unified gasps mingle at the connection when he enters me—a sweet burn that elicits a decadent groan from his lips.

Killian moves inside me, his hands gripping my hips tightly as he thrusts into me with an intense rhythm that has me clutching onto his shoulders and begging him not to stop between moans and choked gasps.

“Gods, Emma,” he whispers against my neck, his breath hot on my skin as I card my fingers through his hair. I’m undone by it, by him, by this intoxicating connection that defies all reason and logic. “Fuck…” He growls. “You’re so damn tight…” His voice is ragged, his breath heavy—he’s close.

His hand reaches between us, rubbing tight circles on my clit. The sudden sensation makes me jolt and flutter. “Killian…” I gasp as the coiling in my belly intensifies. “Fuck, I’m so close…” I grab his hand, clamping it over my mouth to muffle my moans as my voice hits an embarrassingly high note, one I hope no one can hear.

A smirk plays on his lips as he leans down to suckle and nip at my neck and shoulder—the kill shot that sends me spiraling into a mind-numbing climax. My body locks up as waves of pleasure wash over me and he follows close behind with an inaudible sound that’s part growl, part groan.

He buries his face in the crock of my neck just long enough for us to catch our breaths and regain some semblance of coherence. He withdraws and tucks himself back into his pants before he helps me down. “I better let you get back to your lunch, love,” he breathes with a cocky smirk, kissing me on the lips, “before you’re missed.”

Right. Lunch. I forgot all about that. 

“See you tonight?”

I manage a nod, still recovering from my mind-boggling orgasm.

I take a deep breath to gather my composure, watching him go before I clean myself up—already anticipating tonight when I’ll get to see him again. I smooth down my hair, trying to erase the evidence of hot bathroom sex from my appearance as best as I can.

“Everything okay?” Neal asks as I slide back into my seat, his eyes searching mine.

“Perfectly fine,” I manage, my voice steady despite how flushed I am. I pick up my fork and eat my lunch that was brought to our table while I was gone as I struggle to focus on Neal’s words. He’s talking, but my mind is still tangled up with Killian, with the taste of him that lingers on my lips.

I nod and smile a dopey smile, still feeling, as Henry put it, all floaty as I replay the last few minutes over and over. I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross, falling deeper into something that should scare me. But the fear is muted, overshadowed by the thrill of the forbidden, the intoxicating rush of being desired by Killian Jones.

“Ems, you’ve been acting off lately.” Neal’s voice cuts through my reverie, sharp with concern—or is it suspicion? “What’s gotten into you?”

I have to stifle a laugh, doing everything I can to push down the need to answer that question.

Eight inches, I want to tell him. Eight inches of hot, throbbing rockstar dick has gotten into me.

But I don’t.

“Sorry, just a lot on my mind with work,” I lie smoothly, hoping he’ll buy it. And for now, he seems to.

But as he returns to whatever he was talking about, I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll be able to keep this secret, to juggle the fragments of my life without dropping them all. Because with every stolen moment with Killian, I’m weaving a more complex web, one that threatens to entangle us all.

As I head out of the garden room, navigating the dim corridor, Greg catches up to me, also on his way out. “So...” he murmurs casually as we continue walking side by side, his hands in his pockets, “Killian Jones. Very impressive.”

His words have me stopping in my tracks and furrowing my brows at him. “Excuse me?”

He stops and turns to look at me, his lips curving into a devious smirk as he leans in closer. “Neal might be blind, but that’s how he let you slip through his fingers to begin with.”

I’m frozen in my spot, but my heart is beating like a drum, my skin flushed. Had he seen Killian go into the ladies’ room? Had he heard us?

“Don’t worry,” he assures me with a wink, but his words aren’t very reassuring, “your secret is safe with me.”

~*~

As soon as Killian opens the door to his hotel room, I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and greet him with a mind-numbing kiss that sets my skin ablaze and helps me forget lunch with Neal and the things Greg said to me. Killian’s lips are soft and warm, and when he swipes his tongue over mine, it’s implanting all kinds of ideas in my head. And not just ideas of what I think he should do with that tongue of his.

He breaks the kiss, tucking some hair behind my ear as his lips curl into a smirk. “So that was Neal, huh?”

“Yep, that’s him,” I answer breathlessly, eyeing his lips. I want to kiss him again, but he seems insistent on talking about my ex.

He eyes me suspiciously, despite the playful grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Why do I keep finding you on dates with other men?”

I snort-laugh at the notion I’d ever consider anything more with my ex ever again. “With Neal, it’s ‘just lunch.’ Henry’s birthday is coming up soon, and we were discussing possible gifts,” I explain simply, not wanting to delve into the whole car debate. Because it’s just the two of us now, and our time together is limited. And I don’t want to taint it by talking about Neal.

“Swan, I’ve been on the receiving end of your ‘just lunch.’”

I rake my fingers over his chest, relishing his warmth, the solid muscles hidden beneath his shirt. I’m also enjoying the jealousy sparking in those mesmerizing blue eyes. “Trust me, lunch with Neal is ‘just lunch—’” I smirk—“until Killian Jones shows up. Then it becomes something else entirely.”

He flashes me his most irresistible, cockiest grin. “What can I say? I’m always the life of the party, love.”

His words send a thrill through me as I kiss him, guiding him backward toward the bed and slipping my hands under his shirt, his abs rippling under my palms. I get rid of the intrusive material and toss it aside, kissing the scowl off his lips when his prized shirt lands on the floor. I giggle against his lips. “When I returned from the ladies’ room, Neal asked what’s gotten into me lately, and I just about died.”

His eyebrow arches upward in amusement, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he curls his hands around my hips. “So tell me, love. What has gotten into you lately?”

I can’t suppress my smirk as I unbutton his pants and drag down the zipper, my heart racing in anticipation. My gaze never leaving his. “I’ll show you exactly what’s gotten into me.”

With a swift push against his chest, he falls back onto the bed. I climb on top of him, tug down his pants and show him exactly what has gotten into me lately. With my lips, my tongue, my mouth. Eliciting delicious noises and reactions from him that set every nerve in my body on fire.

I run my tongue along his length and take all eight inches into my mouth, enjoying the taste of him, the scent of him, the firm yet gentle tug as his fingers get tangled in my hair.

Mmm. Mm. Mmm.

I love every inch of what has gotten into me.

Every. Glorious. Inch.

[hookedonapirate]

I’LL WAIT A LIFETIME OR TWO

Summary:

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry.

Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. She couldn’t ask for anything more. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

The Idea of You AU

Rated: M

AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6

CHAPTER SIX

Colors bleed into one another like a masterfully painted canvas—streaks of pink and orange fading to purple as the sun dips into the horizon. Killian and I are poring over the menus in a cozy booth tucked away in a recessed alcove on the terrace, the ocean waves crashing into the shore. Twinkling lights are strung through the trees, illuminating the lush gardens. Flames flicker in the fire pits dotting the landscape, and soft music drifts through the air, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

His eyes rove over my red dress before his gaze catches mine, and he flashes me one of those heart-stopping grins that has my stomach doing a somersault. “Swan, have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?”

I manage a laugh, the familiar warmth creeping into my cheeks. “About four times already.” Twice during the car ride, once after he handed the keys to the valet and once again when we were shown to our seats. Though, neither time failed to make my cheeks heat.

“Is this place okay?”

I set down the menu and sit back, resting my hands in my lap as my eyes sweep over the alcove, taking in the fairy tale setting—a perfect blend of elegance and intimacy, with dark wood accents, plush seating and candlelit tables, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers, sea salt and delicious food. “It’s perfect.” My eyes come back to his, lips twitching into a smirk. “But honestly, you could’ve taken me to Mcdonalds and I’d be happy as a clam.”

He chuckles, a deep, hearty sound that sends goosebumps over my skin.

He thinks I’m joking.

“I almost opted for Nobu, but I wasn’t sure if you liked sushi,” he says.

My eyes widen. “Are you kidding? I love sushi.”

His smile is a thing of beauty, lighting up his features in a way that rivals the setting sun. He extends his hand under the table, seeking mine, and when our fingers intertwine, electricity zips through me. His touch is warm, firm yet tender. “Good to know for next time.”

Next time?

There goes my stomach again, doing another somersault.

I love the idea of next time.

“I should’ve known you loved sushi. Henry gets his good taste from his beautiful mum.”

A blushing smile crosses my lips, and I squeeze his hand, my heart pounding as I fight off the urge to pull him closer and kiss him. Even though we’re cocooned in a pocket of privacy within the restaurant’s lush gardens, we’re not entirely invisible. A few of Killian’s acquaintances have already made their way over, each receiving a nod or a handshake from him.

When he introduced me as his art consultant, I played along, grateful for the anonymity the title afforded me. I have no desire to become tabloid fodder, especially not when my heart is tangled in a situation it shouldn’t be. I’m supposed to be on a date with a furniture shop owner, not dining with a rockstar.

As we chat, I’m acutely aware of Killian’s hand in mine, the warmth of his skin, the strength of his grip, and I’m imagining what it would be like to be alone with him—truly alone. The possibilities send a rush of heat through my veins. 

When his thumb traces gentle circles on my skin, tiny shivers shoot up my arm. The contact is tender, intimate, and I can’t help the way my breath catches just a little. Then he frees my hand briefly, making me miss his warmth, but it’s only long enough for the server to approach, jot down our orders and retrieve the menus from us.

“So, where is Henry tonight?” The softness in Killian’s voice matches the touch of his hand as he slips his palm into mine, threading our fingers together once more.

“He’s staying over at Roland’s house.” I take a sip of my pinot noir, savoring the rich bouquet of ripe cherries, a hint of spice and subtle earthy undertones. But the alcohol does nothing to soothe the fluttering in my chest.

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that the lad who was at Coachella with you?”

I nod, smiling. “Yeah, they’ve been best friends since elementary school.”

He leans back, a half-smirk playing on his lips as he watches me with an intensity that feels like it could pierce right through our casual facade. “That’s nice.” His eyes narrow slightly, a playful glint in them. “Did you tell Henry I was at your house for lunch the other day?”

I can’t help but laugh at the thought, picturing Henry’s reaction. His jaw would be on the floor, his expressive green eyes would grow impossibly wide and he’d launch into a barrage of questions, each one more incredulous than the last. “No way. He would lose his mind if he knew you were there. He’d probably also be furious with me for not including him.”

His thumb strokes the back of my hand beneath the table, a clandestine gesture that sends ripples of warmth through me. “Will you tell him you ditched your date to have dinner with me?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “No, probably not.” My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass, the truth settling heavy on my tongue. “I wouldn’t even know what to tell him at this point.” How could I possibly explain to my son that the man whose name alone would send him into a frenzy is the same man who turns my insides into liquid?

“Fair enough.” Killian squeezes my hand gently. He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers or declarations, and I’m grateful for it. Grateful for this moment of reprieve, where I can simply exist beside him without the weight of explanations hanging over us. “You don’t have to tell him anything right now. We’re just having dinner, right?” There’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice that makes his British accent even more pronounced, a wink accompanying his words.

