It's that time of year! Here are the themes for 2022. As always, they're vague on purpose; interpret them however you like. You can combine a few of the prompts or just pick one. Please check the blog for the rules and how to submit your entry!
25. October
Nightmares / navy
living | anchor | "I can't see" | alone
26. October
Potions / purple
cook | lust | "The things we do for love" | cursed
For CS Halloweek 2021.
Fulfilling the prompts: Monsters/red (under a spell | mystery | “I’m not going anywhere” | bloodcurdling)
(though the only mention of monsters is that there finally are none lol)
Summary: Inspired by gifs of that scene in 6x01, a fic in which they actually get to finish what they barely started on the couch. Angsty and soft smut.
Rated: E; Words: 3174; read it on AO3
A/N: Shoutout and thank you again to the organizers of @cshalloweek for holding the event again.
Also huge shoutout and thank you to the wonderful @kmomof4 for betaing this when I finished it last-minute, and for fixing my run-ons. ❤️
———
He liked her red leather jacket.
Once an emblem of the walls she’d constructed in order to protect herself from the heartbreak she’d believed to be inevitable, her jacket had since become a symbol of the progress they’d made to overcome the walls together. They were simply another part of her, and he was grateful she trusted him enough to let him inside them. And the red provided a nice pop of color against his own black leather as well.
He liked her sweater, too.
A woven pattern with stripes of white above solid black, a light in the dark as she was for him. It was soft against his calloused palm as his hand slipped under her jacket, unzipped and open for him, and he supported the small of her back as she canted her hips and cradled him between her legs over the arm of the couch.
Softer still was her skin.
His fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater and slowly inched beneath it. Her laughter was contagious, a bubbling giggle as he slid his hand up her belly and brushed gentle strokes over her navel with his thumb, and he couldn’t help but press his smile to hers as if he could catch her contentment with a kiss.
“Killian,” she grinned, his name a playful plea on her tongue as it met his lips and teased inside. Gods, he always loved the way she said it.
He even liked her undergarments.
Modern and decorative, as delicate as he wanted to treat her though he knew she was anything but that. He lifted her sweater until the hem rested above her chest and guided her upright just enough so he could undo the clasps at her back as she’d shown him how to do. Letting her relax against the cushions once more, he tucked the tip of his hook beneath the tiny bit of ribbon at the front and raised it to reveal her breasts to him.
He liked those, too. Very much.
“So beautiful, Emma,” he praised. Surrounding one nipple with his lips, he gently sucked at her supple flesh, coaxing it to a stiff peak as his teeth scraped and pulled at the bud. His hand tended to the other until at last his mouth parted with a wet pop and they swapped sides. Tiny gasps filled the space around them as he slowly unraveled her without even touching where she needed him most. He began to rut against her, the contact between their clothed bodies doing little to sooth the eager ache behind the layers of denim and cotton.
Those, too. He liked her jeans.
He liked the way they hugged her ass so perfectly and left little to the imagination, skin tight over her legs as she taunted him every time she walked past him with a subtle but deliberate sway in her step. But he liked peeling them off of her even more.
As he continued to sate his hunger for her with his mouth at her breasts, Killian deftly flicked open the button of her jeans and tugged down the zipper until he could shimmy them down over her hips. He ran the curve of his hook along her panties but wanted to feel her wet warmth himself. Tugging the material aside with the tip of his metal appendage, he slid his hand along her skin and pressed a finger between her folds, rubbing her clit with his palm as he prodded her entrance and hummed with burning desire as she soaked his fingers and welcomed them into her slick heat.
Killian swallowed her gasp as his mouth returned to hers, muttering praises into their kiss as he fucked her with his hand. Emma cupped his face and held him close, her thumb brushing along his cheek as she gently scratched at the hair behind his ear, and it was all he could do not to melt into her touch. He broke away from her lips only to kiss her palm in a wordless thank you before turning back to them again. Curling his fingers in the way he knew she liked, he drank in her contented sighs and whimpered pleas and wished he’d already lowered his own trousers too, as his cock almost painfully strained against them.
“Forgive me, love,” he said with an apologetic tone but a promising look in his eyes as he slipped his fingers from her despite her encouragements to keep them there. “I need to feel you, Emma.” He covered her body in kisses as he removed her jeans the rest of the way and unfastened his own, shoving them down his legs and letting them pool around his ankles as he took his cock in hand, hard and more than ready, and coated himself in her arousal. With one steady push, he sank into her core with a satisfied groan, finding some relief as he buried himself inside her again and again, falling into a steady rhythm though his legs threatened to buckle beneath him at the overwhelming feel of her already clenching around his length.
“Fuck, Killian,” Emma moaned. He couldn’t help but smile as she reached for his necklace as it dangled above her, looking for something, anything, to hold as he thrust with purpose.
“Finally, we have the chance again,” Killian smirked, lacing his fingers between hers as he clasped the hand not holding his necklace and raised it above their heads, pressing it into the cushion of the couch. “You’ve been wanting another moment as long as I have, I can tell by just how wet you are for me. You make it so easy for me to fill you like this, because you want to be filled, don’t you?” His question was rhetorical, but she nodded anyway. “But you’re so fucking tight,” he gritted. “Relax for me, darling, I’ve got you. No monsters today, just a pirate who can’t get enough of his Savior, just relax.”
He slowed his thrusts against the urgent nagging of his own desperation and kissed her lips, her cheek, her jaw. His teeth scraped along the shell of her ear, nipping at her earlobe before dragging down the column of her neck. Catching the neckline of her sweater between them, he pulled it aside and latched onto the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Emma tilted her head toward him with a gasp and a giggle and attempted to pull away, but he stilled her with the flat of his hook at her hip, caressing up her side before brushing her cheek and holding her still as he caught a bead of sweat at the hollow of her throat with his tongue and licked a devious stripe up to her chin. Even still, she remained tense, and he was determined to fix that.
“If you keep squeezing me like this, Emma, I’m not going to last much longer.” Killian tucked his arm under her thigh and lifted it, spreading her legs further apart to give himself better access. Even moving at his current pace was too much, agonizingly slow now and yet perhaps that only heightened the sensation of each languid slide with her fitted so snugly around him.
“S’okay,” Emma mumbled quickly as she chased his lips, clearly not wanting him to break their kiss again. “I want you. Before another curse hits. Before another threat to us. I want you.”
“You have me, Emma,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere ever again.” After Emma’s pleading confession, Killian let some of his own desperation show. He ran the curve of his hook down and up her torso as his hips snapped faster, outlining her breast with the side of the metal pressed flat against her skin until he turned it and teased her nipple with fleeting flicks from the tip, drawing small, pleased gasps from her. “The only curses now are the ones I want to hear fall from your lips as I prove it to you, my darling.”
It didn’t take long for her to do just that, stutter streams of curses and pleas and yeses and Killians. He held her leg against the back of the couch, peppering kisses along the inner side as he plunged deeper still.
“What do you need, love?” he asked, a tender urgency in his tone. “How can I help you come?”
“Just—” she hesitated.
“Tell me, Emma.” He met her gaze with a soft plea in his. “Please.”
“I don’t—I don’t know if I can right now,” she answered quietly. “I’m overthinking, I guess. Just—just hold me, Killian.”
“Alright,” he said, carefully pulling out of her and tucking his arms beneath her, lifting her into his embrace. “We’re alright, love.”
“What are you—” Emma started. “Please, you can still—”
“Not without you, darling.” He kicked off his jeans the rest of the way so he wouldn’t trip and spun them both, sitting on the couch with her in his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he supported her back with the flat of his hook and gently stroked her hair with his hand, placing chaste kisses to her forehead. “I’m here, Emma,” he reassured her with every kiss. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“I know,” Emma almost whispered. She wrapped her fingers in his necklace and placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. “I know, I just… I thought I lost you.”
“I know,” Killian echoed. He knew she was looking for his heartbeat beneath her palm, and he hoped she couldn’t feel how it broke for her as he clasped his hand over hers and searched for ways to comfort her. “I told you, I’m a survivor. And apparently,” he smirked, “we’re even favored by the gods. So you’ve nothing to worry about anymore.”
Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“I mean it, Emma. Look at me.” He lifted her chin with the side of his finger, caressing her cheek when she met his gaze. “You’ve got me. And I, you. Here and now. This is real. We have each other.”
Killian gently rocked Emma at a soothing pace. As they sat like that in each other’s embrace, her head tucked under his chin as if she couldn’t get close enough to him, Killian quietly started to hum a song he’d used to calm himself for many years and hoped would help her now. He continued to press kisses and reassurances to her head as he repeated the tune—I’m here, I’m here, I’m here—until at last he felt her relaxing in his arms.
“Killian?”
“Hmm?”
“Could we try again?” Emma looked up at him, and he met her pleading eyes with his.
“Of course, if you’d like.” Hoisting her up before he stood, he spoke as he carried her, “But we’ll do it right. You deserve love, Emma. After everything, you deserve thoroughness, not a quick tryst on the sofa.” He set her on their bed, gently pushing her jacket off her shoulders and helping her remove it before toying with the hem of her sweater. “Let’s get this off you, love.” Sliding his hand and hook beneath it, he glided them up her sides and lifted the garment over her head, slipping it down and off her arms along with her bra. Then he started on his own clothes, setting his jacket aside next to hers before beginning to work on the buttons of his vest.
“Let me,” Emma said quietly, standing to help him remove his shirt. “You deserve love too, Killian. You’re the one who—” She trailed off, but he knew what she meant. “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been through.”
Once they were both fully bared, Emma reached up and pulled Killian into a deep kiss, tender and sloppy and desperate. He eagerly reciprocated as he backed her toward the bed, guiding her backward until the mattress was beneath her. Parting from her lips, he sank lower, trailing his mouth down her body until his knees hit the floor and his face aligned with his goal, her legs already spread for him in invitation.
“Are you sure, Emma? We could just rest if—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Emma answered. “Please, Killian, I want you.”
“And I, you.”
Killian lightly stroked Emma’s inner thigh with the back of his hand as he kissed the other from her knee to the apex. Her muscles twitched beneath his touch, anxious and sensitive, but when his breath ghosted over her center as his mouth set to work just below her clit, Emma finally managed to relax a little.
“I’ve missed your taste,” he sighed against her wet flesh as his tongue coaxed forth her arousal. “I could happily live on nothing else.” Nudging her clit with his nose as he sucked and licked at her core, Killian enjoyed the small gasps Emma released. “Would you let me stay between your legs like this, Emma?”
“Mmm,” she moaned, “mmhmm.”
“I appreciate your hospitality, darling,” he chuckled. “Thank you.” As he tested her entrance, she easily opened for his tongue, arching her back as he thrust it inside her. His hand and hook held back her legs as they threatened to close of their own volition at the already overwhelming sensations he was giving her.
“Relax, love. I’m here,” he reassured her as his fingers slowly inched closer to his mouth’s ecstasy. Gliding one between her folds, he prodded and sucked until she welcomed the intrusion easily. “I’m here, Emma,” he soothed again. “Let me in, darling. Please.” He stretched her gently until a second finger could smoothly slip inside her with the first, curling them both with each thrust, and she panted as he hit the spot she needed most. “There’s a good girl.” Killian knew Emma loved that particular affirmation, evident in the way she canted her hips to grant him better access as more of her arousal leaked onto his fingers and chin. “That’s it, Emma.”
“Killian,” Emma gasped his name as he sucked her clit and flicked it mercilessly with his tongue. “Killian, please,” was all she could manage to say as her hands anchored in his hair. She held his face against her as she rode his fingers and sought his mouth.
“That’s it, darling,” Killian muttered against her slick flesh as he continued to lick and suck and tease. “You’re such a good girl for me.” He angled his head as her legs pressed against his cheeks, his scruff scraping her soft skin in the best way and leaving burning streaks of pink in its wake. “You’re so pretty when you come. Will you let me see it, please?”
A string of curses left Emma’s lips as Killian brought her over the edge, the sensation so blissfully overwhelming as her hips bucked and her legs fluttered until she slowly floated back down from her high, feeling relaxed at last.
“You’re so fucking good at that,” she panted. Tugging his hair, she urged him to climb up their bed above her and cradled his hips between her limply spread legs. “Thank you,” she sighed with a smile before pulling him into a deep kiss.
“Mmm,” Killian hummed, caressing down her side and tracing the crease of her thigh with his fingers before taking his cock in hand. “Are you ready for me, love?” he asked softly, rubbing her clit with the tip.
“Yes,” Emma answered, stroking the hair at the nape of Killian’s neck, her thumb settling just behind his ear. “Please, Killian, yes.”
He kissed her again as he gently pressed inside her with shallow thrusts until at last he filled her completely.
“So perfect, Emma,” Killian breathed as he slowly increased the depth and pace of his movements. “Do you feel how perfectly we fit together, darling?” He teasingly nipped at her bottom lip as her jaw fell slack with breathless moans, both of them too caught up in the absolute pleasure of each other to do much else. “You’re so warm and snug around my cock. Staying so nice and wet for me. We are meant to be together, Emma. Always.”
Emma wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles behind him as she pulled him into her arms. He hissed lightly as her fingernails dug into his back, a guttural groan interrupting the sound as the subtle pain merely spurred him on.
“Are you close?” she asked with a smile, her voice breaking as the force of his thrusts made the words catch in her throat. “I want you to come, Killian, just like this. Let me feel all of you. Please.”
“Gods, Emma,” he panted, snapping his hips with purpose. “Are you sure?”
“Mmhmm,” Emma nodded. “Yes, Killian.” She raked her nails down his back and cupped his ass in encouragement. “I—I felt so empty without you,” she practically whispered, tears beginning to well in her eyes as she fought the storm of emotions still raging within her. “Make me feel full, Killian.”
He thrust more frantically then, fluctuating between rapid pivots and deliberate slams as he followed his own urges.
“Will you come with me, Emma?” Desperation laced his voice as he asked the question, his fingers finding her clit in an effort to bring her with him.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “but it’s okay. I just want to feel you, Killian. I need to feel you.”
He covered her body in kisses as he sought his release, pressing his lips over and over again to her jaw, her neck, her breasts, and trailing back up to her mouth as he felt the tension finally snap. He moaned her name against her lips as he granted her eager request, pouring his release inside her and pushing it deeper as it coated his pulsing cock. When he finally stilled, Killian rolled aside and collapsed next to Emma on their bed, thoroughly sated as he caught his breath. She turned to face him, touching her hand to his cheek and gently brushing her thumb over his skin.
“I love you, Emma Swan.” Killian tipped his head and placed a tender kiss on her palm. “I’m never going to leave your side again. I promise.” A tear escaped Emma’s eye as she met Killian’s genuine gaze.
“I love you too, Killian Jones.” Arching forward, Emma kissed him again, passionate and deep. “And you better not,” she joked, making them both laugh, something neither of them had been able to do in quite some time.
