Summary: As the Dark One, Emma's gotten used to the long, lonely nights. But after Killian's memories of being a Dark One are returned, this one seems extra lonely. But when he suddenly appears to her, maybe they're both looking for some companionship.
A/N: So I was listening to Millennium by the Backstreet Boys for the first time in decades and when "I Need You Tonight" came on, I just got hit with all the Dark Captain Swan feelz. So. Have some Dark CS smut. Hope you like it! (thanks as always to @optomisticgirl for the beta!) [If the AO3 link doesn't work right away, it should in a bit!]
rated M | 3.4k | AO3
The night seemed to stretch endlessly in front of Emma. As she lay on the plush bed in her new bedroom—fully clothed, atop the covers, because why bother tucking in when she couldn’t sleep?—she watched the light from the moon, rendered pale by window curtains, slowly move across the opposite wall.
Each night had all been like that for the past few weeks, since they got back to Storybrooke, but this one was dragging especially hard. (They’d definitely gone faster when there wasn’t a digital alarm clock ticking away the minutes. And she was all out of dreamcatcher materials.)
But this time, it was probably because she’d finally had to own up to what she’d done. God, she’d been so close to fixing it all—
—Had she been, though? Because even if she had managed to rid them both of the darkness (and eliminate Zelena at the same time), she’d still have to come to terms with the fact she’d gone against Killian’s wishes in Camelot. It was worth it to her—she’d do it again, whatever it took to save him, to keep him—but he clearly thought otherwise.
Part of her was angry with him. Did he not love her enough to want to stay with her? After all she’d done for everyone—and everything he fought through and gave up to be with her—he’d really give up so easily?
But she still wasn’t sure if that feeling was genuine, or if that was the Darkness silently whispering in her ear. Visions of Dark Ones past weren’t plaguing her as much as they used to; she didn’t know if that was good or bad. Maybe it was just proof that she’d finally joined them.
She sighed and rolled onto her side, for what it was worth, somehow not ruining her severe braided bun. The leather jacket wasn’t the most comfortable to recline in, but it didn’t really matter; maybe it was some kind of penance for what she’d done—if she believed in that sort of thing. The Darkness certainly didn’t.
No, the Darkness was the opposite—hedonistic and self-centered. Emma was long used to going without and putting her wants aside for others; for the first time, she’d felt she had license to indulge—not on innocuous things like a large order of onion rings or an extra scoop of ice cream, but the things she really wanted: this house, for example (and what it represented); saving Killian, obviously; and not hesitating to engage her sexual desires.
God, even now; why had she decided to wear such tight pants? Just the slightest odd movement brushed between her legs in just the right way to make her crave more. She could take care of it herself, but that wouldn’t be as satisfying. But of course, the only person who she wanted was the one who was least likely to help her right now. (He’d more than obliged back in Camelot—before…everything.)
Ugh. Now she shifted uncomfortably; she needed a diversion. It was a little ironic that, for a while there, she’d been trying to get rid of those ancient Dark One voices and visions haunting her; now, she’d almost welcome the specter of Rumpelstiltskin, just for the distraction. Nimue, Zoso, that weird feral hog thing—anyone.
“How about me?”
She sat bolt upright at the voice—faster than humanly possible—and zeroed in on the source immediately.
Killian stood in the far corner of the room, opposite the window—hiding in the shadows. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the dim light or a flex of his own magic, but his eyes seemed to shine bright blue even in the dark.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice scratchy with disuse—though that was also kind of just how she sounded now, as if the Darkness had roughened her vocal cords, too. “I thought you were busy opening the portal to hell.”
“Oh, that’s still on my to-do list,” he quipped back, then pushed away from the wall, hips first. “But I might be able to squeeze in something—or someone—else.”
“I’d think I was the last person you’d want to see.”
“Aye,” he said plainly. “And yet—here I am.”
“Why?” If he was just here to taunt her, she wished he’d leave, regardless of the fact she was still happy to see him.
“How lucky for you that you’ve existed thus far as a Dark One and not felt the tug of a summons.”
Shit. She hadn’t intended that. “I wanted any one but you,” she blurted.
He scoffed. “No you didn’t.”
She didn’t have a response for that—not a truthful one, at least, and she’d been withholding that enough.
“Cozy room you have here,” he went on, eyes scanning around the space as he sauntered closer, his fingers casually dancing over the hilt of Excalibur. “When I saw the real estate listing, this is more how I pictured the interior; must have missed the part about a cave dungeon in the basement.”
“I told you—”
“Nothing,” he finished, angrily, now standing in front of her. It was definitely magic illuminating his irises, because they still beamed an angry blue even though he was backlit by the window. “You’ve said nothing that can explain yourself, love, so don’t try now.”
“Then why did you even bother coming here? You could have left.”
“And miss a prime opportunity to gloat?” He arched an eyebrow and gave a sideways smirk, the one that made his dimple cut through his scruff, but there was nothing playful about it like there usually was. “You know, I spent so many restless nights since we returned to Storybrooke—tossing and turning and wondering why I couldn’t just fall asleep. I chalked it up to you: the fact I didn’t know how to free you—if you even wanted to be freed; missing the feel of you in my arms. Longing to be with you…in other ways.” His gaze drifted down her body to the way her thighs were squeezed together. “Seems you at least know that feeling.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, sounding much more vulnerable than intended—but there was no hiding her desire; not from him—not ever.
“And why should I do anything to help you with that?” he asked, almost angrily.
“You don’t have to,” she answered quietly, looking away; the intensity of his gaze was finally too much to bear. “I can handle it myself.”
“I know you can.” She felt something like voyeuristic pleasure coming off of him; was that how he knew to come in the first place? Was there more to their connection than she realized? “I would take much joy in watching your attempts to satisfy yourself, knowing full well you’d never get there—not really.”