I smile wryly, the tension easing from my shoulders. “Right. Just dinner.”

But we both know this isn’t just dinner. Just like lunch wasn’t just lunch.

“What about Elsa?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

I can picture her now, her raised eyebrow, the knowing look she’d give me if she were here, witnessing Killian’s thumb caress mine. She would see right through our charade of “just dinner” without missing a beat.

As I’m about to respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of warm bread and a dish of herb-infused olive oil. Killian thanks him and offers the basket to me before taking a piece.

I break mine in half, dipping it into the olive oil.

We take a bite, and I savor the warm, fluffy texture as I continue our conversation. “I told her we went out to lunch but that it was only business. I think she’s on to me.” I’ll have to figure out how to tell her and Henry about Killian later. For now, I let myself be swept away by the moment, the uncertainties of tomorrow fading into the background.

“So, when do I get to meet her?”

My heart flutters, betraying my calm exterior. The idea of him meeting Elsa, facing her scrutiny, her silver-blonde hair likely to bristle like an indignant cat’s fur, is both terrifying and exhilarating. “She won’t be happy when she finds out I ditched Walsh for you. She’ll probably interrogate you to find out what your intentions are. Henry will too, just so you know.”

Killian’s chuckle rumbles through the alcove, warm and rich. “Can’t wait.”

I arch a brow. “You’re really up for that? Elsa can be pretty fierce, and Henry—well, he’s very protective.”

“I can handle it.” He flashes a smile, one that says he’s faced tougher critics than my protective entourage. “Besides, I have nothing to hide. Just ask Google.” The twinkle in his eye tells me he relishes the challenge—a man used to the spotlight, unfazed by scrutiny. Yet beneath the bravado, there’s a sincerity that makes me believe he’s not just playing the part. Killian Jones might be an open book to the world, but he’s still full of stories yet to be told. And I find myself wanting to read every page.

I smirk, my finger tracing the rim of my wine glass. “I could…but what I want to know are the secrets I can’t find on Google.”

A smile, disarming and far too charming, stretches across his lips as he leans back in his seat and rubs his chin, thinking for a moment. “Alright, here’s one—my moniker as a kid was Hook.”

Laughter bubbles up from my chest as I picture a young Killian, a boy full of spirit and spunk, bearing that nickname. “Hook, huh? Like Captain Hook? How did you get that nickname?”

His eyes, those deep pools of blue, hold mine, and in them, there’s a flicker of the boy he once was. “From a fishing trip with my brother Liam. We were out on the lake, and I was determined to show off my fishing skills. When I finally caught a big one, I thought I’d impress him by handling it myself. But as I was trying to remove the hook, the fish gave a sudden flip of its tail, and the hook ended up in the back of my hand. Liam couldn’t stop laughing, and from that day on, I was ‘Hook’.”

“Oh my God, that sounds painful.”

“It wasn’t my finest moment, but it certainly left a mark.” He holds up his free hand, showing the small scar on the back of it. “And a nickname.”

I lean in, my fingers gently tracing the rugged scar. My brows knit together involuntarily as I look up at him with a teasing smile. “That’s your big, juicy secret?”

“Well, maybe not juicy by tabloid standards, but it’s a part of me you wouldn’t find in any magazine. Liam and I made a deal long ago to not share embarrassing stories with the world. Some things we like to have for ourselves.”

I shake my head and laugh. “You know, I was expecting something more...I don’t know, scandalous?”

A playful twinkle lights his eyes as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “If you want scandalous, I could tell you about the time my ex-girlfriend, Milah, a French actress, dumped me for Robert Gold.”

My eyes widen, my wineglass poised in the air before it can make it to my lips. “Wait, Robert Gold? As in the American singer and pianist?”

He nods regrettably, a shadow of some past hurt crossing his face. “Milah and I met before I became famous. She was friends with Mary Margaret, who had just started dating David at the time, and came to one of our gigs. We bonded over our love for music—she studied piano and classical music before going into acting.”

I nod, finally taking a sip of my wine.

“We kept our relationship a secret for a while.”

“But then she left you for Robert?”

“Aye.” His eyes meet mine, a storm brewing in their depths—a tempest that speaks of betrayal and heartache weathered and survived, like that of my own. “Apparently, I wasn’t mature or famous enough for her.” He lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s an edge to it that speaks volumes. “It stung, but then Midnight Moon started gaining popularity, we signed with a big record label and ended up outselling Robert in albums.” A sly grin returns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not that I was keeping track or anything.”

“Of course.” I smirk, understanding all too well the bittersweet triumph of proving oneself against the doubts of an ex.

Killian shrugs. “And it wasn’t until I became famous that Milah started reaching out to me again. But I haven’t responded to any of her calls or texts. Nor do I plan to.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Ah, becoming famous—the perfect revenge on your exes.”

He chuckles. “It really is.”

Then I think about something for a moment, recalling the last time I saw a picture of Robert Gold on social media. “But isn’t Gold like sixty?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I wince, hoping I haven’t prodded a tender wound too harshly. “Not that I’m one to judge someone’s age,” I add quickly.

“Aye, he is. But Milah…she’s a bit older than me. Thirty, to be exact. At the time we were dating, I was eighteen and she was twenty-four.”

I laugh, raising an eyebrow teasingly. “So, you have a type?”

“A type?” He shakes his head. “Not really. I actually liked Milah.” His expression softens as he leans in even closer, the distance between us diminishing further, and I’m caught in the gravitational pull. “But now I find myself drawn to blondes with eyes the color of emeralds.” He meets my gaze with a twinkle in his eye. “Okay, that’s a lie, there’s only one blonde—one woman—I’m interested in.”

My heart doesn’t just skip a beat—it falters, flutters, then thunders back to life with a ferocity that leaves me breathless. A wave of warmth cascades through me, pooling in my stomach and spreading to the tips of my fingers intertwined with his. His thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand.

“I hope I didn’t offend you that day at Coachella by mistaking you for Henry’s older sister.” He chuckles at himself. “I genuinely thought you were.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “No, not at all. I took it as a compliment.”

“Good. But don’t worry, I won’t ask how old you are because it’s impolite and also because it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, I just turned forty last month,” I admit, my cheeks heating. “Ready to run yet?” I ask, afraid he might think of me as a middle-aged woman clinging to the fringes of her youth.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not.” He graces me with a reassuring smile, his eyes full of warmth. “I told you, it doesn’t matter to me.”

My eyes lock with his, and I find myself ensnared in his cerulean depths that seem to hold galaxies of unspoken words. The air between us crackles, each second stretched taut with anticipation. I can’t help but wonder where the night will take us, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I just want to enjoy our time together, no matter how it ends.

Our server returns with sautéed lump crab cakes and a watermelon salad with feta and mint. After he leaves, we eat our food, falling back into easy conversation.

“My favorite place as a kid was this old lighthouse near our home,” Killian replies when I ask him about his childhood. “There was something about it—standing tall and resilient against the chaos of the sea. It always made me feel safe when I was inside it, like it could weather any storm. And now, I feel like that lighthouse sometimes. Trying to survive all the crowds and chaos. Trying to survive the storm.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing against my heart and leaving me speechless. His metaphor is profound, striking a chord deep within me. “That’s so beautiful,” I breathe, my voice almost a whisper. “I mean, it’s beautifully put. And I can definitely see how you would feel like a lighthouse braving the storm in your line of work. I could never do what you do. And you make it look so easy.”

He blushes, his lips quirking up into a smile. “Thank you, love.” He squeezes my hand, the tips of his ears just as red as his cheeks. “The lighthouse actually inspired a song I’m writing.”

My curiosity is piqued. “I’d love to hear it.”

“It’s still a work in progress. And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll share it with the band. It’s something I wrote for myself.”

I nod. “I get that. Some things are just too personal to share. But if you ever feel like letting someone else hear it, I’d be honored.”

His eyes soften. “That means a lot. Maybe one day, I’ll play it for you.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” I find myself even more drawn to him, wanting to pick the creative part of his brain, the artistic side of him. “So, is that where you did most of your writing? When you were at the lighthouse?” 

He chuckles, scratching behind his ear. “Actually, no. I do my best writing when I have the telly on in the background and an electric guitar in my hands. If someone saw me, they would think I was watching the telly while playing the guitar, but what I’m actually doing is coming up with song lyrics. Something about the noise helps me focus.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s so funny. That’s exactly how Henry does his homework. He always has the TV on, his laptop in front of him and his music blaring—your music blaring. But me? I can’t think if there’s a fan humming in the background. I need complete silence to concentrate.”

He nods, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “What about you, Emma? What was your childhood like?”

I take a deep breath, smiling softly as memories flood back. “Well, I grew up in a small town. My childhood was pretty normal, I guess. My parents were always supportive, but they were also pretty strict.” Their expectations were like the masterpieces they so loved—to be protected and preserved. “My father’s an art history professor at Harvard. My mother was a curator. She’s retired now.”

“Art is the family business, then?” he asks, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Sort of, yes.” My answer comes out softer than intended, a hint of nostalgia threading through the words. “Their worlds revolved around art, and I got swept up in it long before I knew how to walk.”

“Did you attend Harvard?”

“I went to Brown. Then Columbia for my master’s.”

“Brown and Columbia,” he muses, lips curling into a smile. “That’s quite impressive, Swan.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Thank you,” I murmur, the words almost lost to the soft music.

“Did that piss off the professor?” His eyebrow arches in playful curiosity, his voice low and smooth. “Not going to Harvard?”

“A little.” A smile finds its way to my lips at the memory of my father’s stunned silence when I told him about Brown. It had been my first step out of his shadow, my own declaration of independence.

Killian’s eyes lock with mine, gleaming with mirth and something more—understanding, perhaps. He gets it, the need to forge one’s path, even if it means disappointing those we love. He knows what it’s like to choose the unexpected road, to chase a dream no one else can see but you. “Probably not as much as blowing off Cambridge to join a rock band.”

I laugh. “No, probably not.”

Once our glasses are empty, he refills them from the bottle chilling in ice. “Did you have a favorite place as a kid? Somewhere you could hide from your parents?”

I nod. “I loved spending time outdoors, exploring the woods and fields near our house. And there was this old oak tree I used to climb up and sit on one of the sturdy branches, sketching the landscape. I was always drawing—anything and everything. ”

His eyes light up. “You draw?”

I nod, my cheeks warming. “I do.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Swan. Can I see some of your work?”

“Maybe someday. I haven’t drawn much lately, though. Running the gallery keeps me pretty busy.”

He eyes me thoughtfully. “You should make time for it. It’s important to keep doing what you love.”

His words hit me with an unexpected force, and I smile. “I’ll have more time this summer. Henry’s going to camp next month at Jameson Ranch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he goes there every year. He loves everything there, the horseback riding, the rock climbing, the archery. I waited for the year when he’d say he’s too old, but it never happened. Now, this is his last year.”

“Sounds like an amazing camp.”