“We may never even leave this bed, love,” Killian smirked. “Not until I’ve made you come at least twice more, anyway. I’ve a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh, kidnapping the sheriff, are you?” Emma giggled, arching her brow as she returned to her back and raised her hands above her head, crossing her wrists. “Naughty Captain.”
“I never claimed to be anything else.” Killian sat up and straddled her stomach, reaching behind himself to touch her. “Now be a good little sheriff and follow my demands.”
For @cshalloweek - Day 5 Monsters/red: under a spell, mystery, “I’m not going anywhere”, bloodcurdling
Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with his best friend Emma Swan for years; the trouble is, she’s not even aware of his feelings. Deciding he’s pined for her long enough, he comes up with a plan that will hopefully have her seeking the protective comfort of his embrace, but he’s forgotten one thing - his Swan is fearless.
Thank you to @cshalloweek for having this event. This story was inspired by the day 5 prompts, but is sweet, not scary.
Thanks also to my beta @hookedmom who agreed to be onboard with me for yet another story. I’m certainly glad she keeps saying yes because I’d be lost without her!
Rating: M
Words: 6039
Also posted to Ao3 and ffn
*********
This wasn’t going to plan at all.
Killian Jones scrubbed his hand through his hair in frustration as Emma Swan, his best friend and the love of his life - a fact of which she was completely unaware - laughed loudly at yet another scene that was supposed to be terrifying.
He had invited her over to his apartment to watch a horror movie which, according to the reviews, was ‘guaranteed to cause heart palpitations, nightmares and ear-splitting screams of fright’, in hopes of her being so fearful she would seek the comfort of his embrace.
But she was laughing. Hysterically. Sitting as far away from him as possible on his dilapidated couch, she was nearly doubled over and wiping tears from her eyes.
He should have known. He should have remembered that nothing scared Emma Swan.
*********
The first day he set eyes on her, he was sitting in British Literature in the Fall of his junior year of high school. The teacher was droning on about the latest novel they were assigned to read, when Killian looked up to see an angel enter the room. She wore black skinny jeans tucked into battered combat boots, a red top which was short enough to allow a teasing glimpse of her stomach, and a faded jeans jacket which had definitely seen better days. Her golden tresses fell in riotous waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes glittered with defiance.
Killian was smitten at first sight.
The teacher took the note the new girl handed her, read it and turned to the class. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is…”
“Don’t announce me,” the girl growled, before moving stealthily down the aisle to slide into the seat beside him.
The teacher glared at her for a few seconds before continuing, “Very well, Miss Swan, we’ll carry on then. Please prepare to take notes since this information will be included on the upcoming test.”
Swan, Killian thought. What an absolutely appropriate name.
The girl stared back at the teacher with a bored expression and popped her gum loudly. Killian realized that, even if she felt inclined to take notes, she had nothing with her to do so. She’d walked into the room completely empty-handed except for the note she passed on to Ms. Hart .
Quickly, he tore a few sheets of paper from his notebook and scrambled to retrieve an extra pen from the bookbag on the floor beside his feet. When he offered them to her, she turned haughty eyes on him, refusing to take them from his hands.
He faltered for several seconds, then pushed them toward her again. “You really should take notes. Her tests are killer,” he said quietly.
She popped her gum again. “I. Don’t. Care.”
He struggled to pay attention to what the teacher was saying for the rest of class, sneaking glances at the blonde girl sitting beside him who was intently studying her fingernails and giving her gum a workout.
When the tone sounded for the end of the period, Killian hurriedly shoved his notebook into his backpack and trailed after the girl, who was quick to leave her seat and exit the room. He caught up with her a few steps outside the classroom door, as she pushed her way through the crowded hallway.
“Hey! What’s your next class?” he asked breathlessly.
She came to a stop and gave him another appraising look. Just when he thought she would brush him off again, she reached into the inside pocket of her jeans jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. Flicking her eyes over it, she answered, “Chemistry.”
“That’s where I’m headed, too. Follow me, I’ll take you there.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
He began leading the way, grinning as she fell into step beside him. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way.”
“Emma Swan.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Emma.”
“Why are you taking Brit Lit?”
“Pardon me?”
“You’re British, right? Shouldn’t you be the one teaching the class? I’m sure you’d do better than What’s-her-name. She’s as dry as the Sahara.”
Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear. “I haven’t lived in England for several years. I just haven’t shed the accent.”
“I’m sure the girls are all falling at your feet with an accent like that.”
He scoffed at her statement. “Hardly.”
They reached the Chemistry lab and he was pleased to see her choose the stool beside him. His concentration wasn’t any better during that class, or for the rest of the day. They had two more classes together and she joined him at his table for lunch, sitting amongst the rest of the kids who didn’t belong to any groups or cliques which segregated the student body.
When the school day ended, they proceeded down the front steps together. “Did you drive to school?” he asked.
“Hell, no. I can barely afford to pay attention, let alone buy a car. How about you?”
“Oh, uh, I live just a few blocks down this way,” he explained, pointing off to his right. “Which direction is your home?”
“It’s over that way,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “I wouldn’t call it my home, though. It’s just another stop in the ongoing saga of ‘where’s Emma Swan going to live next’?”
“Your family moves a lot?”
“My family,” she spat, “is non-existent. “I’ve been a foster kid from the day I was born.”
“I’m an orphan, too. My mum died when I was seven years old. My father moved us to Storybrooke six years ago with the promise of a job on a fishing boat, but he was washed overboard in the middle of a storm just a couple of weeks after he started working, and was never found. Sarah Fisher took in my brother Liam and me, until he was old enough to get a proper job and become my legal guardian.”
“That’s who I’m living with - Sarah. She seems okay.”
“She is. She was strict, but she really cared about us. One time a kid accused me of stealing his jacket and I was suspended from school. Once she found out I didn’t do it, she went to the principal to defend me. I was sitting right outside his office and could hear her letting him have it about how I was an honest boy and just because I was a foster kid didn’t mean I was a thief. He took my suspension away and the next day, the kid admitted that he’d lost his jacket and didn’t want his parents to be mad at him.”
“Most foster parents I’ve lived with wouldn’t bother to stand up for me like that.”
“Well, Sarah will, as long as you prove to her that you’re trustworthy.”
“Good to know.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ve got nothing better to do than come to school,” she smirked.
He grinned in return. “Have a good evening, Emma.”
“You, too.”
He turned to begin walking down the sidewalk, then heard her yell, “Hey, Killian?”
“Aye?” he asked, pivoting around to face her again.
“Thanks for, uh, talking to me and, you know, showing me around and everything,” she stammered.
“It was my pleasure, Swan.”
*********
After that first day, they were nearly inseparable. Emma continued to be a bit defiant with her teachers and most of the other students; but when she was with Killian, she let her guard down, and he was privileged to see the sweet, funny, endearingly sarcastic side of her.
She never took notes in class and still managed to ace almost all of her tests and exams. Once she heard something, it seemed to be embedded in her brain for good. The only subject which caused her problems was Calculus, and since he was excellent with numbers, he helped her through it.
They understood each other in every way that mattered, and everyone soon thought of them as a package deal. Wherever you found Emma, Killian wasn’t far behind and vice versa. He continued to be completely enamored with her, but never revealed his feelings for fear he would lose the first real friend he ever had.
When they moved to America, Liam was sixteen, broad-shouldered and outgoing, and soon found acceptance on athletic fields and courts. Killian, on the other hand, was only eleven years old; gangly, shy, morose and bookish. He wasn’t exactly bullied, but he never had what he would call actual friends. He kept to himself, trying to fade into the background as much as possible, while Liam thrived in the limelight. After graduating high school, Liam opted not to go to college, feeling the need to get a full-time job at the Storybrooke harbor so he could continue to provide a home for his younger brother.
As graduation neared for Killian, Liam insisted he continue his education to pursue his dream of being a mechanical engineer. Killian was accepted into five different universities, but he only considered going to one.
The one Emma planned to attend.
Liam wasn’t thrilled with the decision; he wanted his brother to expand his horizons and make other friends besides the girl who had Killian so starry-eyed, but never seemed to want to take their relationship to another level.
Killian stood his ground, and in the end, the two friends set off to a campus three hours from Storybrooke, living in the same dorm and carrying on their friendship. Their freshman year went by quickly as they adjusted to being independent and balancing their social life with their demanding classes.
At one point, Emma went out on a couple of dates with a guy she met in her Sociology class and Killian was heartbroken. He considered expressing his hidden feelings to her, but almost as soon as she started dating Walsh, she broke it off, calling him a jerk for telling his buddies she was an easy lay, when they hadn’t done anything more than make out for a few minutes.
They returned home for the summer, both of them working to save money for their second year; Emma as a waitress at Granny’s and a summer camp counselor, Killian doing maintenance work at the docks under Liam, who was now the harbor master.
The next semester saw Killian living in an apartment off campus, while Emma took on the job of being a Resident Advisor in one of the dorms, earning her a much-reduced room and board fee. They hung out as much as possible during their busy weeks, setting up study sessions at the library and meeting at the student union for lunch a few times.
When Emma was off-duty on the weekends, she was nearly always at Killian’s place, eating his food and enjoying the streaming services for which he and his roommates Robin, Will and Phillip splurged.
Killian grew increasingly frustrated that, despite his growth and maturity in the three years since meeting him, Emma never saw him as anything more than the awkward kid who was her first true friend. Gone was the skinny, insecure, bespectacled teenager - he used some of his graduation money to purchase contacts, grew three inches and gained thirty pounds of muscle during his first year of college - but she never even seemed to notice.
Killian finally decided that enough was enough, which was why he came up with a plan late in October of their sophomore year. His roommates were all going to be gone for the weekend and HBOMax was featuring a full menu of horror movies. He figured all he had to do was get her alone, watch a terrifying movie with her, and open his arms to allow her to bury her face in his chest. That would lead to kisses of comfort, and possibly more…
But she was far from seeking comfort in his arms as she hung over the end of the couch, laughing loudly as another bloodcurdling scream came through the sound system.
“Swan,” he grumbled through gritted teeth, “this isn’t supposed to be a bloody comedy!”
“It’s not a bloody anything! The ‘blood’ is so fake, it looks like strawberry jello,” she replied, framing ‘blood’ with air quotes.
“Don’t you find any of it even remotely frightening?”
“Yeah,” she responded, wiping more tears of laughter from her cheeks, “I find the fact that anyone would consider this to be a horror movie extremely scary. It’s so cheesy!”
Killian sighed, pulled the remote from the crevice of the couch cushions and pointed it at the television, turning it off.
“Why did you do that? I was enjoying it!”
“You just said it was cheesy!”
“It might be cheesy, but it was providing me with a good laugh, which I really need after the week I had. A full moon during the week of Halloween apparently causes college Freshmen to lose their damn minds!”
Killian pushed to his feet and tossed her the remote. “Fine, turn it back on and laugh yourself sick. I’m going to bed.”
“Hey, what’s your problem, Jones?” she asked, anger lacing her words. “I thought we were gonna have a fun night together, just like always.”
He stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. “That’s the problem,” he muttered, “it’s just like always.”
“I thought you liked our movie nights.”
“I do, but…” He bit his lip and closed his eyes, wondering if he should finish the sentence.
“But what?” she prodded, rising from the sofa and stepping behind him.
Turning to face her, he said, “But it’s not enough anymore, Emma.”
She paled and he thought he detected a slight tremble of her bottom lip. “What do you mean by that? Don’t…don’t you want to hang out with me anymore?”
He finally had all he could take. Inhaling deeply, he moved within a breath of her, framed her face with his hands, and pulled her toward him to press his lips against hers.
For a few seconds, he felt her melt into the kiss, her lips soft and supple as she responded. Then suddenly, she pushed him away, staring at him with wide eyes; and that’s when Killian saw something in her expression he’d never seen before.
Fear.
Emma Swan was afraid.
“Wha-what are you doing?” she gasped.
“Something I’ve wanted to do for over three years.”
“You can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve lost everyone in my life. I…I can’t lose you, too.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Emma.”
“You say that now, but…”
“Haven’t I been with you through thick and thin? Why would that change if we…if we were more than just friends?”
“Is that really what you want?” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.
“It’s what I’ve wanted since the first moment I saw you.” His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, but he kept his eyes locked on hers. “I think I fell in love with you as soon as you mouthed off to Ms. Hart that day, and my feelings have done nothing but get stronger in the last three years.”
“You love me?” she squeaked. “I mean…really love me?”
He nodded slowly, then raised his hands to cradle her face, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you, and it will always be you.”
“But what if..”
“Always, Emma. Always.”
Her eyes searched his face for any hint of a lie, something she could detect easily. Finding none, some of the tension left her body, and yet she still hesitated.
Killian pressed on. “I’ve told you where I stand, Swan; it’s your turn to tell me what you want. I promise that no matter what it is, I won’t leave you. I’d rather have you as a friend, than not have you in my life at all.”
He watched as a gamut of emotions played over her face, and saw the exact moment when she was finally ready to give in. “I want…I want to stop denying my feelings for you, too. I want the final bricks of the wall around my heart to be broken down completely. And I want…”
Killian waited with bated breath as she furrowed her brow, clearly trying to figure out how to finish the sentence. “Want what, Love?” he quietly prompted.
“I want you to know that I love you, too.”
“Yeah?” he whispered, barely daring to hope.
“Yeah,” she said, the surety in her voice setting his mind at ease.
A grin slowly stretched across his face, then he surged forward to capture her lips. This time, there was no hesitancy in the kiss; only passion and fire as they sought to express the feelings they had both repressed for so long. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed, hands roamed, moans worked their way up from their throats. The kiss was everything they wanted and not quite what they needed all at the same time.
“K-Killian?” she gasped.
“Mmhmm,” he uttered, still trying to devour her.
“Do you have…protection?”
He separated their lips at last, panting for breath as his eyes searched hers. “No, but I’m sure Will does.”
“Can you find some?”
“Are you sure, Emma?”
“I…I think so? I just, I haven’t ever…you know.”
“Neither have I.”
“Really?”
“Who would I have done it with? I’ve been in love with you for years and I didn’t want to go to bed with someone just to say I wasn’t a virgin anymore.”
“That’s how I felt, too.”
“I have another confession to make,” he ventured, figuring he might as well throw all his hats into the ring. “I’ve never even French kissed a girl before. The only other girl I ever kissed was Ariel during that school play we performed. I’m sorry if my kisses…if they’re…”
She placed her index finger over his lips. “They’re perfect. I could easily kiss you for the rest of the night, if there wasn’t another first that I want to experience with you.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I want that, too. God, Emma, I want that so much.”
“Check Will’s room and I’ll meet you in yours.”
He nodded and kissed the tip of her nose, before peeling away to hurry upstairs.