“And let me guess—you’d beat one off while I edged myself for ages?” she snapped back, looking back up at him.
He leaned closer, invading her space until all she could see was his eyes. “I would. But what fun would that be?”
Not a moment later, his lips were pressing against hers—almost tentatively, as if asking permission, but she wasted no time in kissing him back. Instinctively, her hands found his waist and she pulled him closer; she squeezed, unafraid of hurting him for a change, because she wasn’t used to feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was kind of odd that his clothing choices finally swayed towards soft now that he was invulnerable, but maybe that was the point—he didn’t need his armor anymore.
Meanwhile, her armor was on even thicker; his hand also settled at her side, but tensed against the stiff crocodilian leather of her jacket. “Off,” he whispered—a command she was all too eager to follow.
She didn’t bother breaking the kiss; she just flicked her hand and stripped herself almost bare, down to the black lacy lingerie she’d taken to wearing lately. Wearing it had always made her feel confident—it was her go-to for a honeytrap—but she’d been waiting for an encounter like this in which to show it off (though she’d hoped it would have been before his memories of Camelot were returned).
She stood and pressed herself against him, quickly becoming aware of the fact that he too was aroused. He groaned mid-kiss as she arched her pelvis against the bulge in his jeans, and she smiled against his lips.
He might hate her, but apparently, he still wanted her.
“Almost,” he murmured, breaking the kiss but barely moving away. He reached up to her temple, and then she felt his magic wash over her, somehow both cool and warm—like a sea breeze in the summer sun. His long fingers followed the wave of enchantment, freeing her hair from its severe confines.
Her locks had been bleached white since that day in the meadow, but now her curls hung as they always had around her face, settling on her bare shoulders. Other than that day on the Jolly Roger, she’d used her pulled-back hair as armor as much as her clothes; this made her feel even more vulnerable than being only in her undergarments did.
“Much better,” he hummed in appreciation, and then began to trail kisses down her jaw to her neck; she had to bite back a giggle (seriously, a giggle? It really was a good thing no other Dark One had shown up) at the tickle of his thicker beard against her sensitive skin. Meanwhile, her hands drifted to his chest, like they usually did in these moments.
He shucked off his coat while sucking at her pulse point, making her spine arch with pleasure. Her hands trailed after the shed garment, relishing the feel of his muscles under his shirt, tracing the dips of his collarbones; she couldn’t normally do that with his waistcoats.
His hand was still tangled in her hair as she reached back up and began to unbutton his top. She barely even thought about it—it had just become part of their evening routine whenever they stayed together, whether they were being intimate or not. He stilled briefly when she undid the first one; she paused, much like he had earlier, asking permission. But he simply began kissing her shoulder again so she plowed on.
He was fully capable of undressing himself, but god, did she love to do it. She’d be damned (probably literally) if this was the last time she ever did it, but she was still going to savor this moment of almost domestic bliss in the middle of…everything.
The way his chest hair, his pecs, and then his abs gradually revealed themselves as her fingers slow-danced down his torso always felt like unwrapping a delicious treat—especially once she got to his belt and the waistband of his pants, and had to undo those, too, to untuck his shirt.
She also took advantage of the opportunity to trace the curve of his ass as her hands slipped under his jeans to remove the tail of his shirt. And smirked when she realized he had nothing on underneath. She (gently) dug her nails into his cheeks to bring him close again; his subsequent gasp made her belly flip—in a good way.
It had been a while since she had any positive, normal—human—reaction like that; she welcomed it for that reason, too.
It felt like old times as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, sliding it down his biceps and over his brace while he guided the straps of her bra off, then deftly unhooked the back clasp and tossed the garment aside. She relished the opportunity to press close to him again, swallowing at the brush of his chest hair against her nipples, as she tugged his jeans down over his narrow hips. They fell to the floor quickly, pulled down by the weight of Excalibur, which hit the carpet with a heavy thud.
His suddenly free erection pressed against her core, but only for a moment before he gently pushed her back against the bed, forcing her to sit as he stepped out of his shoes and wiggled off his pants. (She’d never known there could be something adorable about a waiting cock wiggling—and she didn’t dare voice it now—but…well, it was.)
Then he was on top of her, pressing her back onto the mattress and kissing her within an inch of her life. It was probably a good thing they were immortal at the moment, because they weren’t stopping to take a breath.
He gripped her waist and she buried her fingers in his shaggy locks—something she’d been longing to do ever since he stopped cutting it in Camelot. It was silky soft and gave her more to hold on to than she normally had, letting her angle him just where she wanted him. Everywhere they touched felt like sparks against her skin, stoking the fire growing in her center.
She was starting to get desperate for some friction. Actually, it seemed like they both were; there was a sense of urgency to this whole encounter that wasn’t their usual style. But given the way things were, she didn’t really care—she just wanted him. And so she arched her pelvis against his, feeling the brush of his cock against the lace of her panties; it almost touched where she wanted but—not quite.
“Eager, are we?” he purred, and then she felt his fingers flex against her side—but also felt that warm-cool sensation as a result of his magic, and realized the lace was now gone. She then shivered—it felt like his thumb was pressing on her clit, but his hand was still on her waist.
“That’s a n-nice t-trick,” she stammered, as the pressure changed.
“I’ve been hoping to try this,” he replied, then returned his attentions to her mouth, his hand wandering up to her breast—but still there was the sensation of his fingers dancing outside her entrance.