I nod. “It really is. I’m glad he gets to enjoy it one last time before he graduates next year.”

“Does he have any plans after graduation?”

I chuckle, lightly teasing, “Hopefully, they don’t include ditching college to start a rock band.” I raise an eyebrow playfully at Killian, who feigns offense, his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I’m kidding. Honestly, I’d be proud of him no matter what he does after high school.”

He smiles, taking a sip of his wine.

“But to answer your question, he’s been talking about going to LA Film School.”

Killian raises his brows, his eyes lighting up like the stars that have begun to pepper the evening sky. “Film school? Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah. He’s always had a knack for storytelling.”

“I bet he’ll do amazing. And how do you feel about him moving away for school?”

“I’ll hate it,” I admit with a laugh. “But I want him to pursue his dreams. Besides, he won’t be too far.”

“He can always come back during breaks and summers,” Killian reassures me with a nod.

“Yeah, it’ll be an adjustment, but I’m sure he’ll be ready to get out on his own and not have to live with his mom anymore.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll miss you like crazy when he’s gone.”

The waiter arrives with our entrées—herb-crusted salmon for Killian and a ribeye steak for me.

As we take our first bites, the flavors burst on my tongue—rich and perfectly seasoned, a hum of contentment escaping my lips.

Killian watches me with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Delicious.”

We eat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, stealing glances between bites.

“So, Henry and film school,” Killian says, returning to our earlier conversation. “Do you think he knows what kind of films he wants to make?”

I take a sip of my wine, loving the fact he’s asking about Henry and not just me. And even though I easily got bored listening to Walsh go on about his furniture shop, I’d be happy if Killian only spoke about himself. I could listen to him talk all day. “He’s still figuring that out, but he loves sci-fi and fantasy.”

Killian nods and smiles. “Ah, my favorite genres.” He takes another bite of his fish. “Oh, and by the way, I Googled that Ghost scene you were telling me about.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“I just have one question.” He holds up a finger, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Do potters always stroke the mold like that when throwing?”

I almost choke on my wine and laugh. “Uh, no. I think they were going for a steamy scene without going all pornographic.”

He chuckles, his cheeks red. “I figured as much.”

Finally, we’re served crème brûlée for dessert. The top is perfectly caramelized, with a thin, crisp layer of sugar that cracks under the spoon to reveal the creamy custard underneath.

I take my first bite and let out a small moan. The combination of the crunchy caramel top and the smooth vanilla custard is heavenly. I feed him a bite, and the way his eyes roll back, the rough groan he makes, sends heat to my core. I have to squeeze my thighs together to curb the temptation to have him for my dessert. At least for now, while we’re in public.

When the bill is paid, there’s a knot of dread in my stomach at the thought our evening might be drawing to a close soon.

Killian moves closer to me, his voice low and husky. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” My stomach flutters with nerves at the prospect of what his question might be.

“Please, feel free to say no if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure here.” Hesitation flickers in his mesmerizing blue eyes, so I place my hand on his leg, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“I promise I’ll say no if I’m not up for it.”

“Would you want to come back to my hotel room? It’s just a little more private there…”

I pause, the final bite of the crème brûlée halfway to my lips as I turn my head to look at him, sincerity in his gaze. The air between us thickens, rich with unspoken possibilities, and something stirs inside me, a longing I’ve kept at bay, one that’s been restrained by caution and past pain. But Killian has a way of crumbling the walls I’ve built around myself.

I finish the bite of dessert, the spoon clinking against the porcelain as I set it down. I lean back, folding my arms. “Trying to get me alone, Jones?”

A rosy pink blush paints his cheeks. “Maybe I am.”

I can’t help but laugh as he gives me the same answer I gave him the other day when he asked me if I was flirting with him.

“And what are your intentions once you get me alone?”

He chuckles and wets his lips with his tongue, leaning closer. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, his voice dark, almost a whisper. “Well, I watched you eat that dessert…the way you licked your lips and made those sexy noises…the way you kissed me the other day…”—His gaze moves to my mouth, his eyes ablaze with desire, his thumb caressing my shoulder—“and I really want that wicked mouth of yours on mine again. But honestly, I’d be happy to simply continue chatting.” The easy grin fades, replaced by something far more telling—a seriousness that belies his usual charm. “So, my intentions are whatever you wish them to be, love.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I challenge, my teeth catching on my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the smirk that threatens to break free. “Whatever I wish?” My efforts are futile, it curls the edges of my lips regardless. “Alright then, how about you perform a song and dance number on this table?”

He arches a brow. “That’s your wish?”

“That’s my wish.”

He gives a nonchalant shrug, his cerulean eyes dancing with amusement. He launches from his seat, and before I know it, he’s halfway on the table. I reach out and grab his arm to stop him, giggles bubbling up from my throat at the thought of him actually going through with it. “I was kidding.” As he settles back into his seat, I narrow my eyes at him. “I can’t believe you were actually going to do it.”

His head tilts back slightly, and those piercing blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “Swan, you do realize you’re asking a rock star who’s used to outrageous requests and performing in public, right? You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to shock me.”

“Is that so?” I tease with a devilish smirk, placing my hand on his chest, feeling it beat under my palm.

He chuckles. “That is the most mischievous grin I’ve ever seen.”

My cheeks heat.

“What am I going to do with you, Swan?”

“Apparently, whatever I want you to do.” It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to be swept up like this—since I’ve let someone see the side of me that isn’t all business and pragmatism. Despite how flushed I am from all this flirtatious banter, I manage to make it out of the booth. I look over my shoulder. “You coming, Jones?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grabs his jacket and follows behind me.

When he catches up to me, I have to refrain from touching him until we get into his car. I can tell he’s just as tortured by the way he’s running a hand through his hair and looking over at me, a hunger sparking in those deep blue eyes.

Once we’re outside, the cool breeze sweeps around us, and I try to rub the goosebumps from my arms.

"Here, love.” Without missing a beat, Killian shrugs off his jacket and holds it open behind me, allowing me to slip my arms into the sleeves. He adjusts it on my shoulders and rubs my covered arms. The leather is warm from his body heat and smells faintly of his cologne, a comforting mix of spices and something uniquely him. "Can't have you freezing out here."

I pull the jacket closer around me, grateful for the warmth and the gesture. "Thanks, Killian." I smile at him. The jacket is a little big on me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but it's perfect. "Won't you be cold, though?"

He shakes his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry about me, Swan.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me a little closer. “If I get cold, you’ll keep me warm, right?”

I roll my eyes and laugh, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Ever the charmer," I reply, leaning into him as we wait for the valet to retrieve Killian’s car.

As soon as we’re in, his hand quickly finds its way under the skirt of my dress and around my thigh, and my hand finds its way onto his shoulder. But there’s too much distance between us.

He brings me back to my car at Blair’s, and I follow him on the twenty-minute drive to Sunset Tower, which stands tall against the cityscape. We agreed it’s better to arrive separately in case paparazzi are lurking around. I wait a few moments in my Bug after he disappears inside, my heart pounding. I check my hair in the mirror and make sure there's no food in my teeth about four times while I gather the courage. I want this, I know I want this, I’m just hoping he won’t take one look at me without my clothes on and run away. Or worse, give me a pity fuck.

I shake away the doubts clouding my mind. Killian is not like that, and I know this. Unlatching the car door, I step out and head inside the hotel. I may not know him very well, but each time we talk, it’s so easy, so comfortable. We don’t have to force the conversation, it just flows naturally. We’re not two people with sixteen years between us, we’re just two people drawn to each other. And the more I get to know him, the more I see the kindness in his heart. The man behind the rockstar persona.

Once inside, I step into the elevator and press the button for his floor. As I ascend to the top, my heart flutters with excitement and nerves. I check my reflection on the reverse camera setting on my phone and take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. When the doors part, I step out and make my way down the corridor.

Tiny, Killian’s loyal bodyguard, stands watch at the end of the hallway, his hawk-like eyes scanning me briefly before he nods in recognition. Whether he knows what might transpire beyond the door to Killian’s hotel suite, he gives no indication.

Returning his nod, I continue down the hall—my heart pounding like a drum against my chest with every step closer to the suite number Killian had shared earlier. Taking a fortifying breath, I rap lightly on the polished wooden door.

Before I have time to talk myself out of this, it swings open and he’s standing before me, flashing one of his heart-melting grins.

“Hi, Swan.” He steps aside to let me in.

“Hi.” I manage a smile of my own, a thrill shooting up my spine as I enter his room, my stilettos clicking on the shiny hardwood floor.

He closes the door behind me, shutting out the rest of the world.

Finally, we’re alone again.

I’ve been waiting for this moment since he left my house. I couldn’t actually believe our kiss was a one-time thing as I was saying it out loud. I knew I wouldn’t be able to ignore my feelings for this man.

“Would you like something to drink, love?”

I shake my head and slip off his jacket, throwing it over a chair, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe.

All I want is him.

My heart races as we gravitate toward each other, closing the distance between us.

On the way here, I had questioned whether we would just chat or make out once we got here, or whether I’d even make it here at all, but now that he’s standing here in front of me, looking like he wants to devour me, I’m powerless to resist him—and truthfully, I don’t want to.

Our eyes are locked, the air crackling with a raw, electric charge that’s been building all night. I reach up, my hands finding the nape of his neck, pulling him down toward me. Our lips meet, a soft brush at first that quickly ignites into something more urgent, more demanding. The kiss deepens, and I taste the hint of the wine and crème brûlée we shared. I cup his cheeks in my hands, our mouths moving together with a familiarity that belies the short time we’ve known each other.

He wraps his arms around me as I snake mine around the back of his neck. My breath catches in my throat as his palms glide over the fabric of my dress, mapping the contours of my body as if committing it to memory. I’m already moaning softly into his mouth, lost in the sensations of him, the warmth of his body pressing against mine, the stubble on his jaw scratching softly at my skin, and the way his hands roam across my back, tracing the curve of my spine.

We break the kiss briefly, both of us sucking the same air into our lungs before reclaiming each other’s lips. I lean into him, deepening the kiss—his tongue hot and soft on mine, eager but not too much. It’s a dance we’re engaged in, and every move he makes only draws me in deeper.

He turns me around with a gentle insistence, and I gulp in air, my heart pounding against my ribcage, erratic and wild. His hands slip under the hem of my dress, his fingers brushing against my thighs, teasing, promising, until they find the silk barrier of my panties.

A gasp escapes me, unbidden, as he dips his hand beneath the fabric, his touch bold and unapologetic against my bare nub. I reach a hand behind him, cradling the back of his head as he kisses my earlobe, his breaths hot and heavy against my skin. Holding on to him is all I can do to not melt completely under the deft movements of his fingers, each stroke unraveling me even more. I feel like a teenager all over again.

“Swan…” His voice is low and seductive in my ear, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air of the hotel room. “Gods, you’re soaked.”

I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes as I arch into him, seeking more of the exquisite touch, my body betraying its eagerness for his skilled caresses. “Killian.” His name is a whispered plea, a prayer, on my lips as his fingers explore with an artist’s finesse.