Emma quickly locked the front door and ran up the steps two at a time, dashing into the bathroom to pee and check herself in the mirror, before going into his room across the hall. She pulled off her hoodie and tossed it on the floor, then sat down on his twin bed and jiggled her leg nervously as she waited for him.
It was only a couple of minutes before he joined her, triumphantly waving a long strip of condoms. “Jackpot!” he crowed.
“Thank God Will is promiscuous,” Emma snorted.
Killian laughed and sat down beside her, shoving the condoms under his pillow. “So, um, are you…ready?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I’m, uh, kinda nervous.”
“So am I, but that’s probably normal, don’t you think?”
“Aye.” He started rubbing at the spot behind his ear which always garnered his attention when he was anxious.
“Why don’t we…lay down?” she asked timidly.
“Okay.”
They stretched their bodies out on the narrow bed, fully clothed and facing each other, and she reached up to brush her fingers along his jaw. “You didn’t shave today.”
“I’ve been working on a project and haven’t taken the time to do it for a couple of days.” Starting to sit up, he said, “I can go…”
“No, don’t. I like it. It’s very sexy.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” Her lips followed the trail her fingers had blazed. “I might have chapped lips tomorrow, but it will be worth it!”
Killian grinned, and wrapped her in his arms to pull her against him. He initiated more kisses, which grew increasingly more fiery and frantic, then began fumbling with the hem of her T-shirt, trying to pull it up her body.
“H-hold on,” she mumbled. “Let me just…” Untangling her arms from around him, she sat up slightly and yanked on the shirt, briefly becoming trapped in it as it got caught in her hair, before finally succeeding in getting it over her head.
Killian’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store when he saw her lace-covered breasts, heaving with exertion after the passionate kisses and the battle with her shirt. He licked his lips and tentatively raised his fingers to touch them, stopping just short and looking up at her. “May I?”
“They’re all yours,” she smirked. “Do you know how to work a bra?”
His cheeks reddened. “Elsa’s are in the laundry sometimes,” he admitted, referring to Liam’s girlfriend, “and I...I’ve practiced with them a time or two.”
“Of course you have,” she giggled. “Well, why don’t you see if the practice pays off?”
Licking his lips again, he directed his attention back down to her chest, dipping his fingers into the valley of her cleavage, then using them to trace the edges of her bra around to the fastenings at the back. Despite his hands shaking nervously, it only took him a couple of attempts to undo the hooks.
“Ta-dah!” he celebrated.
“Yeah, nice trick, Magic Mike,” she commented dryly, shrugging out of the undergarment and tossing it behind her, while his jaw slackened in awe of the perfection in front of him. Seeing the hunger in his eyes, she urged him to roll over on his back, and shifted until she was hovering over him, surrounding him with a curtain of her thick, blonde hair.
He eagerly reached for her breasts, cupping them in his hands and rubbing both thumbs across the hardening nipples. The sensations he created caused her to close her eyes and moan, exciting him further and inspiring him to experiment with sucking a nipple into his mouth.
She threw her head back, moaning louder, and her arms, which were supporting her, began to shake. His hand squeezed and fondled her other breast, while he sucked harder, only pulling away to ask, “How does that feel, Love?”
“Amazingggg,” she groaned. “Fucking amazing!”
Grinning, he returned to his task, sucking several purplish marks into the soft skin surrounding her areola. Seeing those small bruises on her breast sent a rush of possessiveness through him that he couldn’t really explain, and he felt his cock swell further at the thought of her being his completely.
“Killian,” Emma gasped, pulling him from his musings. “You’re gonna make me come just from doing that!”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked innocently.
“Hell no! I just…I never knew…you had…such a talented mouth!” she managed to say.
Wanting to reverse their positions, he rolled them over and…
Landed right on top of her on the floor.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, reaching up to rub the back of her head.
“Sorry, Swan!” he immediately apologized. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, then burst out laughing. “Real smooth, Casanova!” she teased, watching the tips of his ears turn red.
“Bloody hell! Talk about ruining the moment!” he cursed, scrambling to move his body weight off of her.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” she soothed as she sat up. “You just provided some comic relief.”
“When you remember this night, can you conveniently forget that part?”
“Not a chance!” She stood and tugged on his arm to help him to his feet. “While we’re up, we might as well get rid of the rest of these clothes.”
“O-okay. Do you want to…or should I…”
She put her hand on his chest. “Promise me something, Killian”
“Anything.”
“Promise not to be ashamed of showing me your body. I know how self-conscious you are and I don’t want you to hold back or be inhibited in any way. I love everything about you, including your body.”
“I’ll try my best as long as you help me. You’ve always been the fearless one, Swan.”
She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, quickly sliding it up his body. He accommodated her by raising his arms so she could easily finish removing it.
Her eyes widened as she took in the glorious whorls of hair covering his chest. “Why the hell have you been keeping this covered? You don’t even take your shirt off at the beach!”
His fingers found their way behind his ear again. “It’s embarrassing to have so much hair.”
“Are you kidding me?” she sputtered, tenderly stroking her fingers through the soft strands. “Do you know what some guys would give to have perfect chest hair like this?”
“Well, some guys used to poke fun at me for it when I was in eighth grade.”
“That’s called jealousy, Kil. You’re not allowed to hide it from me anymore, because I love it!”
“Duly noted.”
Her fingers continued exploring his chest, circling his nipples and scratching across his abs, while her tongue found its way to the hollow of his throat and collarbone. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself under control, but after a few more moments, he growled and grabbed her hands, raising a warning eyebrow at her.
She smirked at him, then he dropped her hands and reached forward to pop the button on her jeans and pull the zipper down. As soon as they were loosened, she shimmied them down her legs, leaving her in only a lacy pair of panties.
He swallowed hard, looking at the tiny triangle of material covering her most intimate area.
“Your turn,” she said, reaching to unbuckle his belt and remove it.
“Um, okay,” he replied nervously. Taking a deep breath, he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down all in one motion. It reminded Emma of trying to remove a bandaid quickly so it caused a minimum of pain.
His boxer briefs sported a sizable bulge and he started to bring his hands up to cover it.
“Uh, uh, uh,” she admonished. “You promised.”
He dropped his arms, holding them awkwardly at his sides.
“Can I take them off of you?” she asked, gesturing toward his underwear.
“Uh, I…I guess?”
She looked up at him through her lashes and licked her lips, then hooked her fingers in the waistband and pulled them out and over the tip of his cock. Dropping to her knees, she finished dragging them down his legs, her eyes widening at the sight of his rigid cock right in front of her.
Without hesitation, she slid her hands back up his legs and wrapped them around his sizable member. As Killian held his breath, she slowly ran her hands up and down the smooth, velvety skin, causing it to slide and shift.
“I’ve never seen a guy’s cock in person,” she commented, still concentrating on the stroking she was doing. “Are they always this big?”
“What?” She peeked up at him with a look of innocence on her face.
“If you keep doing that, you’re gonna make me come before we even get to the…the act.”
“The act? You’re calling it the act?”
“What else am I supposed to call it?”
“Making love, having sex, anything but ‘the act’!”
“Maybe I’m not ready for this,” he groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his head back.
“Oh, I’d say by the looks of this,” she said, giving his cock another stroke, “you’re more than ready.”
“Can you please stop doing that? I really want to make love to you.”
“I thought guys liked having their cocks stroked.”
“We do, but not if it makes us shoot our wad too soon.”
She giggled as she pushed herself back to her feet. “Shoot your wad,” she snickered. “What a weird way to put it.”
“Are you gonna criticize everything I s-”
He stopped talking as she plunged her tongue inside his mouth. Their hands moved desperately over each other’s bared skin and soon they were falling backwards onto the bed again.
Killian maneuvered them until Emma was on her back in the middle of the bed, then began licking, sucking and kissing down her throat, across her breasts, and along the length of her body. With every nip and graze of his teeth along her overly sensitive skin, her back arched and she uttered indecipherable words.
When he reached the apex of her thighs, he removed the last remaining scrap of material, and she automatically spread her legs apart, giving him a strong whiff of her arousal. He inhaled deeply, then tentatively dragged two fingers through her folds, gathering her slickness on the tips of them.
She shivered at the sensation and gripped the corners of the pillow underneath her head with both hands. “Please…do that again.”
He obliged and this time, his fingers brushed under the hood exposing her bundle of nerves. Shockwaves of pleasure shot through her body and she emitted a long, low moan. “More, Killiannnnn…”
His fingers continued slipping through the ever-increasing arousal she was producing, and he took note of what made her writhe and moan the most. He discovered if he put pressure on the little nub, her legs would quiver and quake; so he concentrated on that area until her head was thrashing back and forth on the pillow. When he ventured to give it a little pinch, it was all she needed to fall over the edge.
“Yes! Yesss! YESSSS!!!” she screamed, and he watched as ecstasy filled her face.
“That was good, yeah?” he asked, once she seemed to come back to earth.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve never felt anything that good in my life!” she panted.
“So that was your first orgasm?”
“I’ve given myself a few, but none as intense as that! I didn’t even know I could have one without actually, you know…”
“Doing the act?” he smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “You big nerd - you’re lucky I love you!”
“Aye, that I am,” he responded, his eyes going soft as he gave her a sweet smile.
Returning his smile, she said, “Now, let’s see what we can do about getting you off.” She gripped his shoulders and pulled him down to her, kissing him within an inch of his life. When she was sure she had his head spinning, she changed positions with him so that she was on top, making sure they were a safe distance from the edge of the narrow mattress.
Reaching under the pillow, she pulled out the condoms and separated one from the strip, tore open the package and took it out. Holding it up, she flipped it over a couple of times before placing it at the tip of his straining shaft and rolling it down. “Am I doing this right?”
“Not sure, but you definitely make it feel good!”
After throwing him a grin, she carefully straddled him, placed her hands on his chest and scratched her fingers through his luxurious hair. Then she started to slide her slippery cunt along his shaft.
“Emma, god!” he grunted, squeezing his eyes closed tightly. “Feels bloody, fucking fantastic!”
After making sure his cock was coated with her arousal, she lifted up a little. “I…I think I’m ready. Are you?” she asked, meeting his blue gaze once his eyes opened.
“Aye, Love, but go slow. Please don’t let me hurt you.”
“I won’t.”
“You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable?”
“I will, I promise.”
With that reassurance, he nodded at her and she raised herself over him, lined him up, and began to sink down around him. When it started to burn, she pulled back, then sank down a little further. After doing this several times, he finally filled her completely and she stopped moving with her ass resting on his thighs and her hands planted on his chest supporting her weight.
He clutched the blanket underneath him as the feeling of being inside the woman he loved overwhelmed his senses. “Are you alright?” he gritted out.
“I’m good. How about you?”
“I…I…feel like I’m gonna explode.”
“Do you want me to move?”
“Yeah, but not off of me. Just…just try sliding up and down.”
She tentatively did as he asked and soon both of them were taking pleasure from each other. Emma pumped her body up and down while Killian thrust up into her. The tension continued to build until suddenly he gripped her hips and held her tight against him.
Feeling the pulsing of his cock, she couldn’t hold on any longer and let herself give in to the bliss she could already see on his face.
Suddenly completely spent, she collapsed on top of him. Spasms shook their bodies and Killian gripped her ass. “Are you doing something to cause that, Swan?” he asked breathlessly.
“I think…they’re called aftershocks,” she giggled into his chest.
“How do you know that?”
“Hang around a dorm full of girls long enough, you learn things.”
They laid quietly for several minutes, their hearts slowing, sweat cooling, and minds racing with the implications of what had taken place in the last hour.
Killian had never felt as happy and content as he did in that moment; until he heard the next words to come out of Emma’s mouth.
“We should have become friends with benefits a long time ago.”
His stomach dropped and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Is…is that what you think this is?” he forced out through a throat that was constricted with disappointment. “Nothing but sex? I…I thought you said…”
Her head shot up and he saw a look of contrition on her face. “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant, Kil! Of course it’s more than just sex! I mean, it was amazing, but it…I love you! I know we haven’t talked about where we go from here, but if I have my way, we’d be together as a couple, not just friends.”
His heart started beating again. “Is that really what you want?”
She folded her arms across his chest and leaned forward to brush her lips against his. “Absolutely, as long as it’s what you want, too.”
“Without a doubt,” he answered, relief flooding him at her admission. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mmm, sure,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his throat.
“How long have you known you love me?”
She lifted her head again and shrugged. “I think I’ve known for a long time, but I didn’t want to admit it.”
“Why not?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I asked you first.”
“You know you sound like a ten-year-old right now, don’t you?”
“Just answer the question, Swan.”
“I guess I was…scared. You’re my best friend and I didn’t want to do anything to screw that up.”
“The fearless Emma Swan was scared?”
Her eyes fell away from his as she watched her finger trace his jawline, and he saw a blush creeping up her neck into her face. “I’m not fearless, Killian. Not when it comes to you. In my childhood, people were always letting me down…”
“Hey - I don’t intend to let you down.”
“I know, but it’s not you I was worried about. I was afraid I would be the one letting you down.”
“How could you ever do that?”
“I couldn’t help but think that one day you would figure out it wasn’t worth the effort of putting up with a high-maintenance friend like me.”
“You’re not high-maintenance.”
“You have to admit it’s challenging being my friend.”
“I love a challenge,” he grinned, then grew serious. “Emma, in three years, I’ve yet to find a single thing about you that I don’t love. You don’t have to be afraid of losing me because I already told you - I’m not going anywhere.”
She smiled and leaned in to briefly press her lips to his, but before she could pull away, he moved his hand to the back of her head and held her in place to deepen the kiss. Soon their bodies began responding to the intense feelings, and they found themselves moving on to round two, during which they experimented with more ways to bring pleasure to one another, which continued into round three…and four…and…
By the time the weekend was over, Emma knew she never had to fear losing her best friend, now lover and boyfriend, and Killian’s dreams finally came true.
SUMMARY: Maybe she wouldn't find him to be that bad if he didn't constantly show up wherever their latest job was. It's hard enough to smuggle treasure out of castle without him and his crew interfering to take it for themselves. Rival Thieves AU
AUTHOR’S NOTE: don't look, it's just me posting my halloweek prompt right before the end of the day... as seems to be the usual. oops.
enjoy. :)
***
The mask adorning her face itches. Gray feathers flare out an inch from the top corners of her eye mask and tickle at her temples when a breeze flutters against it. Her silver corset top glitters when it catches the light from the flames. The skirt of her gown is comprised of feathers that match her mask and flow down to the tops of her toes, a slit up one side allowing her to flash a peek of skin up to her thigh.
It offers the perfect distraction, older men doing their most to garner a dance with her while their wives glare and hold on tight to their husbands. Vixen seems to be the word thrown around tonight as they all wonder who she came to such a glamorous party with but she didn’t care. As long as their attention is on her and nothing else, they could say what they want. She’ll even throw in an extra sashay so the slit flashes a little more skin, enjoying the way some jaws drop.