She gave in to sensations—not that there was much else she could do. Her hands gripped the quilt just to give her an anchor in the wave of bliss that was about to wash over her. Oh god, she was so close; she could feel her walls beginning to tighten, that spool of pleasure fully wound inside her—just a few more (invisible) strokes—
And then it slowly dissipated. She blinked—she hadn’t even realized she was squinting her eyes shut—and saw him hovering over her smugly. “I couldn’t let you come that easily, could I?” he teased. There was a familiar amount of humor in his tone, but edged with the malice that had colored it since he remembered their shared curse.
Well, two could play this game. She drew the fingers of her right hand into a circle and squeezed the air; his ensuing hiss told her that he felt the mimicked sensation on his cock. So she did it again—a few times, actually—until he too was on the brink of release, head thrown back, the cords of his neck on display as he panted, and then let go.
“Oh, you saucy little—” His words were cut off by her grabbing his shoulders and pulling his mouth to hers once more; it was nice to know she was always capable of kissing away his sassy one-liners.
It didn’t take long for them both to get keyed up again—not that they’d really come down at all—and as good as the brush of his length against her folds felt, she wanted more. Given the increasingly erratic pace of his kisses and breaths, he did, too.
Before she could say anything, though, he spoke up.
“Emma, I need—”
She stilled, gripping his shoulders. He hadn’t called her Emma since his memories returned. It was always ‘Swan’ or ‘love’, the haze of the Darkness coloring even his pet names.
But when she cupped his face and looked in his eyes this time, there was nothing blocking her view—just the pure blue she’d come to love. This was him, entirely.
“Killian, yes—I need you, too,” she answered, near tears.
Without further pause, he moved back and slid in perfectly. They stopped for a moment there, feeling the initial relief of being together.
She looked up and he was squinting his eyes and shaking his head a bit—as if trying to stay in the moment but something wanted to pull him away. She had a good feeling she knew what. So she reached up to brush away the hair that had fallen over his face, then placed her free hand on his other cheek. “Hey,” she murmured. “Stay with me.”
He relaxed at her touch and opened his eyes. “Always,” he said softly, voice rough with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said urgently, and found his lips once more.
They began to move simultaneously, not wasting any further moments as they chased a shared release. She pressed her heels into his backside, urging him on, but it didn’t take long until she was there, cresting over the edge of bliss and free falling down the other side. The only thing holding her to reality was Killian’s warm skin under her hands; she could tell by the way he stilled shortly after that he’d found his own release, too.
She held on to him tight. He pulled out, but stayed close, too, as if she was his anchor in the storm—and wasn’t that kind of what they were to each other, especially in this moment?
What lay ahead—for them, for everyone—she didn’t know. But right now, she had this, and she wasn’t letting it go.
For a while there—she was decidedly not looking at the alarm clock, so she didn’t know (or care) how long exactly—they lay entwined, breathing in sync. She honestly hadn’t paid attention to her own heart beat in weeks, but when she placed her ear against his chest, she heard the reassuring thump-thump of his that gave her hope they’d both get out of this relatively unscathed.
If their hearts still beat for each other, then what on earth could separate them?
Eventually, though, he shifted away from her and rose from the bed. A flick of his wrist cleaned the residue of their encounter from both of them and, facing away from her, he grabbed his jeans from where they’d been left and pulled them back on.
“You don’t have to go,” she told him, bringing her knees to her chest as she perched on the edge of the mattress. (If she was sad to see his ass get covered up in denim, well, that was her business.)
No sooner had he redone the clasp of his sword belt when his shirt and jacket also reappeared on his form. He turned around, and she stilled a bit, almost sadly—the warmth that had been in eyes just before they came was gone; the Darkness was back in its place.
“I don’t have to, no—but I want to,” he said, unfeelingly. “Things to do, people to see—you know how it is. But thank you for the distraction, love. See you ‘round.”
The dark red smoke she’d come to recognize as his color of magic surrounded him, and then he was gone.
Well. Fuck.
Really, she should have expected it to end this way. There was still so much crap for them to get through. But…couldn’t they have had just this one night?
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, an echo of where she was earlier. Her body was cool to the touch, but she didn’t shiver; still, she got under the covers, if only because it was what she was used to.
Out of habit, she stuck to one side of the bed. She looked over at the empty half. She’d fix this soon enough, and he’d be back at her side.
A glance at the clock told her she had plenty of time left tonight to mull it over. At least she was able to think it over a bit more clearly, without her libido getting in the way. (That’s what she was telling herself, at least.)
And that’s how she spent the rest of the night: watching the moonlight continue to make its way across the wall—trying to make sure she didn’t spend another night restless and alone.
—————————————-
thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina
cs55 - "Just sit down on it"
smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, sauna sex, public sex (if you squint), riding carlos (he really wants you to), him worshiping you, creampie, cumplay
The delicious electricity is buzzing in your body of just being around Carlos. The air was tense, but in a good way, sucking all the oxygen out of your lungs. His eyes, dark and predator-like, were focused on you, as if you were a pretty deer in the headlights, and he was waiting to consume you. Carlos truly did consume you, but again, in the best way possible. You fell in love with him again every winter break, when his undivided attention was for you, when he was completely yours, his phone was off, and it was just the two of you. You felt the warmth blossoming in your chest at the thought of the past nights, spending the sunsets in the cabana, getting wine drunk and drunk on each other, which would start with innocent kisses and unfolded into the best sex of your life, every night.
Your thighs were even a little sore, the muscles in the back of your legs complaining a little when you hopped on the bike this afternoon. Anyone who looked closer could see the faint marks of his fingertips that had pressed into your hips so hard as he pulled you over his cock over and over again, watching you fall apart underneath him just to bury his mouth between your thighs after, having you make the prettiest sounds for him. The mere thought caused the goosebumps to rise upon your skin, even while the sauna was burning hot and droplets of sweat were rolling down your spine. You looked over your shoulder at Carlos, who was sitting back, thighs spread, arms behind the back of his head, his eyes still boring into yours, gliding over your body in the bikini.