It’s surreal, being here with him in his hotel room. Out there, in the real world, I’m Emma Swan—pragmatic, collected, an art dealer, a mother. But here, under Killian’s masterful touch, I’m coming undone, my usual poise giving way to raw desire. He’s young, magnetic, a rockstar used to captivating crowds, yet here, it’s just us, and he plays me like the strums of his guitar—each note building to a crescendo only he can command. The world falls away, leaving only the here and now, the heat of his touch, the pounding of my heart and the insatiable hunger that builds with every passing second.

He dips his head, his breath hot against the nape of my neck as he unclasps the strap of my dress with his free hand, letting the top fall away. He reaches under my bra cup, his hand shaping my breast, his thumb toying with my nipple as he kisses my neck. I tremble, caught in a web of sensations spun by his deft movements. My moans fill the room, unrestrained and foreign, like the sounds belong to another woman entirely—one unshackled by past fears or reservations. It’s been so long since I’ve moaned like this. In fact, I don’t think I ever moaned like this with Neal, yet Killian’s able to coax the sounds out with only his fingers.

Both of my hands are reaching behind us, fisting his hair for purchase as I completely give in to this man. He finds a rhythm, a dance of fingertips against the most sensitive parts of me, driving me wild, pushing me toward a precipice I’m all too willing to tumble over. The edge looms closer with each stroke, and I cling to him, lost in the storm he’s conjured inside me.

“Killian!” I scream toward the heavens as I ride his fingers, my walls pulsing around them. And I’m there, crumbling to pieces, coming all over his hand, and I’m gasping for air, my fingers tightening in his hair, clinging to him as he holds me sturdy in his arms.

Holy fuck.

That was…

My brain is too much like mushy oatmeal to put together the words to describe it.

Killian just holds me for a moment as I catch my breath, waiting for my heart to slow.

Once I’m able to move again, I manage to turn around and wrap my arms around the back of his neck, wanting to kiss the smug grin off his face. His arms encircle me, and he lifts me with an ease that sends another jolt of desire through my veins. The world tilts and spins around me, but I’m anchored by his gaze, his eyes holding mine. As he carries me across the room, our lips crash together again, a messy, perfect collision, his heartbeat thundering against mine, a mirror of my own escalating pulse.

My head hits the pillow as he sets me down gently, our bodies and lips still fused. I work at the buttons of his shirt, craving the warmth of his skin against mine. The fabric parts beneath my touch, revealing the taut muscles that ripple on his torso. His hands are on me now, skimming over my sides, each brush of his fingertips like a match struck against my skin, igniting a fire within me I had long forgotten could burn so fiercely. He reaches for my dress, and my breath catches in my throat as the red fabric and black bra falls away, leaving me vulnerable under his heated gaze. With trembling hands, I help him shed the rest of his clothes, each piece discarded like layers of ourselves peeling away.

I lie back on my elbows, allowing him to slide off my panties—the last piece of fabric separating us. There’s a pang of self-awareness as I think about how much my body has changed since I got pregnant with Henry. Stretch marks map across my lower belly like silver rivers, my breasts are fuller now, no longer pert like they once were.

But when I catch Killian’s eyes, darken with desire, and his cock standing at full attention, hard and throbbing, any lingering uncertainty evaporates. His hungry gaze roams over every inch of me—the stretch marks, the fullness of my breasts, every scar and imperfection—as if they’re elements in an exquisite artwork he can’t wait to explore further. He wants me. All of me—the woman who carried a child within her womb—every curve, every scar, every part of me life has shaped.

My nipples are hard peeks under his gaze, begging for the warmth of his touch. His mouth. His tongue.

Standing at the edge of the bed, he lifts my foot and unbuckles the straps of my shoes one by one, his ocean blues not even focused on his task but roving up my naked curves instead, my center spread and bare to him, glistening with a hunger I haven’t felt in years.

Once my shoes are gone, he climbs onto the bed and settles between my thighs with a devilish glint, hiking my legs over his shoulders. He leans in, leaving soft kisses over my thighs and nub leaving me shivering in anticipation, my breath catching. He traces my slick folds with his lips, his breaths warm over my flushed skin, my heart like a jackhammer. Our eyes are locked in a steely gaze, but once he parts my thighs further apart, his grip bruising my skin in the most delicious way, and he slides his tongue through my slit, all bets are off. My elbows collapse underneath me, and my eyes are rolling to the back of my head, his tongue exploring with slow deliberate strokes, eliciting gasps and moans that echo through the quiet room.

For some reason, I’d thought he might be overeager, given his age, and not used to giving pleasure as much as receiving it, and maybe that was just my previous experiences. But, boy, was I wrong. Because, there’s reverence in each stroke and nibble, his mouth worshiping me, coaxing me closer to the brink with each flick of his tongue over my aching clit, delving into my depths as if he could find every secret I’ve ever kept hidden there.

“Killian!” I can’t help but cry out, the words ripped from my throat as electrifying heat consumes me. A shuddering “Yesss!” escapes, my thighs clamping around his head like a vice, involuntary while my hands become entangled in the dark tresses of his hair.

Even as waves of ecstasy begin to ebb, he continues his ministrations, languid licks that draw out the lingering tremors of my orgasm. His tongue moves with an unhurried grace, a contrast to the rapid beating of my heart.

Heat lingers on my skin, a delicious aftershock that trembles through me.

His lips start a blazing hot path from the apex of my thighs to my stomach, his mouth a brand, searing his claim on me. Every kiss imprinted on my skin burns brighter than the last, leaving no part of me untouched or undiscovered. His lips trace delicate patterns across my abdomen, pausing to dip into my navel before continuing their ascent.

The curve of each rib becomes a stepping stone as he climbs closer to my breasts, where he lingers, lavishing each contour and peak with his tongue. His kisses are equally soft and demanding around the areolas before he draws my nipples into his hot mouth, pleasure jolting through me.

By the time he reaches my lips, I’m a panting, trembling mess underneath him, our bare skin meeting, the contact sparking a fire that threatens to consume us both.

“God, everything about you is perfect,” he breathes, his voice completely wrecked. His words are exactly what a forty-year-old woman wants to hear about her naked body, but I know it’s not empty flattery. It’s the truth etched in the lines of his face, in the fire in his eyes, the way he holds my gaze when he says it. 

His erection presses against my thigh, hard and insistent, ready to claim me.

And God, do I want him to claim me. Every inch.

“Should I wear a condom?” 

Right. A condom—something I hadn’t even thought about. God, it’s been too long, I feel like a virgin all over again. 

“Do you have anything I should be aware of?” I counter, my voice surprisingly steady.

He shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “No, and you? Have you been with anyone since Neal?”

“No, I haven’t. I’m on the pill.” I glide my hand between us, wrapping my fingers around his stiff shaft, stroking softly, his smooth, velvety length easily sliding through my fist. “And I want to feel you inside me.”

He groans as he kisses me sweetly on the lips, a grin spreading across his face. “I want to feel you, too.”

With that settled, I place him at my entrance, and the connection sends sparks flying through me. After thirteen years of Neal and three years of nothing, Killian feels incredible inside me. No, incredible is a colossal understatement. And he’s not even fully inside me yet.

Our breaths, heavy and ragged, mingle as he eases into me, claiming territory with slow, tender strokes that belie his strength. My legs are wrapped around his back, my hands resting on his shoulder blades as I arch into him, every nerve-ending alight with fire.

He responds in kind, his hips a perfect counterpoint to mine, as if we’re two parts of a whole finally clicking into place. “Swan,” he whispers against my lips, and I shiver at the sound of my name wrapped in his accent, heavy with lust. “Bloody hell…you feel so damn good.” He captures my lips before I can respond, his tongue moving against mine with the rhythm of his hips, and I can taste myself on his tongue, which I’ve never had the pleasure of doing before. Neal always used mouthwash afterward before kissing me.

I lose myself in the sensations—the heat of his body, the weight of him, the taste of his kiss, the sound of our unified gasps filling the room. His size, the smoothness of his back, the firmness of his ass as I take both perfect globes in my hands, pulling him in deeper. It’s a heady combination, intoxicating, dizzying, and I drink it all in greedily.

“Killian...” His name spills from my lips as he draws me closer to the edge. There’s no holding back, no fear or doubt, only the boundless expanse of sensation he alone can evoke. My body gives in to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatens to sweep me under, my fingernails clawing into his back.

Heat coils inside me, raw and all-consuming as Killian’s body drives into mine with a primal rhythm, his voice, rough like gravel, cutting through the haze of pleasure. “Let go, Emma.”

And I do. I let go, surrendering to the waves as they crash over me, and I happily drown in the bliss of it, my walls fluttering around his beautiful dick that has me coming undone.

He follows close behind, thrusting harder and faster, the crescendo building as he chases his impending release. His hips falter, movements growing erratic, his body shuddering. He dips his head, teeth grazing my skin, breath hot against my neck. His grip tightens around me, hands like steel bands, and I’m certain there will be marks—temporary souvenirs—imprinted on my skin I’ll probably admire in the mirror later.

“Emma…” My name is pure heaven as it tumbles from his lips, wrapped in a thick, broken accent as he pours his warmth inside me.

Pure heaven.

We reposition ourselves so he’s on his back and I’m beside him, boneless, draping an arm around his torso. My breath steadies, our bodies a tangle of limbs, the echo of his touch, his kiss, on every inch of my skin, his chest a relentless drumbeat against my ear. The sheets are twisted around our legs, our fingers are laced together as he presses a tender kiss against my forehead.

“Emma…you’re incredible.” His words vibrate against my skin, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back.

I look up at him, my gaze meeting those deep blue eyes that seem to hold galaxies within them. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiles, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Your beauty,” he whispers huskily, “it’s not just in the way you look, Swan. It’s everything about you. It’s the very essence of you.” His touch is reverent, as though each word he utters is etched into my skin.

A warmth blooms in my chest at his words, at the admiration that laces each syllable. It’s as if every wall I’ve ever built has not only been scaled but completely dismantled by the tenderness of his gaze. He sees me, truly sees me—not just the polished exterior, but the tangled, knotted threads of my soul.

A teasing smile pulls at my lips. “Do you say that to all the women you’re with?”

He chuckles, his body shaking with the deep, hearty sound. “I would only say it if I meant it…so no, I don’t.”

I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, taking in the jagged edge of his stubble, the warmth of his skin. His eyes lock with mine, a stormy blue that speaks volumes without a single word. My heart swells, full to bursting with an emotion I can neither name nor contain.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Or forever.”

I laugh. “I’ll stay tonight…but I’ll have to go back early tomorrow. Henry will be back home around noon.”

He nods, despite the disappointment flashing in his eyes. “Of course, love.”

Lying here naked, pressed against him, I allow myself to bask in the afterglow, the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling me into a state of serene bliss.

I don’t remember sex being so damn good before.

It’s never been that good.