The slit in her gown also allows easy access to her knife holster, hidden just under the feathered fabric gracing her upper thigh.
Lips painted a dark red, her small smile makes her demure and unassuming. She acts as though her dress hasn’t brought half the guests in attendance to a tizzy. Instead, she uses it as a cover to duck her head and scan the crowd from under her eyelashes.
“Looking for me, love?”
His breath hits the shell of her ear and his warmth at her back almost makes her shiver. She tries to tell herself it’s from disgust, annoyance, or frustration, but the way his proximity immediately sends a jolt down to her core calls out any lies she tries to manufacture.
She chooses, then, to focus on the fact he could be ruining her mission.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses, reaching a hand up to play with her hair so she wouldn’t strangle him on the dance floor.
A gasp, soft and quiet, leaves her mouth as his hand and hook come to grasp her hips from behind. He sways them side to side, his mouth still at her ear.
This game between the two of them has been happening for years. And she hates it.
Hates it because it leaves her body tingling, yearning for his touch. Her heart races and her face heats and her core throbs with the strong want she determinedly denies it.
She would not, under any circumstances, sleep with Killian Jones.
“I imagine the same thing as you,” he says quietly. His fingers dig into her hip and uses the pressure as leverage to turn her around. “Dance with me,” he asks, but the way he pulls her to his body proves it to be more a command than a request. Shivers travel down her spine and she attributes it to the cold of his hand seeping through her corset.
Emma could easily deny him a dance. Drop his hand and leave him standing in the middle of the ballroom. But dancing has been part of her cover tonight and, as the distraction, she figures a flashy, overly dramatic waltz will do the trick. With that thought in mind, allowing her the plausible deniability of her actions, she steps closer and places on her in his hook.
Killian wears a dark mask with gold accented beading lining the mask and gold markings at the corners of his eyes. The black makes the blue of his eyes pop and he smirks when he sees her staring. She rolls her eyes and for a moment, lets herself think of what a shame it was that the mask covers his expressive eyebrows.
Once they begin to move, his costume hits her.
“A pirate? Isn’t that a little too on the nose?” The man’s head is on a wanted poster in nearly every kingdom in the realm and yet here he is, dressed as himself — hook and all — and only using his masquerade mask to conceal himself. His confidence got him through enough jobs but she swore it’d catch up to him one day.
“Aye, but we’ve also got the pot calling the kettle black — my Swan Princess.”
She huffs, darting her gaze away to the open archways in the room, looking for Snow. When he makes one particularly sharp turn, one none of the other dancers do, and dips her, her leg pops through the slit, giving the entire room a full view of her exposed leg and receiving muffled gasps in response. His long leather duster swishes against her skin a moment later and she sucks in a breath at how it cools her heated body.
Killian pulls her up, bringing her closer than she was before, and rests his cheek against hers. “Have I mentioned how much I love your necklace?”
His breath dances over her ear and she closes her eyes briefly before his words register. Though he keeps a tight arm around her back restricting her movements, Emma pulls her head back enough to glare at him.
“You are never getting this compass again,” she says.
He smirks, tilting his head as if to weigh the possibilities. “Well, I do love a challenge.”
Her eyes roll again at his words but with her next breath, she feels the weight of the necklace around her neck.
The first time they met had been when they were both after the enchanted compass. It was also Emma’s first job.
It’s been years but she still recalls emerging from the tree line to see him doing the same on the other side of the clearing. They glared at each other before darting to the beanstalk. What ensued was probably not Emma’s finest moment, neither, she can only guess, Killian’s. But for the first half of the climb, their legs or arms — in his case a hook — swung out to try to knock the other down. He sliced some vines so when she grabbed it, she began a free fall. She climbed faster and once she was above him, stepped on his fingers or his head.
Only when they looked up to see the long climb ahead and their exhaustion already settling in did they call a temporary truce. They’d get to the top of the beanstalk but then all bets were off. Both of them had been given a list of things to grab from the abandoned giants’ castle, and at the top of that was the enchanted compass. Rumor said that it didn’t show the direction of true north. Instead, it showed the holder of the compass the direction to what they desire most.
For a couple of thieves always looking for their next treasure, it was the key to everything.
Neither of them counted on the abandoned castle to not actually be abandoned and it was as they were escaping the giant’s wrath that Killian lifted Emma up and her hand landed on the compass.
He offered her a deal: join him and his crew and together they could use the compass to scour the lands of their treasures. And if she wasn’t amiable to that, well, she could either hand it over or he’d do whatever it took to get it back.
The offer was tempting.
She was a freelancer, just 23 then, and being hired on a one-off for a cut of her spoils and a place to sleep without having to worry. Snow White’s protection and loyalty was one she needed. But Captain Hook had a reputation that spanned land and sea, a crew that consisted of mostly 300-year-old pirates from his navy days, and an unquenchable thirst for treasure; she’d never find herself without gold.
For a moment, Emma stepped forward to accept his offer. His eyes were full of glee and excitement, his smile soft, and he held his hand out to shake on it. A gentleman’s agreement. But there was something in him — the way he didn’t lie, the way his eyes focused on her — that stirred a fluttering in her chest and she panicked. Last time she had that, she fell in love with a man who used her magic to escape his own hell and left her to be thrown in the Dark One’s prison cells until his maid let her free.
She grabbed his wrist and his smiled widened. Confusion took over his features at the sound of a click and a heavy, cold weight over his skin. Emma stepped back in regret, frowning as she looked at him and the hurt — a hurt so deep she didn’t think Captain Hook could feel that way — etching itself on his face so clearly. Betrayal was possibly the ugliest thing in the world and the weight in her stomach made her feel no better than Baelfire.
Since then, they’ve met on multiple jobs, often hunting the same treasure. Her team has mostly relied on the compass to guide them where to go but she’s not sure what his team has used. He claims maps and she wants to doubt him, but for a pirate that’s been alive for 300 years, it’s plausible.
The necklace has also traded hands numerous times. He’s lifted it off of her neck while she got caught in a trap at King George’s castle; she’s stolen it back while he drunk his weight in rum at a tavern. Each time, they’ve teased and taunted the other. The way his eyes glinted with hunger whenever he saw with the compass dangling between her breasts after snagging it without his notice often left her panting by the motions of her own hand, feeling wholly unsatisfied.
His eyes trail down to the valley between her breasts, pushed up by her corset, and smirks at the sight of the compass. He brought his mouth to her ear and she feels his tongue forming the words he whispers. “So tantalizing.” He presses a featherlight kiss to her ear. “The sight of you wearing the compass has always stirred something in me but now I wonder…” He pauses and the hand on her back teases the ties of her corset. Her breath hitches. “I wonder what it’ll look like resting against the skin of your naked breasts. How it’ll look as you pant beneath my body and beg for more.”
Every syllable of his words acts like lightning strikes to her core and she feels wetness gathering between her thighs. She squeezes her legs together and prays her face hasn’t turned red. Breathing under control, Emma swallows and glares are Killian.
“Unfortunately for you, those fantasies will remain in your head.”
“Oh, but I’m wearing you down,” he says. “I can feel it.”
The way his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth should be illegal. The man can do many things with his tongue when he talks – and in that accent that’s rare to find in Misthaven – and she wonders what it’d feel like to push him to his knees and bring his mouth to her throbbing cunt. Thoughts like that are dangerous though, and she tries her best to ignore the want calling at her.
His blue eyes watch for her every reaction and, as they move into another waltz, she ignores her dance partner the best she can. Except she fails.
He moves them effortlessly across the ballroom, keeping her body tight against his. She feels his fingers press into the small of her back making her arch and she knows he has a smirk on his face from how the movement juts out her chest. It also forces her hips to press against his and she bites her tongue to hold back a groan.
Leather pants do much for him; they are easy to maneuver with, form-fitting, and make his ass look great. Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, the pants allow her to feel every inch of his hardening cock against the fabric of her skirt. It makes her mouth water.
Captain Hook has legends associated to his sexual prowess, most of which she assumed was more myth than truth and mostly used to inflate his ego. His cockiness definitely has some merit.
The sight of Snow standing in an open archway scanning the room derails her thoughts of the man dancing with her.
They connect eyes and once Emma sees the nod of confirmation, Snow disappears back into the night.
The band plays the last notes of their song and the crowd detaches from their partners and claps. Emma glances at Killian from the corner of her eye and sees his blue gaze already on her own. She curtsies and smiles innocently at him. “Thank you for the dances, sir.”
His eyes darken at the last word and he bows. “It’s been my pleasure, love.” He knows the term does the same to her.
She gathers her skirts and turns, making her way out of the main ballroom and to the deserted corridors of the castle, looking for the way out. Snow got the goods so her job is done and she can leave. Which she must do despite the pull in her lower stomach.
There’s a stretch of one hallway where one of the torches went out, casting a large dark shadow over the area. For all the riches royals have, you’d think they’d find someone to perform magic so their fires wouldn’t go out. She sighs and moves forward.
Just steps into the darkness and a hand circles around Emma’s wrist, tugging hard and turning her around only to crash into a solid chest. Her free hand lands on bare skin, hair tickling her fingers. The figure smells of sea salt and gunpowder and Emma stops struggling in Killian’s grasp.
Their eyes meet, just barely visible in the faint fire light, and her chest heaves from her momentary fright. His eyes roam over her face, dart down to the movements of her chest, and return to her gaze. She holds her breath and wishes she could see more than just his eyes behind the mask. As if he reads her words, he slides the mask up with his hook and quirks an eyebrow, challenging her to do the same.
She contemplates the moment. Sliding her mask up removes any plausible deniability she’s offered herself. It makes whatever happens next between them real and not something she can hide from. Swallowing hard, Emma moves her free hand to her mask and slides it up.
He lets out of a breath of relief and Emma only gets a glimpse of his white teeth visible through a smile before he drops her hand to cup the back of her head and bring her mouth to his own.
His lips are soft against hers, moving slowly, caressing her mouth like waves against the shore. He cradles her head as he backs her up against the wall and she sighs into his mouth. Her bottom lip gets capture between his and he runs his tongue along it, teeth nipping at it before soothing it, repeating the process even as she drops her own mask and carts her fingers through his hair.
Hips grind against each other, seeking a friction that isn’t able to satisfy their desires. She feels his hearty bulge where she wants it most but she needs more.
Killian’s hand slides down from the back of her head to her jaw, urging her mouth open so his tongue can plunder the way he knows best. His caresses her own and they share a quiet moan when their tongues curl around one another. Her cunt throbs again, desire pulsing through her veins and she can’t help the tug on his hair when his hips jerk forward.
They pull away, panting. Their mouths are wet and red and she can already feel the puffiness of her lips starting. But to see Captain Hook – Killian Jones – in the same state as her makes her lose her breath.
He has trouble staying away from her after that because his mouth traces a line along her neck, his hook lifting her necklace slightly so he can kiss under where it rests. His hard, leather-covered cock is rocking gently into her and she whispers into the darkness, “I wonder what you taste like.”
One of his arms circles around her lower back and pulls them tight together. She feels the curve of his hook against her hip and she shivers.
“I wonder what your seed will taste like,” she continues, earning a bite on her neck in response. “If I’ll be able to swallow it all or if some will slip out.” Her moan is breathy and she practically whines as his hand ghosts over the bare skin of her leg peeking out from her slit. “I want to be covered in your cum.”
“That would be a waste,” he murmurs, following his previous trail back up to her ear, his kisses desperate and leaving her skin wet. “I’d much rather fill your quim. Feel you quiver around me as your body accepts every drop.”
Her whole body shakes at the thought. His control is breaking as he crashes his mouth down on hers and she whimpers, needing and wanting more. His hand suddenly grabs her leg, spreading it apart and stepping closer, fingers leaving a path of fire in every place they touch.
They skim over her knife holster and Killian growls, his tongue overpowering her own as it plunders her mouth with a ferocity and possessiveness he didn’t have before. She rests back against the wall, one hand dipping under the collar of his shirt as the other grasps his hardness, his hand moving up to where her core pounds with want.
“Bloody hell,” he pulls back with a gasp, whether it’s from her tug over his trousers or the fact that she’s drenched when his fingers finally touch her where she wants, she has no idea. His fingers run along her folds, gathering her own slick before slowly sliding a finger inside of her. She feels her cunt clench around the intrusion and her eyes squeeze shut from the small relief it gives.
He gives her slow, steady pumps of his finger, curling it before pulling out, pushing in then doing the same again. By the time he adds a second, her hands are undoing the laces of his leather and darting beneath to grab his cock. He feels hot and thick in her hands, and she traces his member with her touch. His balls are heavy and she revels in the gasp she gets from him when her nails barely scratch over them. In return, the nail of his thumb skirts over her clit and she nearly cries.
“Killian,” she pants, their foreheads pressed against each other and their mouths open, swallowing each other’s breaths.
“Aye, love. I know.”
He slowly removes his fingers, her cunt throbbing in dissatisfaction from the retreat. He runs his fingers over her folds again, gathering her wetness, and moves his hand from under her skirt to his cock. Her own hands shove his pants down to his thighs and use the slit in her gown to spread the pieces apart, allowing him full access to her core.
Jerking his cock, he leads it to her quivering cunt, teasing her and running it along her clit before entering the head inside her. She gasps in pleasure, going up to her tip toes as he inches his way inside her, stretching her in a way she’s never been before. Her hands drop her skirts and she grasps his shoulders for leverage.
He’s breathing as heavily as she is and she knows he still has a few inches to get inside of her. She whines and drops down from her tip toes. His cock goes deeper but there’s still more. Hook pressed against her lower back and his hand on her uncovered thigh, he retreats slightly before slamming the entirety of his cock in her cunt.
They both moan loudly before freezing at the sound of chain links clanking together. A knight pauses at the end of the hallway, searching for the cause of the noise but doesn’t see them in the darkness. She throbs at the prospect of a stranger seeing her spread open on Captain Hook’s thick cock and she knows he can feel it by the way he twitches inside her. She bites her lip to quiet her next moan and he surges forward, capturing her mouth with his.
His hips piston into her with abandon, chasing his pleasure in her pulsing depths. She tightens around his cock and earns a particularly hard thrust in response. She bites his lip to keep quiet as another knight patrols the area, doing so hard enough that it draws blood. Her tongue runs over the cut lip and he uses the arm around her waist to pull her down with each thrust.
Her breasts bounce in the corset, sure to be creating a delectable sight when he pulls his mouth away from hers but instead, his focus is on the way his cock sheathes itself in her cunt and how it shines with her wetness as he pulls out.
She feels herself shiver under his gaze on their connection and she pulls him closer, the hair of his chest brushing the tips of her breasts that are spilling out of the corset.
“I’m so close,” she whines. Killian nods his head, bringing his hand down to rub at her clit.