The blue one was his favorite, not just because he was going to be dressed in blue from the start of the new season, but because the color looked so pretty on you. The small panties were tied together on either side of your hips, the top clinging to your tits in a way that never failed to make him hard. You finally made your way back to him, extending the second glass of wine you were carrying. Carlos took it from you, his other hand landing on his thigh, already expecting you to get into his lap. You easily slid onto his thighs, your hand landing on his chest. "Dame un beso, mi reina," he hummed, palm squeezing your thigh. "You use that so often on me and it still works," you sigh, your fingers trailing up his strong pecs, landing on the side of his neck.
His hair was salty, slicked back from moving his fingers through. He was so tan from just a week in the Maldives, it was nearly unfair. "I know it does," Carlos grins, his hand gliding to the small of your back, pulling you closer, pulling you over his erection. The friction made you squirm a little, his hot breath ghosting over your face before your lips connected in a delicious kiss. In combination with the few sips of wine, your mind was already spinning, feeling the heat of his body against yours, his abs against your stomach, how big he was beneath you. And you were talking about not just his goodies, his whole body. You weren't exactly petite, but he made you feel that way, and you loved it.
Within a quick, cheeky move, the strings of your top were loosened, making you pull back from him and cover your tits with your arm. "There are people around," you tssk. "They can look away if it bothers them. Or stay watching," Carlos simply replies, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it, moving your arm away from your chest, eyes dropping to your hardened nipples. "That's sooo naughty," you whisper, earning a low chuckle and another kiss. His hips buck up slightly, drawing a whine from your throat as his other hand put down the glass of wine, pulling on the flimsy panties, intensifying the friction on your clit. "Look who's talking," Carlos teases, leaving hot, open mouth kisses on your neck.
You could taste the wine on his tongue when your lips connected again, his tongue licking into your mouth. Your hips rolled down on him, feeling him grow in his shorts. Carlos' fingertips slipped inside your panties, rubbing circles over your clit and spreading the slick wetness that was leaking from your pussy. His other hand moved into the hair in the nape of your neck, teeth nipping at the skin of your throat while you whimpered. "Ride me?" his voice rasped in your ear. "You're insane," you reply, your hand sliding down his abs, finding his happy trail that led your fingers to the waistband of his shorts. "Solo para ti." His pupils are blown when you look into his eyes, lips parting with a soft breath as your hand wraps around the girth, thumb spreading the precum over the fat head of his cock.
His thighs spread a little further when your hand starts to jerk him off, the sight causing the butterflies to flutter around in your stomach. Everything about him is so beautiful, so manly, so hot. You gnaw at your bottom lip as you look at his cock, the rip red and eager, the vein on the underside throbbing at the touch of your hand. "Mi amor..." Carlos complained, leaning forward to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, both hands grabbing your ass to hurry you over him. "Just sit down on it," he groaned, making you giggle a little. Carlos shoves your panties aside, and you raise your hips, slowly sliding down on his cock. The stretch is amazing every time, pushing against the walls of your pussy, nearly splitting you in half. Carlos moans at the feeling of being completely inside you, his eyes zoning in on where he fills you up.
His hand brushes over your lower abdomen, pressing against where the tip of his cock was bulging. "Feel me there, hmm?" his voice rasps. "Fuck me," you whine, giving him a high-pitched moan as he slaps your ass. There's a sly smile on your face, damn well knowing he wants you to do the work. You slowly start moving your hips, sliding your cunt up and down his cock, sucking him and gripping him tightly to feel all the ridges and veins. He feels so good. Your palms press firmly against his shoulders, nails biting at his skin. The clip that held your hair up had fallen out when his hands ruined your pretty updo. "Te ves tan bonita así, fuck," Carlos cursed under his breath, watching your tits bounce in his face. One of his hands groped them, thumb rolling over your nipple, watching your head roll back with a moan.
He looked up at you with dark, hazed eyes, leaned back to watch you properly, drinking you in, loving - worshiping, what he was seeing. Your toes curled as you ground your hips firmly down on him, finding an angle that made him hit your g-spot perfectly. Carlos' fingers slotted around your hips again, helping you up and down his cock as he felt you squeezing him. He got lost in how good you felt, how slick, warm and wet your pussy was, the obscene sounds that bounced off the walls in the sauna. A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, which you slicked back with your fingers, his hair damp with sweat. His body was glowing, muscles prominent. You could feel him tense up under your touch, his breathy grunts telling you he was just as close as you were.
"Shit," you muttered, feeling his thumb rubbing firm circles over your clit again. Carlos started meeting your thrusts, hands pawing at your hips to keep you close. "You're crazy," you moan, knowing it wouldn't take long before he'd fill you with his cum. The thought of doing this, semi-publicly, made him throb inside you, especially as he knew you'd have to walk back to the cabana after. The image of his cum dripping down your thighs nearly made him go feral. You didn't even try to push away, you gladly let him slip into you deeply, a few more circles of his thumb on your clit letting you spiral into the most delicious orgasm. You looked down at him as he came, his abs contracting, eyes screwed shut. You admire him for a couple of seconds, moving your hands up his chest again before cupping his face.
"You make me want to bite you," you sigh. "In a good way," you add, nipping at one of his beefy biceps. "If you want me to eat you, you can just ask," Carlos says, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "I'll double it and give it to myself later," you muse, toying with the hair in the nape of his neck. You swivel your hips slightly, making him groan. "There are no people in line to use this sauna, right?" you ask, looking over your shoulder before getting off his lap, kneeling between his thighs. Your teeth bite into his equally beefy thighs, satisfied when a smirk shows up on his handsome face. His cock throbs when your lips come near it, blood rushing south again when your hand wraps around it. "Talk about crazy," he sighs, head lulling back when your mouth takes him in.