Then it hits me. He’s the first, the only one who’s ever made me orgasm from sex alone. Sure, I’ve had orgasms but only from stimulation—a tongue, a finger or (mostly) a battery-operated friend. Never from penetration. I didn’t even think it was possible for me. And I’ve certainly never experienced multiple orgasms before tonight.

I always assumed I was the problem. That I was broken somehow.

But here I am, lying in Killian’s arms, fulfilled and sated in a way I never thought possible. It’s like he’s unlocked some secret part of me no one else could access before.

And maybe my history of being unsatisfied in bed is the reason I waited so long to be with someone else after Neal left.

Then again, if I had known it could be this good, I wouldn’t have waited.

But maybe it was Killian I was waiting for all along.

[hookedonapirate]

I’ll Wait a Lifetime or Two

Summary:

At forty, Emma Swan is living her best life. She's happily single and owns a thriving art gallery with her best friend Elsa. And of course, there's the love of her life, her teenage son, Henry.

Since the divorce three years ago, her carefully curated life has been quiet, peaceful, ordinary. She couldn't ask for anything more. So why does the one guy she ends up falling for have to be the rockstar her son has a poster of on his bedroom wall, whose life is nothing short of extraordinary?

The Idea of You AU

Rated: M

AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5

CHAPTER FIVE

"Morning, Em.” Elsa’s voice echoes through the airy gallery as I step into work.

“Morning, Els.” Before I can even make it to my office to deposit my purse, Elsa swoops in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “All right, spill, already.”

“Spill what?”

“You know what.”

I continue to feign cluelessness, causing Elsa to sigh. 

“The deets about Mr. Rockstar.”

“Who, Killian?” I try to keep my tone light and nonchalant, averting my eyes to evade the impending interrogation. “There’s really nothing noteworthy to share. It was just business.”

She observes me with an arched eyebrow.

Ruby, who’s arranging a new display nearby, chimes in with a mischievous grin. “It didn’t seem like just business to me. The sparks between you two were probably visible from space.”

Rolling my eyes in mock exasperation, I scoff, hoping to downplay the significance of our encounter. “It was all just professional curiosity. You know how these musicians can be—always networking.” 

“Networking? He bought out the entire gallery,” Elsa reminds me.

“It was nothing.” Ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks, I deposit my purse on my desk and make a beeline for the kitchenette. I need coffee—desperately.

Elsa follows me, relentless in her pursuit of details. “Come on, I’m dying here,” she presses, leaning against the doorway as I pour myself a cup.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” I insist, stirring sugar into my coffee and turning around. “He was interested in art. That’s all.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, just interested in the art,” she repeats with air quotes and a smirk.

I sigh, knowing there’s no escaping this. “It was a good sale for the gallery, okay? Let’s just be happy about that.”

She doesn’t drop it, but I need a change of subject. I hate lying to her, but even if I told her I had Killian over for lunch, kissed the hell out of him and kicked him out, it wouldn’t matter, because I’ll never see him again. 

After realizing I wasn’t interested in continuing whatever it is we started, he probably moved on with some other woman who is much younger and more beautiful. I wouldn’t blame him. He could literally have any straight woman on the planet, so why on earth would he choose me?

I take a deep breath, the memory of that kiss still fresh in my mind. It lingers like the ghost of his lips on mine. His hands on my skin.

I close my eyes as if I could shut away the thoughts. It was just a kiss. One spontaneous, reckless kiss that means nothing. Well, actually it was two or maybe three kisses. The flutter in my stomach betrays me, however, mocking my attempts at denial.

But maybe meeting someone else will help me forget about him.

Ha! Like that could ever happen.

“By the way, what about that guy you wanted to set me up with? Walsh, right?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes, Walsh. He owns that cute furniture shop on Sunset Boulevard.”

As I sip my coffee, trying to listen to Elsa, my mind betrays me, wandering back to yesterday. Killian’s lips, his touch, the little noises he made as we kissed, his ragged breaths, his low groans are still implanted in my head. I can still feel his hands on my skin, taste his lips, smell his cologne. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.

“Em?” Elsa’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a well-sharpened blade, jolting me back to the present.

I look over at her and blink. “Sorry?”

“A date with Walsh? Are you up for it?”

“Uh, sure, I’ll go.”

“Great! I’ll set it up,” Elsa beams.

With the immediate interrogation dodged, I take a moment to savor my coffee and return to the front of the gallery, trying to push thoughts of Killian and the kiss from my mind.

“So, what are we going to do about the empty walls?” Elsa asks, gesturing around, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Killian’s visit sparked a whole bunch of curiosity yesterday. People have been calling and coming in, wanting to check out the art…which we currently don’t have.”

Ruby glances up from her work. “We should have new pieces arriving by the end of the week.”

“In the meantime, we can showcase some of our private collection and maybe do a feature on upcoming artists,” I add.

Elsa nods in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”

~*~

I stand in front of the mirror, holding up a delicate black dress, my stomach full of knots. I turn around, seeking a second opinion. “What do you think about this one?” I ask Henry, who’s lounging on my bed, scrolling through his phone.

He glances up briefly, narrowing his eyes, before reverting his gaze to his screen. “It’s nice…”

“Really?”

“Yeah, if you’re going to a funeral.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile at his blunt honesty. I turn the dress around and study it from Henry’s perspective. Intricate black lace adorns the fabric, the sleeves flow elegantly and it’s very modest, featuring gentle ruffles over the chest and a high collar at the neck that adds a touch of sophistication. It does look like something I would wear to a funeral.

Come to think of it—I have worn this dress to a funeral. “Alright, Mr. Fashion Critic, what do you suggest?”

He sets down his phone and gets up, rifling through my closet. After a few moments, he pulls out a red dress. “This one. It’s classy but not too serious.”

My mouth falls open as my eyes sweep over the dress I haven’t worn in years. I actually forgot it was hanging in my closet. I take the dress from him, holding it up against me in the mirror. It has a flowy, knee-length skirt and a strappy open back, adorned with a bow. The draped waist detail complements the plunging V-neck bodice beautifully. Fancy but comfortable.

I look over at him, a smile tugging at my lips. “How did you get to be so smart, kid?”

“Because I inherited my brains from you, duh.”

Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “Okay, what do you want?”

His face breaks into a mischievous grin. “Can I crash at Roland’s tonight? He just got the new CyberStrike.”

“Fine, but you better be ready to go in twenty minutes.”

He cocks his brow. “Mom, we both know you take longer than that to get ready.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Just get a change of clothes around.”

After I slip into the dress and apply some red lipstick, my hair resting over my shoulders in soft waves, I turn my attention to the watch on my dresser. Killian’s watch. The memory of him leaving it behind, whether intentionally or not, sends a thrill through me.

I slip it on, the weight of it comforting in a way I can’t quite explain but, at the same time, sending butterflies in my stomach.

When I enter the living room, Henry’s ready to go, his backpack next to him on the couch as he plays on his phone again.

“Better?”

When he looks up, he gives me an approving nod and a smile. “Much better.” He stands from the couch and grabs his bag. “You look beautiful, Mom.”

“Thanks, Henry.” I give him a side hug. “What would I do without you?”

He shrugs. “Probably get sick of people coming up to you, extending their condolences for your loss.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Clearly, you’ve inherited your sense of humor from your father.”

He slings his bag over one shoulder, eyeing my wrist. “Nice watch.”

“Thank you, it was a birthday gift...from a friend.” God, I hate lying to Henry, especially considering Neal lied to us both while he was having a secret affair with Wendy, but how can I possibly tell him the truth?

Oh by the way, kid, I had your twenty-four-year old idol over for lunch and didn’t think to include you. Then I kissed the fuck out of him, but don’t worry, it was a one time thing. And he left his watch behind, probably hoping he’ll see me again. And I’m going on this date with another man while I’m still thinking about the rockstar.

Nope, don’t think that would go over very well.

“Ready to go to your friend’s house?” I ask, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“So, who’s this Walsh guy again?” he asks as we head out the door.

“He’s someone Elsa set me up with. He owns a furniture shop in town,” I explain, smoothing down my dress.

Henry furrows his brows. “If he’s such a nice guy, then why didn’t he come to pick you up?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Because I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“I know you are, but I have to meet him to find out if he’s good enough for you.”

My eyes sting a little at that, a wave of emotion washing over me. I wrap my arm around his shoulders as we walk to my car. “I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, kid.”

“Just want to make sure you’re happy, Mom.”

I smile at him. “How about you meet him next time? If there is a next time.”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Deal. Just don’t be surprised if I give him the third degree.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

When I drop him off, Henry gives me one last piece of advice. “Have fun tonight, Mom. Don’t overthink it.”

I smile and hug him. “Thanks, kid. I’ll try.”

He gets out, and I watch him walk into his friend’s house. I take a deep breath and head to the restaurant I’m supposed to meet Walsh at, hoping the evening will be a pleasant distraction from the thoughts invading my mind of Killian and that damn kiss. Blair’s is an Italian restaurant not too far from where I live and is close to his furniture shop, so it’s a perfect meet-in-the-middle spot.

He’s already there when I arrive, standing when he sees me, a practiced smile on his face.

“Emma, hi, I’m Walsh. It’s great to meet you.” His handshake is firm, the eye contact steady.

“Nice to meet you too, Walsh.” My voice is polite, but the words feel hollow. We sit, and the small talk begins—a volley of questions and answers bouncing back and forth.

He’s nice enough—handsome, polite, and successful. Closer to my age. In fact, he might be a little older. Yet, as he goes on and on about his furniture shop, my attention keeps drifting.

“Emma?” His voice pulls me back.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if you’d like to try the wine I picked out.” He motions to the bottle chilling beside us.

“Sure,” I answer, but the taste of red on my tongue doesn’t compare to the thrill of Killian’s lips pressed against mine, the memory sending an unwelcome warmth through me.

“...and that’s when I decided to expand into custom pieces.” Walsh’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “You wouldn’t believe the demand for handcrafted dining tables.”

I nod, forcing a smile. “That sounds...interesting.”

He continues, oblivious to my waning interest. “And then we started sourcing wood from sustainable forests. It’s been a game-changer for the business.”

I take a sip of my wine, glancing around the restaurant. Couples are laughing, waiters are bustling and there’s a general air of warmth and excitement I just don’t feel at our table. I try to engage, but there’s no connection, no chemistry. Not even the initial first date sparks.

Walsh leans forward, his eyes earnest. “What about you, Emma? What’s your favorite kind of furniture?”

I pause, searching for a polite response. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it in detail. I like pieces that are functional and comfortable.”

“Functionality is key,” he agrees, launching into another detailed explanation about ergonomic designs.

I nod along, fidgeting with my napkin, my thoughts drifting to Killian. The excitement, the thrill, the undeniable connection we shared—it’s all I can think about. Every word Walsh says just emphasizes the stark contrast between them. Which isn’t very fair to Walsh. I mean, how can you compete with Killian? You can’t.

“...and that’s why choosing the right wood is so important,” Walsh finishes, looking at me expectantly.