“You look so beautiful on my cock,” he whispers. “You’re so tight and when you squeeze me, it’s like you never want me to leave. Do you want that, love? Do you want to feel me inside of you every moment of the day?” She barely registers what he’s saying over the blood rushing in her ears but it sounds so good that she can’t help but nod frantically. “When I come, it’s going to be inside of you and you’re going to take it all. Not a drop will escape. That is an order from your captain.”
“Yes – yes, Captain H – Jones.”
The change of his title, from his moniker to his surname, unleashes something within Killian that has him thrusting into her with quick, sharp bursts and his finger rubbing furiously at her clit. His determination, the want to feel her finish around him as he comes, hits her like a carriage rolling downhill.
She peaks with stars in her eyes and a silent scream, fingers pulling harshly at the hair on the back of his head. Killian follows moments after, his release bathing her walls with a warmth that has her quivering through aftershocks.
They remain joined for a few minutes longer, neither wanting to break the private bubble they’ve found themselves in. She tightens when another knight walks by and though he twitches again, she knows he’s spent for the time being.
Swallowing hard, Emma pushes gently on his shoulders and refrains from whimpering at the loss of him. Her legs squeeze shut and hold together tightly, lest any of his seed were to spill down her thighs. Her captain gave her an order and she is going to follow it through.
Killian adjusts himself, packing his soft cock, glistening in the firelight from their combined release, back into his trousers and lacing them up with one hand in such a smooth efficiency that she wishes they had more time and a mirror so he could do that to her corset. He bends down and swiftly picks up their masks, her shaky fingers grasping hers.
“You’re trembling,” he says softly and with such concern that it brings Emma back to when he first offered her a deal.
“That tends to happen after a particularly good coupling,” she teases, her smile light and friendly. His mouth quirks up in a quick grin. The tension that always covered their interactions doesn’t feel as heavy now.
He moves forward slowly, watching her gaze carefully, and places a gentle kiss on her lips, lingering for a few seconds extra to remember this moment.
“Until next time,” he says, both a farewell and a hello. If they do this every time they meet up, she wouldn’t mind him taking half her jobs.
She nods, her voice quiet. “I eagerly await, Captain.”
*
“Where have you been?” Ruby questions once Emma arrives at their meeting point. Her face is still flushed and she hopes the hair she pulled out of her bun covers any marks Killian may have left.
“Sorry, I couldn’t get away,” she offers. Emma turns to Snow, “You got it?”
Snow holds up the large jewel. “One Eye of the Storm, just for us.” Emma grins as she goes over to observe it, mouth dropping open in shock at its beauty. She’s so entranced by their find that she doesn’t hear Snow’s question the first time. “Where’s your necklace?” Snow repeats.
“Huh?” Emma asks. Her hand darts up to her neck in confusion to find it bare. Eyes wide in alarm, she mentally retraces her steps to recall if she felt the weight sliding off during her walk when she realizes.
His hook lifted the necklace as he kissed her neck. The bastard.
Ruby smirks as she asks, “Yeah, and whose mask is that? I thought yours was gray, not black.”
*
A bird lands on her window ledge a few days later and Emma almost calls for Snow. The other woman has always had an affinity for speaking to animals, especially birds, and she knows Snow has been conversing via blue birds with a secret admirer. But there’s a letter attached to its leg and her name is written in handwriting she’d expect from a king.
I believe I have something of yours… It’s only in good form and honor that I return it to you. Perhaps our crews can join forces as well?
Meet me at the Snuggly Duckling a fortnight from now at sundown.
life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (CS Halloweek 1/7)
Summary: Samhain brings a turning point for witch Emma and pirate beau Killian, in both their lives and their relationship. Gods willing, what they've built is strong enough to resist the temptations of darkness—but the only way to find out is to move forward.
A/N: Welcome to Halloweek! Many thanks to the organizers of @cshalloweek ! They've provided an excellent prompt list, and my plan is to share just a bit of this story each day, each entry fitting the theme. Hope you enjoy it! [tags are below cut]
October 25: Treats / orange | pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery
800 words | rated T-M | AO3
part 1: I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night
Leaves and pine needles crunched under foot as Emma strode through the woods. The harvest moon streaming through the increasingly bare trees was nothing short of cliche, but also appropriate, she figured; they were on the cusp of Samhain, and for a witch like her, it was one of the most important—and magical—times of the year.
There were other celebrations, rituals, and traditions she’d be attending with her coven over the next day or so, but she was out here taking care of one of her own. She could probably find the hollowed-out tree with the perfect view of the ocean without sight by now, she’d visited so often.
As she’d done so many times, she stood in front of the gaping hole in the long-dead tree. The aroma of pumpkin spice lingered, mixed with the ever-present smell of rotting wood; she’d brought some cake with her when she came up last week on her birthday, as something of an offering. It had been over twenty-eight years since she her parents found her in this stump as an infant; they still didn’t know how she got there—whether she’d been left, or somehow spawned from the woods itself in response to their prayers for a child—but it had nevertheless become something of a refuge, a spot for meditation.
(Especially now; she’d yet to break the curse of the poisoned heart that not only kept her from her parents, but kept them apart, too. But maybe Samhain would bring a revelation there.)
Nothing lingered of the cake—either the tree had liked it, or some forest creature had made off with it—but the scent remained strong as ever; or maybe it was just her. He always said she smelled (and tasted) like that—sweet and spicy and delicious; a welcome chill went up her spine at the memory of the last time he’d told her that.
She supposed there were worse things for her pheromones to mimic. His were equally divine, but of a different sort—still spicy, but with a crisp, almost briny edge to it that was simultaneously warm and energizing.
She breathed deep as she watched the amber-colored ripples of moonlight reflecting on the water and a breeze picked up, making her cloak flutter around her and—if she wasn’t mistaken—carrying that familiar scent on it. She’d seen the familiar sails of his ship as it cut across the waves not long ago, at the start of her hike.
But then another, very different chill went through her, and she pulled her cloak tight; there was something else on the air tonight—something heavier, possibly malevolent.
Before she had a chance to discern what she was feeling, or even mutter a protective spell, a warm body was on top of her, pressing her against the tree from behind.
“Hello, love,” he purred, and began pressing kisses against her neck. She shivered for a different reason now; his soft lips felt amazing against her skin and the brush of his beard always tickled her in the best way. But still—something didn’t feel right.
“Get off of me,” she said, teasingly, as she rolled her shoulder to press him away—but only enough to turn and face him while staying in his embrace.
And there he was: Killian Jones, in all his pirate glory, mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes like it always did—ever since the day she’d met him.
“Miss me?” he asked, pressing close again.
“Always,” she answered, then brushed his fringe—a bit longer than the last time she saw him—off his face.
To her shock, though, she was—well, shocked. Her own inherent light magic sparked against his skin when she grazed his forehead; that had never happened before. Her magic usually caressed him the same way she did, and though he was no stranger to witchcraft, he didn’t have any powers of his own.
It seemed to reverberate in the air around them, like tiny fireworks popping all over. Odder still, he didn’t notice; he continued to stare at her like he wanted to eat her alive. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he didn’t work his way to captain by being inobservant. And there was just enough of a wicked tilt to his smirk that she knew—something happened to him.
“Killian, what’s going on?” she asked, concerned. “Something isn’t right.”
“I’m perfectly fine, Swan,” he countered, his grin turning devilish. “Better than I’ve ever been, in fact.”
A warm glow overtook his features, somehow making their sharp edges seem menacing. Fear rose in her core, a sharp contrast to the more pleasurable feelings she’d been expecting.
And it all turned into a solid lump in her stomach when she realized where the light was coming from—the fireball in the palm of Killian’s hand.
Summary: Why did Emma think going into an abandoned asylum overnight over a stupid bet was a good idea?
Rating: T
Warnings: Minor descriptions of gore/body horror (though nothing too graphic)
AO3
A/N: Now onto Day 2 of @cshalloweek 2021! The prompts for today were Threats/black, clanking chains | prank | “we have to be quiet” | carved .Again, you can decide which were the inspiration for this story! ;P And, as before, thank you to @winterbythesea and every one else who contributed to coming up with an excellent prompt list to work with and ‘hosting’ the event for another year! I hope you all enjoy this darker story for today!
----
She tried to keep her breathing and her steps quiet as she moved through the dingy and dark hallway, the flashlight on her slowly dying cell phone leading the way. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and seemed to match the way the small beam of light shook in her hands. She was certain the psycho now hunting them all down could hear the ‘thump, thump’ as loud as she could.
What the hell were you thinking, Emma! She repeated in her head for the millionth time since stepping foot inside the abandoned asylum. No bet was worth the hell she’d been through these last several hours. No sense of pride over winning against her condescending ex was worth her fucking life.
Of course there was no way for any of them to know stepping into this place would be a death sentence. The asylum had been abandoned a decade ago and Emma knew Graham came and cleared out the squatters every couple of months. He’d said as much when they’d all agreed to Neal’s stupid wager of who could ‘last through the night’ the longest.
Emma had spent much of her life putting up with Neal’s ridiculous schemes and she was once again wondering why she had decided to stay kinda sorta friends with him. In her defense, Neal had never actually done anything to put her life at risk. Sure, he’d always been a bit of an arrogant douche, but it wasn’t ever literally life-threatening. Not until now.
Because of course the very night they all agreed to an impromptu stay in this creepy place was the same night some lunatic came to collect on the debts Neal had racked up against him. She should have known it was only a matter of time before he got tangled up with the really dangerous sort of people that didn’t really care for things like laws, or morals… or human life.
She huffed out a breath, agitation towards Neal momentarily overriding her fear. Then she caught herself and froze, hoping the slip up wouldn’t alert the man who had only introduced himself as ‘Jack’ before everything had gone to shit had heard her. Against her will, her mind conjured the image of a hatchet slicing through the air and the screams of agony and terror that followed. Her fight or flight instinct had proven to be the former and she’d wanted to rush to help those in very clear danger, but Graham had yanked her quickly down one of the hallways before she could.
Emma swallowed thickly, willing the memory of that terrifying moment and her abandoning of those in need to leave her thoughts. She couldn’t dwell on it. Couldn’t think about what had possibly happened to those first victims. She wasn’t even really sure who Jack had taken first. She just knew that when the scattered survivors had managed to regroup some hours ago, Lance, Eric, and Killian weren’t there.
Leaning back against the dirty wall to her right, Emma felt her heart squeeze as she recalled not seeing the dark haired, blue-eyed man among them. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for the others, but Killian… Killian had slowly worked his way past her defenses since first coming into Storybrooke a couple years back. And just the thought of him not being around anymore because of some fucked up shit Neal did…
Her eyes pricked with hot, angry tears and she reached up to cover her mouth with her free hand before a sob could escape. She shouldn’t be here, running for her life. Killian, and all the others, shouldn’t have lost theirs. All over what Neal had hastily whispered when they’d reunited that it was a ‘misunderstanding over a prank.’ A prank.
Emma dropped her hand from her mouth. “A fucking prank?!” She muttered softly to the dark hallway and, before she could really think, slammed her foot back against the wall she was leaning against. And while her words had been quiet, the sound of her boot hitting the wall reverberated around her loudly.
A wicked cackle and the rattling of chains burst out from the darkness to her left and she took off just as the sound of heavy footsteps followed after her as she went. She internally cursed herself for the slip up, eyes frantically scanning back and forth across the hallway for some place to go. A staircase came into view just in the distance and she turned as she reached it, her footsteps pounding around the concrete like a drum.
Good fucking job, idiot. It was all she could think as she went down a second flight and then stopped two floors down from where she’d just been. She could hear Jack still racing after her, his own booted feet pounding on the floors above.
Then suddenly Emma felt herself being yanked sharply into a room she hadn’t realized was next to her and felt a wet hand coming over her mouth as she started to scream in shock and surprise.
“Hey, shhh.” A voice whispered harshly as she was pushed back against the wall just next to the doorway the mysterious person had pulled her through. She raised her phone up to see familiar blue eyes, though dulled by pain and exhaustion, staring at her desperately.
Emma nodded in understanding, keeping her lips sealed tight as he removed his hand from her mouth slowly. In the light of the phone, she could see the wetness she had felt was blood coating his palm. She frowned and watched him gingerly step to the ajar door and that was when she noticed the other hand, the left one, was still barely attached to his wrist. He slowly eased the door shut, hardly making a sound as it settled into place against the frame. He then settled back against the door, planting his feet against the floor as he did.
“Killian,” She gasped and he sharply looked at her with a silencing gaze. He brought his blood-covered good hand up to his mouth, holding a single finger up to his lips.
‘We have to be quiet.’ He mouthed to her just as the sound of boots hitting the landing next to the room thudded through the wall. Emma stood frozen, eyes locked with Killian’s as Jack shuffled about just outside.
“I know you're here somewhere, little bird!” The crazed man taunted loudly, and from the sound of his voice and steps moving away, it was clear he’d chosen to take the hallway leading away from where they were hidden. Even still, Killian motioned her over with a jerk of his head.
Emma moved quietly to him, taking up the spot on the floor against the door to his right.
“He’s still too close for me to lock the door. It’ll make too much noise.” He spoke so softly, she was amazed she heard him. “The other side of the hallway is a dead end. He’ll be back this way and… I don’t think I can hold this door by myself.”
Nodding, Emma pressed all her weight back against the door and planted her feet like he had his. Jack’s taunting continued outside in the distance, something about taking away Neal’s precious Swan. She chose to ignore them and instead used her phone to shine over Killian’s lap where his mangled hand was resting. It looked like the sick bastard had literally been carving into his wrist.
“How did you…?” She made sure to keep her voice as quiet as he had, glancing up at him in wonder and shock. She could see him trembling in the dim light, breathed in the rancid scent of blood and sweat, and yet his eyes held a hint of the confidence he’d always carried about him since the first day they’d met.
“Tell you what,” He offered a shaky half smirk. “We make it out of here, I’ll tell you over a dinner date of terrible hospital food?”
Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning away in an attempt not to let out a disbelieving laugh. She let the phone drop into her lap, the room going dark without the flashlight.
And then brought her hand down to grasp his good one tightly, just as the sound of heavy footsteps made their way back down the hall in their direction and stopped just outside the door.
pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery
SUMMARY: The last thing Emma expects when she opens the door is a mini-me.
Trick-or-treaters of the building have knocked on their apartment door throughout the day, a range of Spider-Man’s, Batman’s, princesses, and a minion or two have all come asking for candy. Her Spotify playlist for the day is on repeat for the fourth time and it always brings an extra bounce to the kid’s steps. But to open the door and see a little blonde girl, curly hair straightened and wearing a red leather jacket that’s so small it’s adorable, Emma isn’t sure how to react.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This was supposed to be a quick and short like drabble of a piece. And here we are. Also age wise, Alice is 6, Henry 11/12.