A CS Canon Compliant One-shot for CS Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo
With this short one-shot, I can now say I have a bingo on my board! While the prompt 'creaky floorboards' was probably meant to have spooky connotations, my muse took this in a fluffy and slightly smutty direction. Thank you to @hollyethecurious for the fantastic idea of the autumn bingo board. Be on the lookout for some winter themed bingo stories in the coming months!
Thank you @hookedmom for being my beta once again!
Summary: Emma Jones's days include many moments with her husband and infant daughter, each one of which is her very favorite.
Rating: soft M (minor smut) and F (major fluff)
Words: 1191
Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn
Story under the cut
*********
Emma Jones watches her husband Killian lay the book he’s been reading aloud face down on the coffee table, as she rocks their eight-month-old daughter in the corner of their living room. “She’s finally asleep,” he says quietly, walking over to stand in front of his two blonde-haired loves.
When Hope was born, Killian placed the rocking chair in that specific location so his wife could look out at the ocean while she nursed their little girl. Emma knows it gives him endless pleasure seeing the two of them together, Hope gradually calming at the end of the day as Emma softly hums a lullabye.
Emma looks up at him. “Do you want to carry her upstairs?”
“Of course,” he whispers, carefully releasing a lock of his wife’s hair from their daughter’s lax grip. Then he gently lifts Hope into his arms, smiling down at her. Emma can tell he’s reveling in the feel of Hope’s sleep-stilled body against his chest. When she’s awake, she’s constantly on the move, scooting and crawling at a speed that has her parents fearful for her safety at times.
He turns and slowly glides across the floor, brushing kisses to the crown of the baby’s sweet-smelling head.
Emma watches them go with a sleepy smile on her face. Dusk has fallen outside, darkening the room enough to soften the edges. The fire Killian built in the hearth creates dancing shadows on the wall and a crackling soundtrack for their quiet home. After a hectic day of work and caring for a small, energetic child, the time she spends feeding her precious baby and watching her drift to sleep, while her beloved husband reads to them, are some of her favorite moments of the day.
As Killian approaches the stairs, she calls out to him unnecessarily. “Please avoid the creaky floorboards so she doesn’t wake up.”
“Aye, Love. You remind me every night.”
She does, because it’s part of their routine. She rises from the chair and heads to the bottom of the staircase so her eyes can follow him. He moves to the far right on the third step and skips the seventh one altogether. Watching his attractive backside as he performs the necessary movements is another one of her favorite moments of the day.
They’ve been married for years, but their affection and passion for each other hasn’t waned.
She goes into the kitchen to make hot cocoa, humming as she gathers the ingredients. She’s stirring the milk as it warms in the saucepan, when Killian comes up behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. “Something smells delicious,” he murmurs, nuzzling behind her ear, the low timber of his voice raising goosebumps of pleasure on her skin.
“You usually say that about my pancakes,” she says playfully.
“You’re well aware I’m not talking about anything you’re cooking on that stove, Love.”
She smiles. “The hot cocoa will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Ah, but I’m ready now,” he croons, pulling her tighter against himself so she can feel just how ready.
“What has gotten you so…worked up?” she gasps.
“I know you were watching me as I climbed the stairs. I could feel your gaze on me.”
“I love watching you avoid the creaky steps,” she admits. Biting her lip in anticipation, she turns in his arms to face him. “I love watching you do almost anything.”
He reaches around her and turns off the stove. “To hell with the cocoa,” he murmurs against her temple. Then he captures her lips, backing up until he bumps into the table behind him. They kiss hungrily, starved for each other, even though they just shared intimate moments that morning before Hope awakened.
“Upstairs,” she demands breathlessly.
He hoists her up, arms cradling her ass, and she wraps her legs around his hips. He walks them briskly through the kitchen and starts up the stairs. When he steps on the third one, it lets out a loud creak and they both freeze.
Listening intently, they breathe out a sigh of relief when all they hear is silence. “Sorry, Love,” he whispers. “I forgot.”
“Skip the seventh one,” she giggles.
He does, and they make it to their bedroom with no further mishaps. With practiced ease, they strip each other out of their clothes, lips eagerly exploring bared skin. These passionate moments are some of her favorites, too.
She moans as he pays special attention to her breasts, knowing how he loves that they’re still larger than usual. His clever fingers trace the shiny stretch marks that mar the smooth skin of her abdomen. She used to be self-conscious about them, but he assured her with his words and touch that he adores the reminders of her carrying their child.
Her hands aren’t idle. They stroke, caress and tease the places she knows bring him the most pleasure. Soon, husband and wife are panting and writhing, moaning and pleading. Their bodies are heated, slick with sweat and arousal. When he enters her, it’s familiar but completely new. They move in sync with one another, driving each other higher and higher, until they climax together.
As their bodies cool, his head cradled between her breasts, hand skimming her ribcage, she mumbles, “You deprived me of my hot chocolate.”
“Sorry, Love,” he chuckles. “I suppose you prefer that bloody beverage to intimacies with your husband.”
She tilts his face up to look into his eyes, her own conveying her sincerity. “Never,” she guarantees. “I will never have enough of you, my love.”
They’re in no hurry to move as they lay naked under the covers. These moments, when they are skin-to-skin after making love and having hushed conversations with each other, as their hands, fingers and lips roam, are more of her favorite moments of the day.
When they’re finally ready to move, Killian slips on some loose flannel sleep pants and goes downstairs to finish making the cocoa. Meanwhile, Emma cleans up, washes her face, moisturizes and gets into her pajamas.