“Absolutely,” I reply, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m agreeing to.

He smiles, seemingly satisfied with my response, and continues talking about his latest project. I glance at my watch discreetly, wondering how much longer I need to stay. We’ve only been here for about fifteen minutes, our food hasn’t even arrived, yet it feels like we’ve been here for an eternity and a half.

Needing a break, I excuse myself and hurry to the restroom.

As I stand in front of the sink, cursing myself for agreeing to this date, my phone buzzes in my clutch purse. I fish it out, a message lighting up the screen.

[phone]: I can’t get that kiss out of my head. I need to see you again.

My heart skitters, a smile tugging at my lips. The memory of our kiss flashes vividly in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. But here I am, on a date with Walsh, who has been nothing but kind but whom I have no interest in. Guilt twists in my gut as I type back.

Me: Who’s this?

[phone]: Ha! Cold.

[phone]: I got your number from the invoice. Hope that’s okay.

I click my tongue and sigh.

Me: Have the pieces arrived yet?

[phone]: Haven’t been home yet. Hear they look great.

[phone]: Anyway, about that kiss…

I roll my eyes and throw my phone back into my clutch purse before going to a stall and using the toilet. When I come out and wash my hands, my purse buzzes again.

[phone]: I know you read my last text. 🙂

I laugh.

Me: I can’t talk right now. I’m going to bed.

[phone]: No, you’re not.

Me: How do you know?

[phone]: Because it’s only 7.

[phone]: Also, you’re not at home.

Me: And how would you know that?

[phone]: Because I checked.

Me: You stopped by my house?

[phone]: I didn’t stop, I just happened to drive by a moment ago and notice all the lights were out.

Me: Happened to stop by? Right. 🙄

[phone]: Fine, I purposely drove by your house.

[phone]: Your turn to be honest 😁

Me: Stalker

I sigh.

Me: Okay, okay, I’m on a date. Happy?

[phone]: Am I happy you’re on a date with someone who’s not me? Not in the least. You’re really twisting the knife, love.🗡️💔 

Me: Elsa set it up. I didn’t have a choice.

Okay, I did have a choice but he doesn’t have to know I only said yes to the date to forget about him .

[phone]: Are you enjoying the date?

Me: No, not really. Our food hasn’t arrived and I’m already bored to tears.

[phone]: Where are you? I’ll pick you up.

His offer hangs in the air, tempting like a decadent piece of chocolate. My heart races at the thought of leaving Walsh sitting alone, but also at the prospect of being whisked away by Killian.

I bite my bottom lip. not even believing I’m contemplating taking him up on his offer. This is ridiculous. I’m on a date with someone and actually considering ditching him for another man. But how often do I get asked out by a rockstar?

[phone]: Do I have to beg, Swan?

Me: Only if you want to…

[phone]: Will you go on a date with me? Please?🙏 🙏🙏

I can’t believe what I’m reading. Killian Jones is actually begging me to go on a date with him.

[phone]: I promise not to bore you.

I laugh. Like that could happen. I'd be entertained simply by getting lost in his eyes. I add his number to my contacts and shoot him my answer.

Me: I’m at Blair’s, 2901 Rowena Ave.

Killian: On my way.

I am so going to hell for this. For lying and ditching a perfectly nice guy for one who is almost half my age. So irresponsible.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the awkward conversation ahead. I clear my throat and hurry to the table where Walsh is sitting, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey, Walsh...” My eyes are wide, feigning panic.

He looks up, concern knitting his brows. “Everything okay?”

“My son, Henry, just called. He went out to eat with some friends and got food poisoning.” I force an apologetic smile. “I have to go, I’m so sorry.”

Walsh’s face falls slightly, but he quickly masks his disappointment. “Oh no, I hope he’s alright. Do you need any help?”

“No, but thank you,” I reply, the guilt pressing down on me. “I just need to get to him as soon as possible.”

I reach into my purse and pull out some money, placing it on the table to cover my share of the food. “This should cover my part. I’m really sorry about this.”

Walsh shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, Emma. Go take care of Henry. Maybe we can do this another time?”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks for understanding.”

Without waiting for a response, I hurry out of the restaurant, my heart pounding with guilt and excitement. I step outside, the cool evening air doing little to calm my racing heart as I scan the street for Killian. I can’t help but wonder if I’m making the right choice, but the memory of our kiss and the anticipation of seeing him again push those doubts aside.

A minute later, a sleek, Audi R8 Spyder pulls up in front of me, its engine purring smoothly.

Killian rolls down the window, his million-dollar smile showing off his brilliant white teeth. “Hop in, love.”

I can’t help but smile, the thrill of seeing him again outweighing my guilt. I open the door and slide into the passenger seat, buckling my seatbelt. The smell of luxurious leather envelops me as he shifts into gear, the vehicle gliding forward with effortless power.

It’s surreal riding in a fancy car with Killian, who looks irresistible enough to eat. He’s wearing a well-fitted black leather jacket over a crisp white button-up shirt, the top few buttons casually undone. His dark jeans are perfectly tailored, accentuating his lean frame, and he’s completed the look with a pair of polished black boots. His silver chain with the skull and crossbones peeks out from beneath his shirt, and he has a few understated rings on his fingers, adding just a touch of rockstar edge to his ensemble. His hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way, and a hint of stubble lines his jaw, making me want to grab him and kiss him and finish what we’d started on Tuesday.

“Nice car.”

“Thank you, love, but I don’t actually own it. It’s a rental.” 

I raise an eyebrow, wondering if there’s anything he does actually own. The trailer, the watch I’m wearing, the car. They’re all things given to him or loaned for temporary use. “A rental, huh? I guess being a rockstar doesn’t mean you have to own all the fancy toys.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. Sometimes it’s fun to try different things without the commitment.”

I hold up my wrist, showing him the silver timepiece. “I brought you your watch.”

He looks over and smirks. “It looks much better on you, love.”

As I lower my arm and twist the watch around my wrist, staring ahead blankly, I find myself wondering if his noncommittal approach extends to women as well. My stomach churns at the thought of this being just a fleeting experience, of him moving on to the next woman after he has his fill of me. Am I just another one of his rental toys?

I softly shake my head, thinking maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. Maybe I could take a page from his book. Maybe this is exactly what I need right now—a chance to explore, to feel something new, to have this experience without any strings attached, then return to my normal life. My normal, rockstar-free life. I deserve a little excitement, a little unpredictability. And with Killian, it feels like anything is possible.

I glance over at Killian, his profile illuminated by the city lights. He seems so at ease, so comfortable in his own skin. It’s refreshing and a little intoxicating. The pull of adventure, the lure of stepping outside my routine and embracing something exciting and different.

“You look stunning, Swan, by the way. Is that a new dress?”

Heat creeps up my cheeks and I smile back at him. “Thank you, but no, it’s not new. Henry picked it out of my closet, actually. He saved me from leaving the house looking like I was going to a funeral.”

Killian laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes my heart flutter. “Smart kid. I told you, he’s got great taste.”

“Yeah, he does. He was pretty insistent about it, too.”

“Well, I’m glad he was.” His eyes briefly flick over to me again, full of warmth. “You look perfect.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I grin as I reach out, touching his arm.

“Thanks, love.” He tosses me a flirty smirk, placing his hand on my leg over my dress. The touch is very much welcome, but it makes this date all the more real. Too real.

As the car sails through the streets, my pulse quickens, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. It dawns on me with an almost physical jolt—I’m on a date with Killian Jones. My heart races, and a cold sweat forms on my palms. This isn’t just any date. It’s a date with a celebrity, someone whose life is so far removed from my own, it feels like I’m stepping into a different world.

I glance over at Kilian, his easy confidence making me feel even more self-conscious. What if I say something stupid or do something embarrassing? What if I trip over my own feet or spill my drink all over him? My mind spins with all the possible ways I could ruin this evening. What if he sees through my insecurities and decides I’m not worth the effort?

“Emma?” Kilian’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, gentle yet concerned. “Are you alright?”

I swallow hard, trying to muster a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just...a little nervous, I guess.”

He pulls the car over to the side of the road, turning to face me fully. His eyes are soft, filled with understanding. “Are you sure you want to go on this date?” he asks gently. “Just say the word and I can take you back.”

I take a shaky breath, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I want this, Killian, but it’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. And now that I am, it happens to be with one of the hottest rock stars in the world, so I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

Killian smiles softly and pulls me close, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Don’t think of me as a rockstar, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “I’m just a guy who’s incredibly attracted to you.”

I laugh. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a kid who has a poster of me on their bedroom wall.”

He arches a brow, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “I wish I had a poster of you on my bedroom wall.”

I snort-laugh, playfully swatting him on the shoulder.

“Just be yourself, Emma. That’s all I want.”

His words break through the haze of panic, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“And if it makes you feel any better,” he adds, his eyes locked on mine, “I’m just as nervous as you are.”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, that actually does make me feel better.”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle and lingering. His eyes hold mine, sparkling with desire and tenderness. Without another word, he leans in, closing the distance between us, and captures my lips with his. The kiss is electric, a surge of energy that sends shivers down my spine. My heart races, and I lose myself in the sensation, the world around us fading into oblivion.

His lips are warm and soft against mine, moving with a perfect blend of urgency and restraint. As our tongues touch, the kiss deepens, igniting a fire within me. My hands instinctively find their way to his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Just as the intensity builds, Killian pulls away, his breath ragged and uneven. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed for a moment as if savoring the lingering connection. When he opens them, a playful smile tugs at his lips, a mixture of satisfaction and longing.

“If we continue like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky, “we won’t make our reservations in Malibu.”

I laugh softly, my own breath coming in short gasps. “You’re right. We should probably go.”

He gives me one last, lingering kiss on the lips before moving away.

As he pulls back onto the road, I straighten and take another deep breath, trying to focus on the moment. Maybe, just maybe, I can let myself enjoy this without overthinking it. Take it for what it is—a thrilling detour from the everyday, a chance to feel alive and desired.

Once I take a moment to recover from the kiss, I think about the last thing he said and furrow my brows at him. “Wait, you had time to make reservations? We only started texting about five minutes before you showed up at Blair’s.”

A sheepish smile spreads over his lips. “I made them earlier.”

“Oh, and you were sure I’d drop everything and go on a date with you?” I tease.

He chuckles, his cheeks pink as he scratches behind his ear. “I was hoping. I would’ve called you much earlier but we were performing at Rockville in Daytona and then tried to get some shut-eye during the four-hour flight back.”

I nod, understanding the demands of his world. “I get it. Life of a rockstar.” I smirk.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Aye, it can get pretty hectic. But I’m here now. So, what’d you tell your date?”

“That Henry has food poisoning,” I laugh a bit sheepishly. “It was the best I could come up with on the spot.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come with me,” he says, reaching over to grab my hand. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot since that kiss.”

“Me too,” I admit, my heart fluttering at his touch as I thread my fingers through his. “That’s why I agreed to go on the date with Walsh.”