“Hey! Get off me, lady!” Greg Mendell yells. He struggles in her grip, throwing his elbow back and hitting her cheek. Emma stumbles in her heels but it isn’t enough to free him of her hold. She feels her blood boiling and his failed escape clearly has the same effect on her skip. “My father is a lawyer! I will sue you for everything you own, you f–”
Emma pushes him hard on the shoulder through the doors, one grip still on his cuffed hands behind his back. “Maybe he should give you legal advice on skipping your court date.”
She brings him to the front desk, her eyes scanning the bullpen to see if her brother is working. Instead, a head of curly blonde hair catches her eye and the look of awe on the young girl’s face captures her attention.
“Woah,” she sees the girl mouth, her tiny legs swinging on the office chair she sits upon.
She fells the girl’s eyes on her as she books the skip, and the moment Greg is firmly in police custody and she is ready to leave, the little girl comes bounding up to her.
“Are you an undercover cop?” she whispers so loudly that Emma is sure half the precinct heard.
“Uh, no,” Emma replies. Her lips quirk up as she shrugs her shoulders. “Sorry, kid.”
“Well, what are you?” the girl presses. Her eyes are wide in wonder, colored such a sharp blue that it takes Emma by surprise.
“I’m a bail bondsperson.” The little girl nods as if it all makes sense but Emma doubts she knows what a bondsperson is. “Are your parents nearby?” Emma asks. The girl’s face becomes pinched and her nose scrunches up before she nods her head.
“Yeah, my papa is in interrogation,” she says with a shrug, like being stuck in a police station is a normal routine.
Life experience taught Emma that it very well might be. She heard rumors of incidents happening to other foster kids, having been dragged to the station as a foster parent was arrested for one reason or another, waiting on the hard wooden benches for the social worker to pick them up. It happened to her once. Her foster father had been a creep and after one particular come-on that Emma escaped, she called up her social worker. She could see her foster father in the holding cell as she waited, the precinct of the small town too tiny and without any other seating to allow her privacy away from him.
He threw ugly words at her, threats that she wasn’t entirely sure were empty, and practically spit at her feet. The wait felt like years.
So Emma bends down in her dress and scans the girl’s face for any visible injuries, grateful to see none.
“I’m sure it can get pretty boring waiting. Are you doing okay?”
“I have my markers so it’s not too bad,” Alice answers. She has a dimple in one of her cheeks when she smiles wide and Emma fells her heart melt. It’s almost the same place as Henry’s.
“I’m Emma.”
“I’m –”
“Alice!” Emma stands abruptly and turns towards the voice, noticing a cop come rushing towards the lobby. He must be new, Emma thinks. Then her mind immediately catalogues how attractive he is. Strands of dark hair fall over his forehead before he pushes it back with his hand, a ring adorning his pointer finger. Scruff covers the sharp line of his jaw and winds around his mouth in a way that reminds Emma of those ridiculously good-looking Calvin Klein models on the posters in Time Squares.
She never swoons for a man in uniform – having her foster brother as a cop quickly deteriorated any fantasies she had in the past and nothing brought that line of thinking alive again. Until she sees the mystery man who looks like the uniform is made for him to be the wet dreams of every woman in a seven-mile radius. Seriously, he belongs on one of those raunchy novels at the grocery store checkout.
Damn it. He is gorgeous.
“Papa!” the girl’s voice calls from behind Emma and she watches as the blonde darts around her legs and jumps at the cop, his reaction time impeccable as he quickly bends down to grab her right as she leaps, swinging her up to rest on his hip.
Oh.
Her dad is a cop.
Emma lets out a sigh of relief.
“I thought I told you to stay at my desk and color until it was time to go, darling,” the man chastises, worry taking any heat out of his words. Damn. It. He has an accent too.
Alice wraps her arms around her father’s neck and leans in close to his ear. “But Papa, I needed to investigate,” she says in the same loud whisper as before.
“What did you need to investigate?” the man asks, mimicking his daughter’s tone with a smile at the little girl that Emma always dreamed of getting as a child.
“I needed to know if Emma was an undercover cop or not.” Her tiny hand curls into a fist, one finger pointing at Emma.
Alice’s father follows his daughter’s finger and he meets Emma’s eyes. It immediately becomes clear to her where Alice gets her blue eyes from, and Emma sucks in a breath at the image before her.
His blue eyes captivate her. They remind her of ocean water in the Caribbean and she is itching for a dip. He licks his lips and her eyes trace the movement subconsciously. She clears her throat to be rid of the indecent thoughts ready to be vocalized while he shakes his head.
The man shifts Alice to settle better on his side and reaches one hand out towards her.
“Killian Jones,” he says. Emma admires the way his tongue works over every letter of his name as she clasps her hand in his.
“Emma Swan.”
Before they can get much further, David comes bounding into the lobby, grinning wide. He spots their hands, still mid shake, and grins at them both.
“Killian, Alice!” he greets as he comes to stand at Emma’s side. They’ve dropped their hands, a hasty effort to right themselves as though they were doing anything wrong. “This is my sister, Emma.”
*
David tells her that when Killian had moved and was relocated to his unit, he suggested Emma’s building to him. Which really shouldn’t surprise her as David was anal when it came to finding her a new apartment once he got engaged to Mary Margaret. He ran crime reports of the area, searched out who did the usual patrols, looked up any reports made at each building she looked at, and printed it all out in a mess of a pile that left her overwhelmed. Mary Margaret had been kind enough to organize everything and put it in a binder. Helpful, but still overwhelming.
Apparently Killian and Alice moved in a month ago. She learns one day, her and Killian greeting each other on the landing outside their apartments because of course the gorgeous new cop who works with her brother lives across the hall, that it’s just the two of them. Alice’s mother is a situation he’d rather not revisit and she gets it. For the first few years of Henry’s life, it had been the same thing with Neal. Though Killian makes it known that Alice’s mother will never have a place in her life, for the good of Alice.
She sees the two of them more frequently after that, though Killian a great deal more than Alice. He seems to be at the station most times when she stops by with a skip or to bring her brother out for lunch. There’s a kindness, a polite distance, in their interactions but she can read the hunger in his eyes as well as her own. It lays dormant just under the surface and crackles to life when they get a rare moment alone. Neither of them moves on it though.
The first time Henry meets Killian, he sees the man outside his door searching through his wallet for a spare key.
“Are you supposed to be here?” Henry asks. Neal dropped him off downstairs after a weekend at his place and his backpack, filled with clothes and his Nintendo Switch, weighs heavy against his back.
“Uh, hello, lad,” Killian says, turning to face Henry with red on his cheeks and his finger coming up to rub behind his ear. “Aye. This is my dwelling, but unfortunately I seem to have locked myself out and misplaced my key…”
Henry looks him up and down, tells him to wait a moment, and keeps one eye on him as he unlocks his own door. He slams it shut quickly behind him and calls out to Emma.
“Mom!” He doesn’t see her immediately. Red leather jacket strewn atop the couch and boots flung by the small kitchen island, he figures his mom is probably in her room. He drops his duffle by the door and grabs the orange juice container from the fridge. “There’s a strange man loitering by the door!”
“What?!” Emma yells as she emerges from her room. She half-heartedly glares at her son drinking straight from the carton and quickly ties her wet hair up at the back of her neck. “What do you mean there’s a strange man by the door?”
Henry shrugs. “I’ve never seen him before and he’s just hanging out in the hallway.” He leans closer, and whispers like they’re discussing the secret identity of a James Bond villain, “He’s got an accent.”
One beat passes then two before Emma realizes that Henry is speaking about Killian. She sighs and shakes her head. “That’s our new neighbor.” Almost to the door, Emma turns to Henry. “Use a glass, kid.”
The contents of Killian’s wallet are strewn across the hallway floor, the man himself bent down by it as he shakes his wallet.
The scene is so perplexing. Every interaction with Killian since their initial greeting has brought her to the conclusion that the man is incapable of being anything but completely put together and suave. He offers a flirty comment occasionally, incredibly smooth with his delivery and lifting an eyebrow that can be construed as a challenge, and is considered the neatest and best organized officer in the precinct. That last bit is something she has to agree with. After dealing with David’s scrawl and Will’s illegible notes for far too long, it’s been refreshing to not have to work to understand what’s written on her paperwork. So she asks, “Is everything okay out here?”
Never before has she had the pleasure of seeing such a debonair man become so flustered. He licks his lips as he looks up at her from where he’s bent and Emma takes glee at watching the tips of his ears turn a bright pink.
“I’m not sure how much your lad has explained but it appears that I’m locked out of my apartment.”
And that’s how Emma shows off her lockpicking skills. A particular skillset that has always made her nervous or less than because of the necessity it came from, but Killian looks at her in wonder like she has magic in a land without it.
“Bloody brilliant,” he says with a grin. Her own cheeks heat this time and Killian’s soft smile hints at a smirk but he tapers it down. He turns the knob on his door and opens the apartment. It’s quiet, lights off, and she remembers Alice vaguely telling her earlier in the week about her very first sleepover and assumes Killian is getting his daughter later. “I owe you a glass of rum.”
“Raincheck on the rum?” she asks. “I’ve an eleven-year-old that probably lived off of pop tarts and cosmic brownies all weekend. I need to get some protein in him.”
Killian’s grin remains but his gaze is calculating. “Are you sure you’re not regaling me with your eating habits, Swan?” She rolls her eyes, lest he realize how true his statement is. “Let me know when I can pay up.”
It takes her another three weeks before she calls in that owed glass of rum. Henry swears that Killian was a pirate in a past life – because apparently only pirates utter ‘Aye’ – and she just needs to share that with someone and who better than the man in question. He takes the assessment with a hearty laugh and a grin that promises mischief. “I do love to pillage and plunder,” he says. Amusement laces his tone but Emma sees the hunger in his eyes that’s never dimmed.
Somehow, it starts a tradition.
Alice is adapting well to her new life in the city, making friends at the various summer camps and activities she’s been signed up for. The girl is excited about everything she sees and wants to try it all out at least once. Who is Killian to deny her that? That’s what he tells her, at least, and as she learns their similar pasts – no parents, time in the foster system, brothers who tried to offer them everything they had – she gets it.
For children with nothing, they want to give their kids everything.
It’s also why she agrees to let Henry go to a sleepaway camp for the first time ever. The brochure prided the eight-week writing workshop for preteens as being the best in the nation, with some notable young adult authors leading a few classes over the summer. Henry’s face lit up as he showed it to her and his words were coming a mile a minute. So she signed him up, no matter how much she’d miss him over the summer. Anything to make her kid happy.
On the nights when Emma was lonely without Henry and Killian had dropped Alice off at another sleepover, they shared a glass of rum. It’s easily the most effortless friendship Emma’s ever had in her life. There are no expectations of each other, from divulging secrets to keeping up conversation. She never knew she could feel such a comfortable peace just sitting quietly next to someone.
It’s not that they don’t want to talk to each other but more that they’re afraid. Silence is safe. Silence is guarded. Only after a particularly frustrating skip that seemed to call out all her insecurities did Emma babble into her glass of rum, her life story spilling out and she was no use to stop it.
Killian shares in kind. The lies Alice’s mother told him, the way she dropped the baby on his doorstep without a word. She’s almost not sure whose ex was worse but Killian reminds her it’s not a competition and at least they are free of the pain, and her anger settles somewhat.
When Henry returns at the end of August – practically a man because he spent his twelfth birthday away with friends and he’s suddenly become independent – and Alice’s sleepovers come to a slow as the school year starts, Emma and Killian find themselves struggling for a new routine.
What results is a weekly dinner together on Thursday nights. Once she made the mistake of telling Mary Margaret she couldn’t go to the movies because it’d cut into Family Dinner Night. The woman asked, saying David didn’t tell her they had plans and then Emma, red faced and wishing to be anywhere else, had to explain she just meant dinner with her neighbor and his daughter. She never heard the end of that.
Family Dinner Night.
She hates the way that rings in her head long after it slipped to Mary Margaret. It’s not like they’re actually a family. It’s just friends and their kids getting together once a week. They get tidbits of each other’s lives and their kids bond over school and Henry takes Alice under his wing without a second thought. She could get used to it.
And that’s what scares her. Because it’s easy to fall into that illusion that they’re one big happy family but they aren’t together and it’s just one night a week and even if she’s come to care for Alice and her father and they’ve done the same for her and Henry, she should keep her distance. They were too afraid of their own feelings beforehand but now that their kids have become close? A relationship was a no-go.
So they steal glances over dinner and brush hands as they pass the salad bowl and leave the hunger simmering beneath the surface never allowed to boil over.
*
A week before Halloween, Emma spots Greg Mendell in the grocery store. Killian lamented to her about being unable to find Alice’s seasonal favorite – pumpkin spice hot chocolate – and on her weekly run, she meanders down the aisle with her eyes on the lookout for the box.
Instead she sees the guy who continually skips his court dates and she groans.
Greg got out a day after Emma dropped him off, a new court date scheduled and someone else paying his bond this time, and then disappeared off the face of the planet. When he popped back up in the city, his file went to one of the senior bondspeople in her firm after being hired by the fiancée who footed the bill, trying to figure out new tactics since the man refuses to do the one thing required of him and show up at court. Emma was glad it wasn’t given to her. Honey traps were easy when they didn’t know who she was but if she had to deal with Greg again, it’d mean dropping Henry off at Neal’s so she could spend a night in the bug staking out Greg’s old haunts and hoping he showed up.
But here he was. Down the grocery aisle from her. And holding the last box of pumpkin spice hot chocolate.
She sucks in a deep breath, moves her grocery cart to the side, and then shakes out her arms. Her footsteps are steady and quiet as she approaches and it’s when she’s almost to him that he looks up and spots her. “Crap.”
One word and then he took off, hot chocolate box in one hand and grocery basket in the other. He maneuvered his way through the aisles, around the shopping carts of other customers, and through to the produce area. Emma is hot on his heels when he tosses the basket at her and she throws her arms up to protect her face. It bounces off of her forearms, the edge slipping through a small space to scratch above her eyebrow, and then she’s off again. She ducks the apples he picks up and throws at her and she even manages to catch one and toss it back, nailing him in the back of the head.
His stumble is enough for Emma to catch up and she tackles him to the ground just next to the cantaloupes. The pumpkin spice hot chocolate box is crumpled in his hand as she pulls his arms back to cuff him and she nearly growls. She chooses to focus on the bright side and the fact that now it can be hers. Whipping the box out of his hands, a pitiful moan falling from his lips, is almost as great as cuffing him.
*
The cut above her head is still bleeding by the time she gets home, slow drips of blood from under the band-aid sliding down her forehead, and a crinkled bag of take-out in her arms is all she has as proof of her efforts to grocery shop. The manager, at least, had given her the hot chocolate free of charge for stopping Greg’s assault.