He brings their beverages upstairs and they sip them contentedly, while each reads a book from a stack on their nightstand. When the mugs are empty, Emma takes them downstairs, completely forgetting to avoid the creaky stairs. She washes the dishes, double checks the lock on the front door, clicks off the lights and goes back upstairs.
Peeking into Hope’s room on the way back to theirs, she’s surprised to see Killian rocking their daughter. Upon seeing her questioning look, he murmurs with a grin, “You didn’t skip the creaky floorboards, Swan.”
Crossing the room with feather-light steps, she stops beside him, one hand carding through his thick hair, while the other softly caresses Hope’s rosy cheek. Bending down, she presses a kiss to the baby’s head, then one to Killian’s lips. She also counts quiet moments like these among her favorites.
Then again, when she thinks about it, every moment she spends with her husband and daughter are her favorite moments of the day.
*********
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this brief glimpse into Emma, Killian and Hope's life together. Be sure to check out all the fantastic offerings for the Autumn Bingo event found on Ao3 here.
A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.
Rated E
Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
Thank you thank you thank you @the-darkdragonfly for helping me so much with this chapter I literally wrote at your kitchen table lol.
This one is a bit shorter because I had to move the last scene to the next chapter or it would have been like 10k long…. but hopefully that means chapter 18 is coming soon!
(at least you didn't have to wait a year for chapter 17?)
*******
Part 17
Emma follows Killian’s eyes as they dart towards the ceiling, the deck above their heads. It’s dark out, but not the dark of night, the dark of an oncoming storm, that ominous, looming chill of electricity in the air, the waves lapping against the sides of the ship that rocks unsteadily against the threatening sea. A shiver runs down her spine. Whether Pan’s here or not - he’s fucking furious.
There’s a knock on the door, Wendy not waiting for permission before pushing it open. “Is he here?” Killian asks, voice low.
She shakes her head, holding a small, empty vial. “Not yet. But Ianeira sent a warning - he’s on his way and he’s not happy.” She looks out at the first heavy drops that land against the window like bullets. “Obviously.”
“Get the boys below deck,” he orders, still not raising his voice above the rumble of the storm outside. “Scarlet,” he adds, the younger pirate leaning against the doorframe, “go wake the crew. Tell them to be ready for a fight.”
“What are you going to do?” Wendy frowns like she already knows the answer.
“Handle Pan.”
“Absolutely not.” Emma answers at the same time as Wendy’s “like hell” rings through the air. “This was my idea. I’ll go deal with the consequences,” she insists, but her words are ignored as the two captains continue to argue. Will shoots her a sympathetic shrug from his place in the doorway.
“We don’t have time to argue,” Killian finally snaps at his second, standing and grabbing Emma’s pants from where she hung them last night before tossing them to her. “Pan and his Lost Boys will be here any minute and we need to make sure the boys are hidden and the crew is ready to defend the Jolly.”
“Is that an order, Captain?” Wendy asks, arms crossing over her chest and Killian stiffens. Emma didn’t miss the weight put behind the question.
“Cap-” he starts but she cuts him off.
“No. No more of this ‘I’m not the captain’ or two captains bullshit. If you’re going to pull rank and make me follow orders then you don’t get to decide you don’t want to be in charge anymore tomorrow. If this crew is going to put our lives on the line for your plan, and trust you to handle Pan, then you’re going to be the one to make the order. And if you die today -” Her harsh facade breaks just a fraction - “It won’t be because of something I could have stopped.”
The room is silent as the two stare each other down, the rush and howls of the storm growing louder outside, growing closer as they remain locked in the standoff, Wendy’s ultimatum hanging between them. “Well?” she demands.
He’s silent for another moment, but then he lets out a sigh. “Bring the boys below deck, make sure they don’t make a sound or Pan will remember that they’re here.” Another hesitation as neither she or Will move and his thumb runs over the ring on his finger. “That’s an order.”
Wendy’s shoulders both straighten and sag at once as she shifts into her new role, her face blank, betraying nothing, but Emma knows. She can see the hurt and the fear, of his betrayal and of the danger he’s putting himself in as she nods. “Aye, Captain.”
Killian flinches away from the title just the barest amount before she heads out of the room.
“What are you gonna tell him?” Will glares at his usurping captain.
Killian sighs. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.” He reaches for his shirt, pulling it on over his head and turning to find the man still there. “Go wake the crew,” he orders again and Will stares at him for a long moment before doing as he’s told.
Emma watches him as he dresses, yanking her own pants on and rising from the bed, the buttons of his vest fastened methodically, one by one with practiced fingers before he dons his greatcoat. She realizes what she’s watching as he slides his sword into its sheath, secures it to his hip: a soldier dressing for battle, each piece of his armour clad carefully down to the expression he smooths over his face, the one that hides the man who’d let her in his bed and held her against the threat of the night behind a cold, heartless facade.
“Killian,” she starts, ready to fight him on this. Rescuing the boys was her decision. She’d made them do it. This should be her responsibility. Nobody else's lives should be on the line for her choices. A boom of thunder cuts her off before a flash of lightning brightens the room.
“He’s here,” Wendy tells them, stepping back into the room. Killian doesn’t confirm if his orders have been followed - he doesn’t need to.
“Let me go,” Emma insists. “I can tell him it was my idea. I can -”
“No.” They answer in unison and before she can protest a boom of thunder echoes above them and an angry, lilting voice calls out above them.
“Thieves! Show yourselves!” The demand is followed by a roar of approval, small, young voices calling out in a battle cry she’s heard before. The room goes silent, tension in every line of her body and Killian’s. Wendy looks to her captain, waiting for orders, hands fisted like she’s trying not to barge up there herself.
Emma sees the barest flash of fear in his gaze before he schools it and turns to her, leveling her with a hard, commanding look.