Killian looks at me, lifting a brow. “You were thinking of me, yet you went on a date with someone else?”

I sigh. “I know, it’s stupid, but I was trying to forget you.”

He smirks, though there’s a softness in his eyes. “Forget me, huh? How’s that working out for you?”

I laugh. “Not well, obviously.”

Kilian squeezes my hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m glad it didn’t work.” His eyes remain focused on the road, but his thumb strokes the back of my hand in soothing circles.

A smile pulls at my lips, the nerves from earlier melting away as I whisper, “Me too.”

[teamhook]

The Last Witch Hunter:: CSSNS

Hello. I know I shouldn’t start a new one but I couldn’t stop myself. I hope this will be incentive for the Muse.

Thanks to the @cssns

Thank you to my lovely beta that is a saint @ultraluckycatnd

AO3   FFN

Summary:            

Witches are among us. After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged. Only one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans. Killian Jones is the last witch hunter; he serves The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross and protects humans. Now, though, he needs help from an unlikely ally to put an end to the darkness that is worse than any known threat, and has been lurking in the shadows, threatening to destroy humanity

The fallen tree branches intertwined with the overgrown roots that covered the ground. The humid air made it difficult to breathe. The valiant champions included a widowed Killian, his priest brother, and their father. They were amongst the last line of defense. They had all lost so much already. Wives, fathers, mothers, husbands and children; families torn apart. They were walking into a death trap knowingly as they split away from each other. Each falling prey to traps and illusions created to not only torment their minds but end their lives. The only hope left was to end the Queen Witch’s power and in her death, humanity would find their salvation at whatever the cost. The band of brave men made their way through the ice cold mountains to her lair. The darkness of the forest aided the evil hag and her minions as they killed the men one by one. The screams echoed within the trees. They needed to reach her nest; the Hexen dwelled within the tallest tree in the center. The giant sequoia stood in the middle of the field covered in shadows, the vines bulging from the ground across the path. The perfect abode for those who worshiped the darkness. Light had no place here.

 The temperature dropped as the brave man could see his breath in front of him while he struggled to keep his wits and focus on the task at hand. He stepped over his fallen brethren while making his way deeper into the nest. He knew there would be no surviving the quest but failure was not an option.  

 The ground shook abruptly and grumbled. His attention was drawn to the silhouettes in front of him. One was crouched on the ground, and the other was kneeling in front of the first one. He moved swiftly to get a closer look, and to his dismay, he could now see the witch had her hand inside the chest of a man. It was an older man whose features were enhanced by the flame of the fire surrounding them. It was his father.

 "Liam!!" He bellowed for his brother to help as he rushed to save their father.

 His father looked at him one last time as life was crushed out of his heart.

 The ground trembled again, and it became icier as the sudden snow flurries covered his body. He reached the crone as she stood up to face him with an evil smirk. She moved quickly in front of him, and reached for his heart. He was able to evade her hands with a spin; he swung his iron blade at her as she cackled, mocking him.

 Killian finally managed to do the unbelievable and get the upper hand. The witch struggled to stay upright and she shoved her hand inside his chest. "I curse you to eternal life. You will continue to live and see all those around you die. You will be left behind. Forever alone." She squeezed his heart one last time before taking her last breath.

***

 His eyes shot open at the violent yawing of the craft. This went beyond turbulence. It was freezing. It was an abnormal storm. He stood up to find the culprit but the flight attendant stopped him. "Sir, you need to go back to your seat," the woman said as she pressed her hand on his hard chest.

 Killian could see the interest in her eyes but right now was not the time. "I'm sorry, lass. I need to use the facilities," he said in a low voice while invading her space.

 She smiled in return. “You should return to your seat.”

 “I promise to do so after I’ve done my business.” He crossed his heart.

 She looked around and noticed no one was paying attention to them. “All right, but try to be quick.” She smiled, hoping her leniency will earn her a nice lay over.

 Killian walked past the restroom to the small flight attendant station. He grabbed a cup of water and pulled out a pouch from his wallet. It had a couple of small tools including a needle, which he quickly dropped in the water.

 The plane jerked violently due to what appeared to be turbulence. The other passengers were beginning to panic as the oxygen masks dropped.

 The needle guided him to the source, a redheaded young woman hugging a black bag. Luckily the seat next to her was empty, so Killian sat down. The girl looked up with wide eyes. He smiled and said, "Lass, hand it over." He extended his hand for her to place the bag in. She was about to object then she gasped as she realized his identity and placed the bag on his waiting hand. He opened it and noticed the runes were stuck. "Bloody hell, lass. Why did you think jamming weather controlling runes together was a good idea?" Killian scolded as he sped up his actions; he poured a potion to neutralize and separate the runes using tweezers. “I've been looking for these for a very long time. Lass, these tiny things manipulate the weather. Rain, cold, wind, heat... and you thought it was a good idea to put them together in your bag? Do you know what you get when you mix a thunderstorm with cool, moist air? You almost killed us all. We are lucky you didn't get them wet. You witches have no idea the power you possess." He shook his head in disbelief as he pulled out a case from his jacket pocket and placed each rune inside after covering it carefully with a cloth.

 “I know you are the witch hunter. Are you going to kill me?” the girl asked.

 “Why would I kill you, lass? I just saved your life,” Killian said. “I have a code.”

 “Are you going to turn me in to the witch council? I didn’t do it on purpose. I inherited those from my sister. I swear it was an accident.”

 “No need to fret. Enjoy your stay.” He winked at her and stood up, leaving her behind to go back to his seat.

 The flight attendant noticed him walking back to his seat while she finished providing some water to the passengers to help calm them down.

 "Excuse me sir, I thought I told you to go to your seat?" the flight attendant said, annoyed.

 "I'm sorry, love, but a young lass was in distress. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't anymore. My name is Killian Jones, I much prefer being called that.

 How about I buy you a drink to make up for my lack of listening skills?" he said with a sexy raised eyebrow.

 The woman tried to play it as if she wasn't tempted but the blushed cheeks gave her away. "Well, Killian, I suppose that would be all right."

 "We can meet at baggage claim and set sail from there," he said as he raised her hand to his lips.

 Witches are among us

 Descendants from an ancient race called Hexen

 Their magick diluted, half-forgotten but dangerously powerful

 After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged

 Witches would live freely if they followed one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans

 A truce is a fragile thing…

 There are those who long for the dark days of the Witch Queen, Gothel.

 It is those whom Killian deals with.

 For centuries, he has

 served The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross.

 I serve The Order in a different manner.

  I write Killian's history.

 I am his handler, his confessor, and his friend.Together we have kept watch and kept the peace.

 I’m Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo

Father Nemo arrived at Killian’s place to take the report from the most recent mission.

 The doorman smiled at the older man. “Father Nemo. I’m sorry, but he is in a meeting. Could you please take a seat while you wait?”

 The elevator opened and a woman exited wearing a flight attendant uniform.

 “I think the meeting is over, my boy,” Father Nemo said as he rose from his seat to walk to the elevator.

 Killian opened his door with a wide satisfied smile on his face. "Hello, old friend."

 Father Nemo rolled his eyes. "You know you are older than me."

 Killian shrugged. "However, as you can see, I've maintained my youthful glow."

 "That doesn't explain why you have no sense of time," Father Nemo scolded him.

 Killian rolled his eyes fondly.

 Father Nemo smiled at the man in front of him. Killian was physically younger, but was actually much older than him. However, time stands still for no one.      We should get to business    , he thought as he pulled out his journal and pen from his bag to prepare for the details. "I assume the mission was a success and you were able to recover the weather runes without incident?"

 "Aye, they are safely put away in the vault," Killian replied. "Old man, really? You get upset at my teasing but I believe you secretly enjoy it. That is why you are not willing to use any of the tech I gift you with. Where's the iPad I gave you?"

 "If you must know, I regifted it. Besides, you will not need to worry after my retirement." Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo reaffirmed his decision it was time to move on.

 "Oh, you were serious. I thought you would reconsider but since you are set in retiring, I got you a small token." Killian smiled as he handed a box to his old friend.

 "You didn't have to do this." Father Nemo grabbed the box and opened it to find a very rare, expensive Waterman 402 pen. "Oh my. I thought you didn't get sentimental. This is lovely but truly too expensive."

 "We've had a good run. We took out many dangerous covens. I finally got used to you and now you want to find greener pastures."  

 "I'm going to miss you."

 "You know you can still keep the pen if you reconsider," Killian said with a hopeful smile.

 "I'm leaving you in modern hands. Besides, the vow was not til death but to face it at your side."

 "You do know there are only two Dolan's advice I have ever listened to: my brother Liam, the first Dolan, and you."

 "Fine company I'm in but wait a minute, you ignored it all the time!" Nemo said irritated.

 "Perhaps, but I always listened."

 "Killian, what if you could retire too? What would you do?"

 "Ah, but I can't."

 "Just humor me."

 "I'm not blind to the importance of my job. Every day I wake up, the world is safe."

 "I wish you could live. Truly. You are missing the best part. The one that goes beyond ships passing in the night. Flight attendants or whoever you found for the evening."

 "There's nothing wrong with a dalliance."

 "You need to find someone to trust and share your life with."

 "Old man, let's finish this then."

 After they finished the report they parted ways. Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo left to finalize his report and hand over the file on Killian Jones to his replacement, Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon.

 Father Nemo's words of advice for the young Father Gideon were to serve with distinction and to remember that Killian was more than a weapon as the elders of The Flaming Sword and Cross loved to refer to him as. He was beyond his success rate or the numbers of witches in detention or the ones that paid the ultimate price for breaking the law.

 The next day, Killian's phone rang. "Hello?"

 "Mr. Jones, this is Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon. I'm sorry to inform you that Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo passed away in his sleep peacefully. The ceremony will be tomorrow."

 Killian was alone now. His friend was gone and it served as a reminder to not allow anyone else to enter his heart.

 The unexpected death of his old friend had reopened the scars left behind by the loss of his wife Milah, their young daughter Alice, his father Brennan, and brother Liam months later. Killian had spent years protecting his heart and focusing on the job, claiming he had a right to seek vengeance for all the world had lost. Now he was grieving for the last person he allowed himself to care for. He truly would die alone. The Order hadn't even given a proper burial to his friend as they now pledged the new Dolan. Killian couldn't stomach the ceremony and stepped out. He sat down on a bench and contemplated his life.

 The young Dolan the 37th sat next to him.

 Killian's eyes stayed focused on an object as he spoke. "Do you see that cornerstone?"

 Dolan, the 37th, nodded. "Yes, Sir. I do. I'm-"

 Killian interrupted him. "I watched them lay it in when all that was there was a cornfield. That was long ago. Everything changes, only I remain." Killian finally faced the young man.

 "Sir, I'm sorry for your loss. I wanted to pledge my life and loyalty to you. Please, call me Gideon."

 "Father Gideon, there are levels of evil everywhere. However, I've never seen people get old, retire, and die on the same day."