Footsteps on the stairs behind her are Emma’s only warning before Alice comes bounding into the hallway.
“Emma!” she yells. She lurches forward to wrap her arms around her thighs and Emma grins.
“Hey, kid.”
Alice looks up and her mouth drops open. Emma furrows her brows in confusion only to wince. Right. The cut.
“Woah. What’s that from? Are you okay?” the little girl asks in wonder. Her arms still tightly encase Emma’s legs and it reminds her of when Henry did the same thing at her age.
“Bad guy. Don’t worry, I got him in the end.”
“Cool,” Alice grins. Emma nearly gasps in surprise at the sudden gap in the girl’s teeth. “Oh! Neat, isn’t it?” Her tongue pokes out of the gap where a front tooth once was and her grin widens. “Popped it out during school.”
“You did, did you?” Emma asks. She shifts the items in her hand to reach down and gently grasp Alice’s chin, inspecting the gap. After a moment, she grins at the girl. “That looks awesome.”
“There was blood everywhere!” Alice exclaims. She steps away from Emma and holds up the tooth in her hand. “It was all over my hand. I showed Billy Thompson my tooth and he started crying! It was great!”
“Starfish,” a voice calls from the stairs. Killian appears, his uniform in pristine condition as always, and an embarrassed look crosses his features. “What did I say about exaggerations?”
Alice pouts and Emma laughs softly, standing up and leaning against her door. “You got a monopoly on stretching the truth of your adventures?” she asks. Killian sends a smirk in her direction.
“I assure you, Swan, that tales of my exploits are most definitely not exaggerated.”
Emma’s nearly certain her gulp is loud enough for all of them to hear. Thankfully, Henry pokes his head out in search of food, sending a greeting to Killian and snagging their takeout before Alice bounds into Emma’s apartment, repeating her tale of her first lost tooth to her kid.
“You alright?” Killian nods his head towards the cut on her forehead and Emma reaches up to touch it, blood still wet.
“I’ll be fine. It’s superficial.”
“What happened?” Emma gestures him to follow her into her apartment. The pumpkin her and Henry carved the night before rests on the table next to the door. Their cutouts are sloppy and there’s still some pumpkin guts inside but Henry wanted to do the carving himself this year and even if his hand is mightier with a pen than a carving knife, she wanted to show everyone her son’s skills.
“Greg Mendell,” she answers quick before spotting Henry sneaking Alice some candy. “Hey! Nice try kid but put those back! They’re for trick-or-treaters.”
“Did the git skip again?”
“Yep,” she says. “This time on his fiancée.”
“Bloody hell.” She hums in agreement. Between the suspects he brings in and the guys that skips on the bail she put up, they see a rather unsavory lot of people.
“At least I got this.” She offers up the crushed box of pumpkin spice hot chocolate and he grins in delight.
“You’re a marvel, Swan.” Their eyes connect and don’t stray for a few moments until a drop of blood hits her eyebrow. His eyes linger on the cut and his eyebrows pull together in concern. “Who took care of that?”
“Scarlet.”
A deep sigh leaves his throat and as his breath brushes her nose, she realizes how close they are. From the corner of her eye, she can see that Henry and Alice are paying no mind, raised voicing indicating their shared excitement of their Halloween costumes. “Another git if you ask me. Scarlet apparently failed his first aid training three times before he passed. Never let him patch you up, love. Come.”
He ushers her to her bathroom like its his. Ruffling through the cabinets come with an ease and familiarity that makes her breath catch in her throat. He moves without a thought and Emma never had someone in her space before that could do that. When did this happen?
She licks her lips when Killian cups her jaw, turning her head to the side. It’s a stark contrast to the way she cradled Alice’s earlier. Where her touch was maternal, his has no name. There’s a gentleness in his fingertips and a care for the way he handles her, the brush of his hand soft and calming. He peels away the wet band-aid and Emma barely notices. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and Emma is left wondering if their close proximity is affecting him the way it is her.
“What the hell is that?!” she hisses. Her attempts to pull her head away yield no result as Killian keeps a tight hold on her chin, thumb rubbing against her dimple.
“Antiseptic.” His face is set in concentration. His lips pull in a frown as he wipes the edges of her cut. A mere few inches separate her mouth from Killian’s and the thought makes her chest tingle in a way she feels like she’s got a buildup of static electricity. She quickly focuses her gaze on the ghost decoration Henry put on the towel rack. Her thoughts are less dangerous that way. “Thanks for the confirmation that Scarlet’s an idiot and even forgot to do that.”
“I got it. Scarlet can’t be trusted for anything but cannon fodder.”
His answering grin is nearly blinding as he pauses in his task and meets her eyes. “Atta girl, Swan.” They maintain contact for a moment before he adds a bit more antiseptic and she hisses again.
“Can you use anything that doesn’t sting?!”
“There’s always rum.”
“I think that’d make it worse.”
“And it’d be a bloody waste of it, too.”
Killian steps back and grabs the band-aids from the bathroom cabinet next. It’s a box of animal designs she got while on sale and the man before her spends too much time searching through it before finally pulling one out.
She doesn’t question it. Killian is notoriously anal about some things and he probably deemed half the box to be full of bandages too small.
At least she doesn’t question it until she comes back to the kitchen and Henry laughs so hard that some of the rice from his Chinese food flies out of his nose.
“What?” she asks. She begins fixing a plate for herself and for Killian who insisted on cleaning up in the bathroom.
“Nice band-aid,” is all Henry responds with. She shoots him a look. Alice’s giggles have her questioning what is so funny. A quick check at her phone camera, Killian emerging from the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on his face that should irritate her instead of fluster her appearing in the background, and she has her answer.
He gave her a swan band-aid.
*
Knock, knock.
The last thing Emma expects when she opens the door is a mini-me.
Trick-or-treaters of the building have knocked on their apartment door throughout the day, a range of Spider-Man’s, Batman’s, princesses, and a minion or two have all come asking for candy. Her Spotify playlist for the day is on repeat for the fourth time and it always brings an extra bounce to the kid’s steps. But to open the door and see a little blonde girl, curly hair straightened and wearing a red leather jacket that’s so small it’s adorable, Emma isn’t sure how to react.
“Hi Emma!” the sweet voice calls to her. Her smile in return is automatic.
“Hi, Alice,” Emma says. Her hand darts for the candy bowl Henry helped her put together before heading to Neal’s and she offers it to the girl who takes a piece. “You look awfully familiar.”
“Can you guess who I am?” A gap-toothed smile greets her eyes and Emma feels her heart warm. Every day since losing her tooth, Alice has come running to knock on her door after school and give an update on how her big girl tooth is coming in. There’s a little nub of white along the gumline and Alice shows it off constantly.
Emma inspects Alice’s outfit, adding a little bit of dramatics as she slowly walks around the giggling girl. She pushes her own wishful thinking aside and guesses. “Hannah Montana?”
“Noooo, silly! I’m you!”
It’s one thing to suspect it but another to confirm.
Crying is not something Emma does on a regular basis. Probably because of her emotionally stunted childhood. But she can probably count the number of occasions she’s cried on, most of them involving Henry. Her kid wrote a whole essay about how she was his hero and she cried for a week when she went to bed. Never did she think she could have something – someone – so great in her life.
(She also copied, laminated, and framed the essay to display in their living room and at work.)
But she feels the tears burning at the back of her eyes and she bends down to Alice’s level with a grin. “Are we sure it’s not Christmas? Because this feels like the best gift ever.”
Her breath leaves her lungs in a quick moment as Alice tosses her body against Emma’s to wrap her arms around her neck, pumpkin basket thumping against her back. Alice’s apartment door opens and she hears leather rubbing against leather.
“I take it you have no tricks, only treats?”
Emma turns her chin on Alice’s shoulder to look at Killian and her mouth dries. He stands in his doorway, legs clad in leather so tight she wonders how he got it on, shirt unbuttoned to nearly his stomach with chest hair on display for the world to see, and a heavy leather duster settling against his body. A fake plastic hook is latched onto the pocket of his leather pants and eyeliner frames his eyes in a way that make the blue seem brighter. “Happy Halloween, Swan.”
“Papa!” Alice exclaims, letting go of Emma to jump at Killian. He picks her up with the same soft smile he saves just for his daughter and if Emma wasn’t already on the ground, she probably would have swooned. Standing up, her hands brush the imaginary dust off of her legs and putting the candy bowl on the doorway table, she forces her attention on Alice.
“How about you go inside and pick a couple more candies? You can leave them at your apartment to save room for all the other treats you’ll get.”
“Thanks, Emma!”
In a blur of red, Alice wiggles her way out of her father’s arms and into Emma’s apartment. Killian stands there with all the bravado of Captain Hook left out in the middle of the sea as he scratches behind his ear.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, gesturing to where Alice kneels on a kitchen chair and is digging through the candy bowl. His cheeks don’t turn brighter but the tips of his ears do, to her great delight. “She was going to be Tinkerbell up until she saw you after the Greg Mendell incident a week ago. There was no changing her mind after that. She’s been quite taken with your profession since she met you.”
Perhaps it’s Nina Simone’s intoxicating voice emanating from her apartment singing about putting a spell on someone or it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins at her. Perhaps it’s been the hunger clawing under the surface for months. But Emma takes a breath and takes a step.
“And her father?” Her voice is more breathless than she anticipated, quiet in the hall and meant only for them. Killian pushes off of the doorframe and moves that last step between them.
“I’d venture to say he’s been quite taken with you.” His eyes glance over her shoulder to check on Alice before focusing on her again. “This might be hard to believe but I think even more so than his daughter.”
She grins, huffing out a laugh, cups his cheek, and leans up to press a kiss to his lips. His hands are quick to grab her waist and pull her against him. The plastic hook digs into her hip and she can feel the cool metal of the extra rings he wears against the small of her back but she pays no mind, not when his mouth is moving over hers with such delicious intent and passion.
It’s as her fingers are threading through his hair and his is doing the same to her long locks that Alice makes her presence known to them.
“Does this mean you’ll finally let me put a fake cut on my head like Emma had last week?”
“Absolutely not.” Killian pulls away laughing and lifts Alice up. She knows the feeling. The one where you’re not sure whether the next time you pick up your kid will be the last because they’re too grown to want it anymore. It’s hard letting your kid grow up and be independent of you.
He turns to Emma, lips swollen and hair mussed, but his eyes alight with a sparkle and a fire she hadn’t seen before. Her own turn up in response. He winks – a terrible excuse for the action as he can barely keep one eye open doing it – and turns back to his daughter.
It’s hard, but at least they’re not alone.
The air is light and Emma can’t wait for Henry to return in a few hours so they can share stories about their holiday. Things might be looking a little different for them when Christmas comes around and the thought is as sweet as the treats in her candy bowl.
SUMMARY: It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone. There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.
RATING: T
Happy @cshalloweek, everyone! The prompt that struck me was: Monsters / red - under a spell | mystery | "I'm not going anywhere" | bloodcurdling
This takes place in an AU Storybrooke with Halloween and supernatural vibes. I hope you all enjoy my take!
AO3 - FF
Best Left Buried
I'm new to storytelling, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't follow the rules. I don't want to start at the beginning, or the end. One would think that leaves the middle, but...how about we begin at 'on the way to the end'?
And every story needs a little mystery, don't you think? The stranger on a lonely night, the bloodcurdling scream that no one hears? Like most Halloween tales, we'll need to start with some dark and gloomy, and a woman all by herself on the side of the road.
Well, maybe she isn't so alone after all...
/
“Everything alright here, Sheriff?” a slow, cautious voice called, cutting through the hazy beam of light that glared from the SUV parked twenty feet or so behind her.
Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots, moving closer.
Arms stretched and gripping the raised trunk of her cruiser, Emma stared down at the person tied up and bent within, knees tucked against the bumper and eyes glaring up at her, narrowed and angry above the length of black cloth cutting into the corners of his mouth.
Well, fuck – old fashioned worked just fine up until the moment a state trooper wanted to intrude on her evening plans.
Before the man could make a sound, Emma twisted her wrist.
His eyes went wide, panic winning out over anger as he discovered his voice no longer worked the way it should, and that no matter how hard he tried to scream, there was nothing to hear.
No matter how desperately he tried to kick the bumper to alert the person approaching them, his body just wouldn't obey.
Arching a brow as if to say, 'did you think I was just gonna let you call for help?', Emma smiled and simply tossed the shovel resting against the bumper over top of him, the thunk of it hitting the back of the trunk resounding in the quiet night.
“Yup,” she called back, letting the 'p' pop from her lips as she slammed home the latch of the trunk, leaving her cargo in complete darkness. “Just clearing up some roadkill. Must be an easy night if you're up this way – Portland run out of Halloween mischief?”
The trooper shook his head, stepping into her space as she turned away from the trunk and leaned casually against it, brushing her gloved hands together as if to rid them of dirt.
“I wish,” the man muttered, adjusting the volume on his radio as it roared with static. “Man, these things never work in this town of yours – must be a lousy signal. Don't know how you guys manage.”
“Small town,” Emma shrugged, “not much trouble to manage. What brings you up so late?”
“We actually got a call in for a missing person, thought I'd head up your way and see if you'd laid eyes on him.”
Emma leaned forward to study the trooper's phone as he held it between them, the screen illuminating her furrowed brow and lips pressed into a concerned line.
“Doesn't look familiar, but I can ask around if anyone's seen him. He dangerous?”
“Nah, don't think so – might be off his meds though – anxiety, apparently. His fiance called in and said he ran out of their hotel room a few days ago during a fight over which direction they should head, inland or up the coast. She mentioned he'd wanted to head this way.”
“I swear, the foliage brings out nothing but crazies,” Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'll keep my eyes open, let you know if we see anything. It's been nothing but TP'ed houses and ding dong ditch the past week.”
“Technology may change, but the classics never get old,” the trooper laughed. “Speaking of, the wife was asking after the recipe for that lasagna you dropped off at the station a few weeks ago. Any chance you could – ”
“I wish I could help you out,” Emma cut in, raising her hands in supplication, “really, I do, but Granny would have my head if I even asked, or worse – she'd stop serving me.”
“Ah, well, I suppose some secrets are best left buried,” the trooper chuckled, flashing her an understanding smile. “Besides, I'd hate to run across you without your caffeine on board.”
“Right on both counts, Dietz,” Emma grinned. “Tell Charlene that Killian and I said hello, and keep safe.”
The trooper waved a gloved hand in farewell before climbing back into his SUV and pulling a u-turn. Emma slid into the driver seat of her own car, watching in the mirror as his lights were swallowed up by the darkness that would lead him safely out of Storybrooke.
//
Have I captured your attention? It's so good to finally have someone listening. How about we jump back to the beginning now, and I'll tell you a story about a quaint New England town called Storybrooke?
It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone.
There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.
Or perhaps I should say red.