“Go to the hold with the children. Promise me you’ll stay down there - that you won’t make a sound.” Emma glares at him, his face only inches away as he speaks so quietly she can barely hear him. He glares back just as defiantly. “Promise me, Swan.” She doesn’t answer. She’s not promising that. Not when it’s her fault Pan’s here and he could hurt them. “They need you. They trust you and they need to stay hidden. If Pan’s reminded they’re here… he might demand their lives in place of the dead we took.”
Her glare deepens. “I know what you’re doing.”
The corner of his mouth turns up just a fraction before he straightens it. “Then you should have no problem following through with it.” When her shoulders straighten his hand comes to her cheek. “We can’t risk Pan finding out about you - not while we don’t have a way of defeating him or saving Henry. You can’t protect anyone if you’re dead,” he adds, using her words against her now and her eyes narrow. “You can’t protect Henry if you’re dead.” That one hits hard and Emma knows he’s right - but she still doesn’t like it. She doesn’t want him dead either.
Pan’s warning rings out again, harsher this time - ‘Come out and face me, coward!’ - and Killian’s shoulders tense. “Fine,” she concedes. “But if things go bad -”
“You’ll stay right here.” It’s a warning, and she almost wants to call him on it, to see what he really thinks he can do to her that’s worse than the situation they’re already in, but she bites her tongue. He takes her silence as the end of the discussion. “Darling,” he calls over his shoulder. “Bring her to the hold and then join me on deck - Darling,” he tries again when she doesn’t respond, but Wendy’s attention is focused outside the cabin, staring out down the hall, a frown starting to pull at her brow and Killian’s matches it. “Wendy?”
“Where’s Will?”
“What?”
“Will.” Her voice is low, far away but rising with tightly restrained panic. “He should be back by now. Where’s the crew?”
As if on cue, a voice rings out loudly above them. “Pan! Two visits in as many days? To what do we owe the honour?” They rush to the stairs, crouched low looking out at where Will stands, alone, facing off against Pan. Fuck. Please don’t be an idiot. She can feel Wendy tense beside her and Killian reaches, grabbing his first mate’s arm.
“Don’t,” he warns and Emma’s surprised to see her try to yank her arm free. But he holds firm.
“Scarlet.” Pan sounds annoyed but intrigued nevertheless. “It’s been a long time.” He cocks his head, a small smirk on his childlike face. “You got old.”
“Go get the crew,” Killian orders, staring her down and not releasing her until the fight fades slightly from her eyes. He knows how much this must be killing her. “If there’s going to be a fight, we won’t be able to stop him alone. Bring them with you and meet me on deck.”
Will baulks. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’ve the complexion of a man less than half my age.” He brushes a hand over his scruffless cheek as if to prove it.
There’s still resistance in Wendy’s stance but she nods, dashing off towards the crew’s quarters. Killian turns to her. “Stay here. Don’t let the children leave the hull.” She can only nod, still watching as her new friend continues to bait Pan. “Bloody idiot,” Killian mutters under his breath.
Emma grabs his arm, halting him. She waits until his questioning gaze turns to her. “Be careful. Please.”
He watches her for a moment, eyes darting up to the deck, and then takes her hand, presses a kiss to the back of it and nods the voices above growing louder. He spares her one last glance before dashing up the stairs.
“Hook,” Pan says as soon as he reaches the bow of the ship. “There you are. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Apologies,” Killian offers with a small bow and a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Where are my shadows?”
“Your shadows? We don’t have any shadows here.”
“Don’t lie,” Pan snaps and Emma flinches. “You stole eleven lost boys from me. Those were my lives - I won them fair and square. Give them back.” Emma half expects him to stomp his foot, but it’s then that she realizes that he can’t - because he’s not on the deck. He’s flying, or hovering a few feet above it. Wendy had said that Neverland’s magic couldn’t touch the Jolly - does that mean Pan can’t either? Can he not set foot onboard?
“They’re at the bottom of the sea, I’m afraid,” Killian tells him with a wince and she can see the rage building in the small boy.
“Then I’ll take them from your crew. Eleven of them in exchange for the ones that you took.” Emma casts a glance back down the hall towards the hold where a dozen children hide.
“No need for that,” Killian begins. “They aren’t to blame for this little misunderstanding. I’m sure we can find a solution where you get what you want that’s fair.” Pan hesitates at the word fair. He loves his games - he loves his rules.
“Then who is to blame?” he demands. “Bring the thief forward so that he can be punished.”
“Unfortunately we-”
“I did it.”
“Scarlet,” Wendy hisses in warning, but he’s already taking another step towards Pan.
“It was my idea.”
Pan glares. “Why?”
There’s a pause and then Will smirks. “I just wanted to piss you off. For old time’s sake.”
The boy’s anger shifts into something cruel and amused. “Well then, you can pay the price for old times sake. You remember how much fun my punishments can be,” he adds. She sees Will’s back go stiff right before Pan’s hand plunges deep into his chest and Emma has to cover her mouth with her hands to catch the scream that tries to escape. The crew stills, petrified. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen this happen.
“Wait!” Wendy shouts as Will lets out a groan of pain. Killian grabs her arm, silencing her and holding her in place. Pan ignores her, pulling his hand free, something bright and red and glowing held in his palm. That can’t be what she thinks it is.
“Eleven lives,” he muses again, floating easily across the deck, thinking. He gives the thing a small squeeze and Will cries out falling to his knees. Pan smirks, he’s enjoying this, she can tell; he already knows what he wants to do and Emma’s nails dig into her palms, every bone in her body demanding she go up there and not let this happen. It should be her that pays the price. Not Will.