 "Sir, I know this isn't the proper time but I need to sort you out with a new identity and all that comes with it." Father Gideon stated as he pulled an envelope from the briefcase.

 Killian rolled his eyes. "I understand all of you Dolans are fierce rule followers but I will be clear. First, I don't need a new identity. Second, there are more pressing matters. Something doesn't add up. You were the last one to see Father Nemo. I need to go to his place." Killian stood and walked towards his black super sport 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle.

     At least it's not red,     Father Gideon muttered as he opened the car door and slipped in. "Sir, I understand, but a low profile is important to keep. As for Father Nemo, what are you thinking?

 "I'll know when I see it."  With that he started the car and drove to Nemo's home.

 They entered and Killian looked around. "How do you know when there's magic in the vicinity? It comes from four elements; fire, water, earth, and air. The correct alchemical triggers will reveal its presence." Killian informed Father Gideon as he continued his inspection. "It appears there was no magic here. However, if the window hasn't been opened, how did this get in here?"

 Gideon looked at the dead flies on the floor.

 "One means nothing. Two perhaps a coincidence but three, that means trouble. He was killed by witches."

 Killian got his confirmation once the glamor spell was lifted. "This is a declaration of war."

  @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @caught-in-the-filter @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher @branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee​ @kymbersmith-90​ @laschatzi​ @lassluna​ @let-it-raines​ @lfh1226-linda​ @lonelyspectator12​ @mariakov81​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @officerrogers​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @onceratheart18​ @pirateherokillian​ @purplehawkcaptain​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @revanmeetra87​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @sals86​ @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes​ @seriouslyhooked​ @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @sotangledupinit​ @spacekrulesbians​ @spartanguard​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @swanslieutenant​ @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @thepirateandhisson​ @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite​ @tiganasummertree​ @tomeandflickcorner​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @wellhellotragic​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @winterbaby89​ @winterbythesea @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @zaharadessert​ @myfearless-love @cosette141 @grimmswan​ @fleurdepetite​ @hookmecaptain​ @once-upon-a-pirate-ship​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @4getfulimaginator2022​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​

[cs-and-bellarke]

CS FF: The Hilltop

Ao3, FF

Background:

 Killian Jones (26) comes to the states looking for a new start in StoryBrooke Main, he finds a hilltop to find peace in his messed up life.

Emma Swan (24) comes back home after moving to New York with her brother James and her Friends Robin and Regina, she goes back to the hilltop that she has always gone to when she meets the man she talked to when looking for her brother David. 

Killian’s P.O.V

Being new in a small town is a bit strange because everybody knows everybody except you and you don’t know anything about anything, when I moved to StoryBrook Main I did it to start fresh, to get away from my problems and maybe make new friends and everything. I live in a 1 bedroom apartment and I just moved here 2 weeks ago, I work as a police deputy and the shariff seems to be okay with me thank god.

I go into work and I see David on the phone and when he gets off the phone he has the biggest smile on his face that I have ever seen. “Should I ask what you are smiling about?” I asked him.

“My sister is coming back into town and she has some news for me but she will not tell me over the phone” he says.

“Wait a minute...you have a sister?”

“Yes and don’t get any ideas”

“Wasn’t planning to...how old is she?” 

“She’s 23, and she used to live here but she moved and now she is coming to visit, I would like you to meet her”

“You would?” I asked him unsure if he was being serious or not.

“Yeah why not” he asks.

Okay one finding out that my only friend here in StoryBrook has a sister and my boss is one thing but him wanting me to meet her is another, why does he want me to meet his sister...I don’t get it but I am not going to argue with him. 

*A week later*

I am doing paperwork and a beautiful blonde goddess walks into the station.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked her.

“Yes, is David Nolan here?” she asked.

“No he’s on his lunch break, want to leave him a message?”

“No I know where he is, thank you”

She leaves and I am just sitting there wondering who the fuck was that and how the hell can I talk to her.

Emma’s P.O.V

I go down to granny’s where my brother is having lunch, I came to see him a week early because I am moving back here and I needed to be here for when my stuff got here. When I went to see if he was at work and the man who asked if I needed help was hot as shit, like where the hell has he been all my life and how to I get one.

I sat in David's booth and it took him a minute to notice I was there but then “Emma what are you doing here, you’re not supposed to be here for another week?” he says.

“I know but I came early” I say to him.

“So what was it you wanted to tell me”

“I’ll tell you later, you have to get back to work”

“Fine but I am holding you to that”

He leaves and I go down to my hilltop that I have been going to since I was in high school, it’s so peaceful and it gives me time to just think. When I get there I see that it hasn’t changed, no one knows that I came here, not even David. All of the sudden I felt someone behind me and when I turned around it was the man from the station.

“Hey it’s you” I say to him.

“And it’s you,” he says.

“How do you know about this place?”

“I was hiking one day and found it, you?”

“I’ve been coming here since I was in high school”

“Oh so you’re from here?”

“Yeah, but I am just now moving back, I’m Emma by the way Emma Swan” I tell him.

“Killian Jones” he says with a smile. “It’s peaceful here” he says out of nowhere.

“It is, it gives me a chance to think...are you new in town?”

“Yeah, I move here about 2 weeks ago”

“How are you liking our little town”

“I like it but I only have one friend”

“Make it 2, I’ve gotta go but I’ll see ya around Jones” I say to him then I leave.

It is so hard not to stare at him but I tried my best not to, he seems so sweet and I know that he will be a good “friend”. 2 of my friends are moving here with me from New York and I am happy about it, they have been there for me when I have needed them most. Robin I have known since I was 5 and Regina I met in high school. 

I went to David’s and he wasn’t home yet so I got Granny’s to go and waited for David to return...when he got home he looked tired and I knew that he was. “So what did you want to tell me?” he asks.

“Well...you know how you’ve been wanting me to come back?” I asked him.

“Yeah”

“Well, me, Robin, and Regina are moving back to StoryBrook”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah” 

He smiles and hugs me, I am glad he is happy that I am moving here and I am glad that I am moving here.

Killian’s P.O.V *1 week later*

It’s been a week since Emma fully moved back to StoryBrook and I found out a couple days ago that she was David’s sister. I have met Emma on the hilltop every day since the first time and we sit and talk and I’m becoming a closer friend to her then I am with David and I know that she is his sister so have no chance with her without him going nuts. I would love to take her out and give her everything that she has ever wanted but I can’t not only because of David but because she has become my friend and I don’t want to ruin that even though part of me does.

Emma started her new job at the high school as an English teacher and I heard that she got Belle and Gold's son who runs the high school, Gold is mayor of StoryBrook and he does a good job for the most part so that's good I guess. I have learned a lot about Emma and I also know that her and David are not related because his mom adopted her when she was 6 because Ruth couldn’t have a daughter but she did have 2 boys, David and James and they don’t get along but I guess Emma was living with James in New York and David doesn’t know about it. She is closer with James then David but she came back because she missed her brother, yea she will miss James but she thought it was time for a change.

I haven’t really told her about my family because it’s complicated and I don’t want to drag her down that hle of a mess called my family, maybe one day I will tell her but not right now at least. Almost every day I see her at the hilltop and every time I see her my heart skips a beat because she is so sweet and so beautiful and I am very attracted to her. Nothing can happen though because one her brother would kill me and make it look like an accident and two because I don’t believe she finds any attraction towards me.

“Hey Swan” I say to her as I arrive at the hilltop.

“Hey Jones, what’s up?” she asks. Yeah she calls me Jones when I call her Swan.

“Nothin, just got off of work, how was work for ya” 

“It was okay, teaching high school students is fun but tiring but coming here makes my day a bit better”

When she said coming here made her day better it made my heart flutter, yeah I know she wasn’t talking about me but part of me wanted to think it was. “Yeah, kinda wish I grew up out here” I say to her.

“Where did you grow up?” she asks.

“Ireland, with my brother”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, we stopped talking last year, I am all I go I guess other then you and David of course”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sometimes family sucks...having your brothers hate each other growing up was hard. Don’t tell David this but James was always my favorite because he wasn’t overprotective like David was and is. James would let me do more things, when he was invited to a high school party he would let me go with him but when David found out hell broke loose”

“He was just trying to protect you,” I told her.

“I know but as a young teen I thought he was just being a jackass because I liked spending more time with James then him, but that wasn’t true” she says.

She’s opening up to me more than I am with her and when I told her a tiny bit about my brother I think she knew not to push so she didn’t, it’s hard to open up about my family but I think I am going to. God she is so beautiful and any man will be lucky to have her.

“Why don’t you talk about your family?” she asks.

“It’s complicated”

“Don’t pull that, I know complicated , trust me. I was adopted when I was 13 but my parents didn’t care enough for me to drop me off at a police station no they left me on the side of the highway like a piece of trash, so I know complicated...my life is complicated but you can trust me”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning”

“Well my mother died when she gave birth to me and I think my father blamed me for it my entire life, my father left when my brother Liam turned 16, I was 13.  We were homeless for about 2 years then he continued to raise me as I finished high school. When I was about 24 my brother found someone he really loved but when I wouldn’t come to work with him he got mad, but I didn’t care because I was almost done with the academy. When Liam got engaged, he changed and he was trying to control me, make me be like him...after his wedding our father came back and he forgave him, he forgave the man who left his sons to defend on their own when they were just children and Liam wanted me to forgive him too but when I wouldn’t he told me I was being childish and I should forgive the man who ‘gave us life’. He didn’t give us life our mother did, my father is just a coward and one thing I didn’t tell my brother was when we were younger my father would wait till Liam went to bed to tell me the reason my mother was dead was because I was born and then he would hit until I passed out. Liam would ask about the marks but I just told him I fell and we moved on. I love my brother but I can’t have someone in my life who can forgive the man who left us like we didn’t even matter, because to my father we didn’t matter, I can’t have someone in my life who thinks what my father did was okay and that can forgive him for what he has done” I explain to her.

She says nothing and just tackles me with a bear hug, I of course hug her back and bury my face in her hair. We hug for like 5 minutes and then she pulls away and I can see tears in her eyes, I wipe the tears off her face with my thumb and she smiles.

“How could you leave your children like that...I’m so sorry, what your father did was not right, but your brother doesn’t know everything your father did” she says.

“Yeah but he still forgives him for leaving us on the streets”

“I get it, I do but I wouldn’t know what to do without my brothers” 

“I don’t know what to do without him but I have to learn”

“Well you have me, so it’s a start” she says with a smile as she grabs my hand.

“Yeah it is, thank you” I say to her as I pull her into a hug.

Emma’s P.O.V

We sat there just looking at each other after he told me pretty much his whole childhood, god he has really beautiful eyes and right now all I want to do is kiss him. He pulled me into a hug and he smelled like the ocean and...home, we pulled apart and he rests his hand on my cheek and he moves his thumb back and forth across my cheek. 

We stare at each other and he has this look and I have no idea what it means but then he starts to lean in and I didn’t stop myself from leaning in either, then our lips met and when they did electricity went through my body. Thank god for the hilltop.