If you're just another tourist passing through in October, blinded by the leaves and farm stands filled to brimming with pumpkins and hot cider, then you might not notice that something about this town isn't as it seems. That's what everyone here hopes for, that you'll spend a few bucks on some food and plastic souvenirs and move on up the coast to the next small town with a good story.
But the locals lose their easy smiles when someone looks too closely beyond Main Street, asking questions about things that are best left buried.
They don't want you to ask questions about the occurrences and complaints, the accusations and stories that have found their way to the darker corners of the internet. They frown when curious couch detectives hold up printed photos of people long gone – or should I say 'missing' – directing them instead to a rack of shirts emblazoned with the words 'I survived Dead Man's Peak'. Have you heard the legend of the centuries old ship's Captain whose spirit roams the cliffs? People go up there all the time to take photos...can't be too careful around those steep drops, they say, nothing but cold sea below...
It has an odd reputation, Storybrooke, for missing people and gruesome deaths, most of them ruled accidental – falls from great heights, victims of drowning – but the town makes its living on the backs of all those old legends, witches and vampires and ghosts, so they sell their shirts and coffee mugs, and look the other way when morbid curiosity seekers and ghost hunters make the long drive from their dark apartments and flickering screens all the way to their small town in Maine.
Most of the time.
As long as you don't look too closely and become someone they don't care for.
Because those people...I can promise it's not long before their social media goes quiet. Their camper van disappears unseen from Main Street one night – and just like that, it's as if they had never driven to that quiet town at all. The friendly old lady who runs the diner never saw them, never served them coffee and tucked a mint under their pillow. The sweet librarian never made suggestions on what they might like to check out for their stay. The harbormaster never leased them a boat to take a tour around the bay, and the kindly shrink who walks his dog three times daily never once saw them sipping coffee on the park bench.
It's not until too late that you can see them for who they really are.
How the friendly old woman who owns the diner pulls raw meat from the fridge after closing, arthritic fingers digging deep into the mass of red flesh and drawing it closer to her mouth, her eyes flickering shut with pleasure as she tears hunks of it free and swallows them down. How the sweet librarian locks up at the end of the day and returns to the back room of the Pawn Shop, the knowledge she's gleaned during her studies made useful as she seeks to return her lost love to the world of the living. How the harbormaster grins wickedly in the dark of a warehouse, teeth sharper than humanly possible as his eyes hone in on the soft, pulsing flesh of a young woman's neck. How the shrink sits beside an unsuspecting stranger on the park bench, drawing their sadness and woes from them and feasting, leaving those he speaks to holding darker and more open wounds than only moments before.
You won't see it until it no longer matters, until they have no intention of allowing you to flee to the next town with a story to tell.
But I promise you, none of them have a story quite like Storybrooke. I should know, I was there when it began.
And now...well, I'm not going anywhere.
//
“So, this is the evidence I needed to see?” Emma grimaced, toeing the bit of faded, rotten canvas poking from the dirt, the orange tarpaulin long separated from the bit of metal that was once a frame.
“This is where it all started,” the man insisted, walking frantically between the trees and gesturing widely to the overgrown clearing. “This was where we'd set up camp, and here, right here – ” He knelt and swiped his hand through a layer of wet leaves, exposing what looked to be an old circle of stones. “This was where we roasted marshmallows.”
“It look's like an old campsite,” Emma agreed, eyes darting to the sun that was only just setting low over the forest, “but there must be hundreds of these abandoned all along the Maine coast. I don't see how it's – ”
“I found this,” the man rushed, desperate to make her see reason. He yanked a mildewed piece of fabric from the ground nearby, waving it between them. “It was my dad's. His name is on the tag. This is the spot, right here, where it all started.”
“Alright, look, Mr. Mendell – ”
“Greg. My name's Greg.”
“Greg, can you just slow down and explain this to me again – one more time, from the beginning, please?”
“Thirty years ago, my father and I were camping in the wilderness. Then out of nowhere, there was a rush of something in the air, and an entire town appeared right beside us.”
“Out of nowhere?” Emma deadpanned, whipping out her flashlight and shining it over the rapidly darkening forest. “Towns don't just fall from the sky, Mr. Mendell.”
“It was like magic, and when we tried to leave the town, she kept my father here – the Mayor. When I tried to get help and get back to him, it was gone – the entire town. Like it was under some sort of magic spell.”
“You're saying magic a lot.”
“I know I sound crazy,” he stammered, running his hands over his close cropped hair as he paced back and forth.
“Yeah, just a little,” Emma snorted, passing the beam of light over his face and watching as his eyes squeezed shut.
“But I'm not. I tried to move on, start a new life, but I couldn't, not until I figured it out – and now I have. It's this town, it has secrets,” he hissed, his hands tightening into fists at his side.
“Okay, sir. I think it's best we get you back to town and maybe give someone a call – do you have any family I can reach out to?”
“I don't need you to call anyone,” he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked as he took a step away from her toward the shadowed trees. “I need you to help me find out what happened to my father – everyone in this town, they're in on it. The Mayor, she looks exactly the same as she did back then. The woman who runs the diner and her granddaughter...they're all the same!”
“Sir, I'm gonna need you to just calm down,” Emma sighed.
“Do you have any idea how many people have gone missing in this town? My father may have been the first, but he wasn't the last. As soon as anyone starts asking too many questions – poof, gone!”
Reaching up, Emma rubbed at her brow with an exhausted huff as she approached the man while he continued to rant.
“There were those two women – the DeVille woman and her friend. They took vacations from work to visit and never came back. That blogger – the one who posted a photo of some strange, purple cloud that went viral. His partner came to meet up with him after he got a concerning text and never found him, then – strangely enough – his partner disappeared as well.”
“So you're telling me that this town somehow magically appeared here out of thin air,” Emma scoffed, “and that we're murdering people to keep it secret.”
“I looked into you – you only moved here recently, so you're safe. You have to do something about it, Sheriff.”
“Here's the thing,” Emma sighed, shrugging lopsidedly. “You're right.”
“What?” the man rasped, some instinct that rises in humans when danger is sensed making his face grow paler with each second that passed between them.
“You're right about the town, about magic, and this – ” she toed the rotted tent again, grimacing. “This was an oversight of Regina's. Why am I always cleaning up her messes...”
“You're in on it,” he mumbled, staggering backwards and as far from Emma as possible, nearly falling beneath the canopy of the trees.
“Quite perceptive, this one,” hummed a disembodied voice from behind him.
Greg spun wildly on his feet, trying to pin down exactly where the voice had come from, his movements eliciting a chuckle from the shadows. With his back turned to Emma, he never saw the blow coming, his eyes slipping shut before the dark, leaf-covered soil rose to meet him.
Emma leaned her weight on one hip, a large branch spinning idly in her hand.
“The troublesome ones always are.”
“Excellent form, love,” Killian praised, and Emma smirked as her husband stepped forward, black leather and dark hair separating from the shadows, his sea blue eyes glimmering mischievously. “I was wondering when you'd just get to the point.”
“Needed to know exactly what he knew.”
“The same as everyone else, it seems – except for this,” Killian pointed out, kicking the remains of some rotted out camping gear. “Why am I not surprised another of the Queen's disastrous decisions has come back to haunt us.”
Emma waved her hand and the forest floor was magically pristine, completely devoid of anything resembling a long-disused campground.
“Problem solved.”
“Well, almost,” Hook smirked, waving his hook at the unconscious man lying between them. “There's still this one to deal with.”
“Yeah,” Emma sighed, toeing at the man's chest with her boot. “Look's like dinner is gonna be late unless one of us heads back now. Rock-paper-hook?”
“Quite humorous,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes as Emma waved a single hooked finger in the air, “but I think I'll tackle dinner. Otherwise, the lad will be eating pop tarts and deli meat from the packaging.”
“Hey, that's protein, and the pop-tarts are pumpkin spice, so that has to count for something.”
“I highly doubt there's any squash in those monstrosities – a balanced meal they are not.”
“Should I point out how hypocritical you're being,” Emma retorted, stepping into his space and matching his grin with her own. “I'll try to be quick, unless you wanted to...” She nudged the body between them with her foot, her eyebrow angled in silent question.
Killian glanced down at the unconscious Greg Mendell, his tongue lingering over sharp fangs as he studied the tremulous pulse in the man's neck. Then his eyes darted back up to Emma, catching the way her pulse quickened and arousal widened her pupils.
“I think I'll take my repast once you return, love.”
“Just what I was hoping to hear,” she purred, knowing the wait would only make him more voracious. “I'll see you home in a bit.”
“I'll count the minutes,” Hook whispered darkly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss, her tongue swirling around the curved fangs that replaced his canines. His fingers found their place in her curls, and he angled her head with a gentle tug, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her neck. “Now, allow me give you a hand back to the cruiser.”
“Such a gentleman,” she breathed, still battling her racing heart and the desire pooling low in her gut as Hook squatted and lifted Greg's body as easily as if the man weighed nothing, tossing him over a shoulder.
“Shall we?”
They hiked the short distance back to the pull off, the squad car already covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves that drifted down from above.
“You know, I could have gotten him myself,” Emma said, knowing he would have been back with Henry already if not for her. “You'll be that much longer getting home now.”
“Nonsense, Swan. Henry can wait a few minutes on good form. Go on then, pop the boot.”
“It's called a trunk. Who did you even pick that up from? Pretty sure they don't have 'boots' in the Enchanted Forest.”
“You know, I'm not sure,” Killian shrugged, using the motion to slough Greg's still unconscious form into the trunk beside the rest of Emma's things. “Nottingham, perhaps?”
“Do I want to know what you guys have been up to?”
“Nothing untoward, I assure you. The man can hardly hold his rum – I think Robin simply likes to include him so he can rob him blind during poker.”
Before Emma could blink, Killian had pulled several lengths of rope from his jacket and quickly bound Greg's hands and feet together, finishing the entire presentation with a strip of black cloth that he rolled tightly and wedged into his mouth, tying it round the man's head.
“So old fashioned,” Emma teased, slamming the trunk shut and leaning against it, welcoming her husband down for another kiss, trying to ignore the way it set her body afire.
“I'll see you at home, love,” he promised, and then he was gone, leaving nothing more than the cold press of his lips and the ghost of his thumb against her chin.
“Look's like it's just you and me then,” Emma sighed, rapping on the trunk twice before fishing for the keys in her pocket. “Let's get this over with.”
//
This is the part of the story that always makes everyone gasp, although I think if you've been paying attention, the reveal will hardly be as shocking for you as what happened next was for me.
I woke, though I don't remember falling asleep. I was too terrified for that, so like everything else that happens in this god forsaken town, I blamed it on magic. Magic had stolen my voice and ability to move, it had disappeared countless people, my father included, and it was about to get rid of me as well.
And tied up in the trunk of a cop car, there was nothing I could do about it.
Everything was black, and it took me a minute to realize that nothing was moving. I could feel my breath hot and wet around the gag in my mouth. After a moment, the trunk clicked open, swinging high to reveal a starry sky surrounded by a halo of trees.
It was kind of a beautiful view, but you don't appreciate those things when you're pretty sure you're about to die.
And she stood there, blonde hair lit from behind and the edges of her jacket glowing red as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“I'm gonna be late for dinner because of this shit. Every year, it's someone new.”
I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. As if she sensed my intention and it made no difference at all, she waved her hand and my voice rushed back to me, the gag and the magic that had silenced me both gone.
“Help! Someone help – ”
“There's no one around to hear you,” she snapped, reaching for the shovel that she'd chucked behind me. “Now get out of the car.”
“You're crazy if you think I'm just going to – ”
Her wrist flicked again and suddenly I was standing ten feet from the car in the middle of a field, the ropes that had bound me gone. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, and I wish I could say I'd been quicker to run, but I wasn't, and even if I had, I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered.
My eyes drifted to the ground beside me – or the lack of it. A large hole roughly the size of a person had been dug into the earth, black, loamy soil piled high beside it.
“Please – ” I took a step back as she took one forward, but another wave of her wrist stole any ability I had to move on my own, my breaths shuddering against my rib cage as I stood there like a deer frozen to the road.
I could only watch in horror as she reached toward me, a look of annoyance on her face. Her hand pressed against my chest, and before I could even understand what was happening, she reached through it – pain gripped me, tearing a feral sound from my lips as roughly as she jerked her hand free.
She stepped back, something bright red and glowing caged within her fingers, a heart – my heart.
“Get in the hole,” she sighed, as if she were directing me to fill out paperwork and not ordering me to my death.
I wanted to object, to run and scream, but instead my feet moved, carrying me to the looming pit. I could only stare, utterly terrified, as my shoes dangled over the edge, the soil threaded with roots damp in my palms as I gripped the edge and dropped.
“Please,” I begged, staring up at her where she stood, looming over what was to be my grave. Her face was shadowed by the moon behind her, but her jacket glowed as red as my heart where she held it. “Why are you doing this?”
“I'm the Savior,” she explained with a tone that said she found the job rather inconvenient. “I protect this town, keep it safe.”
“From what?”
“From people like you, who come and poke your noses into our business. We have a life here, and we just want to live it in peace. So I do my part, we all do.”
“So now you're just gonna what, bury me alive?” I screamed, bile thick on the back of my tongue and my limbs shaking with adrenaline.
“Alive?” she laughed. “No, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
I could feel my heart thumping against my bones as she held her arm over my open grave, the red glimmer moving closer, illuminating the glistening curves of worms and beetles that treaded the freshly disturbed earth.
And then she squeezed.
Pain unlike anything I'd ever known consumed me, and as some non-corporeal part of me rose high above, I looked down and saw the grey ash that fell from her hand to litter my corpse below.
She brushed her palms together, as if they were dirtied by nothing more than crumbs, and then with a tired flick of her wrist, the black soil scattered on the ground tipped itself back into the hole, burying me entirely.
//
There's an old, scenic Victorian home whose windows peer out over the sea.
Inside, a woman comes home for the evening. She hangs her red leather jacket reverently beside its black companion.
At the table, a husband dusts hot cocoa with cinnamon, smiling as she takes it to warm her hands after an evening in the cold.
She sits on the sofa with her son, watching as he's captivated by the soft glow of the TV, a controller gripped between his hands and an empty dinner plate on the table.
It's a scene fitting for an autumnal New England night – Norman Rockwell for the millennials.
There's no outward sign of the monsters that lurk beneath. There's no blood on her hands, but they're red with it all the same, just as her neck is painted red later that evening as her husband takes his own meal.
Her and every other person in this town – it's all painted red.
So, now you've listened to my story – one more 'tourist' who's taken the long drive up the coast to this damned town, searching for mystery and ghosts.
You've found one, one of many – the only question is, will you linger to hear the rest, or will you flee onward to the next small town with its small stories, grateful that the monsters you sought have passed you by?
Choose wisely, Ghost Hunter – some stories are best left buried.