His fingers tighten around it again and Will stops breathing, hand clutched to his chest where his heart should be until finally, Pan loosens his grip, looking at Will with his head cocked again. “You really did get old, Scarlet. But maybe not old enough…” He looks him over carefully, then the mass in his hand. “Eleven Lost Boy’s lives… so many years - But I think we can make it an even hundred. For old times sake?” he smirks. “That sounds fair,” he decides. “You can pay me back a hundred years.”
When he squeezes the heart again, Will collapses onto the deck, bits of dust slipping from Pan’s fingers as the light flickers in and out and Emma can see Killian physically holding Wendy back now, knuckles white around the leather of her coat. Nobody breathes. The crew look like it’s taking everything they have not to run - either to Will or away from Pan. Instead they stand frozen.
She counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. Five… Will rasps out a strangled cry, fists balling against the wood planks of the deck. Six. Seven. Eight… She watches him grit his teeth, sweat beading along the back of his neck, fighting. Nine. Ten. Eleven…
When she reaches eleven, Will takes his first breath in what feels like hours, the light in Pan’s loosened grip smaller and dimmer but still glowing, still beating.
“That should do it,” he smiles, returning Will’s heart to his chest.
Will gasps, settling his hand over it as if to feel the beat under it - make sure it’s really there. Then he frowns up at the boy. “Is… is that it?”
“Scarlet.” It’s Killian who snaps this time. “Below deck. Now.” Emma can’t see the look Wendy gives him when Will defers to her, but it sends him to his feet and across the deck in a second, head bent low.
“Emma,” he greets with all his usual bravado despite the raspiness of his breath when he finds her on the stairs. “Fancy seeing you here.”
She punches him in the arm. Hard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Ow!”
“That was so stupid! What the hell were you thinking?”
Will shrugs. “I owed him one. And I’m not going to let Killian get one up on the galant gestures.”
“Hook.” Pan says, drawing her attention away before she can hit Will again. “If your crew isn’t going to play fair then they won’t get to play with us anymore”
“I’ll get them in line,” he promises and she can hear the edge in his voice.
“Good. Do you need a reminder of the rules? You were away for a long time…”
“I remember.”
Pan nods, happy now - a child getting his way. “Good. Then the game can continue.” He turns, hovering over the railing of the ship and casting them one last glance as the threat of a storm begins to clear. “But no more chances,” he warns. Both Killian and Wendy nod solemnly before he flies off towards the beach.
As soon as he’s gone, Wendy practically runs towards the cabin. “All of you,” Killian commands, drawing the crew’s attention away from their former captain. “Back to work. Now,” he snaps when they don’t obey immediately. They scatter, finding work to keep them busy.
Emma has to jump out of the way as the other woman barrels down the stairs, grabbing Will by the shoulders. She turns him one way and then another, hands coming to his face as she does the same to his head, checking for injuries. Finally, her hand settles on his chest and Emma can tell she’s counting heartbeats. Will lets her, not resisting as she checks him for any sign of permanent damage.
When she seems satisfied, she raises furious eyes to his, the hand at his chest fisting in his shirt and shoving him away from her. “Fuck you, Scarlet,” she bites out before storming off down the hall.
Killian takes over, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Will is less willing to let himself be manhandled by him though, shoving at his arm even as he holds firm. “Do you not know how to follow an order, mate?”
“I’m not your mate,” he snaps back, more annoyed than angry. “And you’re not my Captain.”
“And here I thought we were getting along,” Killian answers sarcastically. “And you don’t have to like it, but I am your Captain and if you do that to her again -”
“Like you did when you took off to find Henry?”
“That was different. I did it to spare her the pain of losing someone she cares for.”
“So did I. Do you really think Pan would have been so forgiving if you’d taken the blame? You’ve been gone a long time, Hook. You’re not his favourite playmate anymore.”
“And you are?”
“I’m still alive aren’t I?”
Killian scoffs. “You’ve lasted a decade. Speak to me when you survive a century.”
“Well if we keep her alive we won’t have to,” Will snarks, nodding at Emma.
“Me?”
“I wouldn’t have stuck my neck out for you if I didn’t think you were actually going to change things.” Emma doesn’t have an answer to that, the weight of his faith in her more than she can handle right now. “Don’t make me regret it, aye?” he winces, rubbing at his chest.
“What did he do to you?”
He gives a small shrug. “Crushed my heart. Wasn’t so bad, really - I’ve had worse.”
“What?”
“It’s a particular favourite of his,” Killian explains.
“I’ve seen him do it to disobedient Lost Boys for hours - days once. He’s done it longer to me when I was his second. I’m surprised it was only…”
“Eleven seconds,” Emma supplies. The longest eleven seconds she can remember.
“Aye - I thought he’d be angrier.”
“What did he mean by you paying him back a hundred years?”
Will shrugs again. “Pan loves his riddles. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. I need to go find Wendy.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Killian warns and it almost sounds like a threat.
Will scoffs, finally shoving his hand away. “Please. I’ve done stupider things than egg Pan on.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Killian rolls his eyes and Will glares at him before smirking.
“I’ve become very good at getting her to forgive me.”
Emma wonders for a moment if she’s going to have to prevent a murder. “Get out of here before I get Pan to come back and crush your heart for good.”
“What? I thought we were mates -”
“Go,” Emma tells him. Before Killian follows through on that promise. Thankfully, Will isn’t stupid enough to push him any further and does as he’s told. She puts a hand on Killian’s arm. “Just remember that he almost died today. Cut him a bit of slack.” He doesn’t seem convinced, continuing to glare after the younger man. “And he might have saved our lives. He definitely saved mine.”
Killian scoffs, finally looking at her. “And he’ll never let us forget it.”
“So what’s next?” she asks, trying to distract him from his sort of daughter and her sort of boyfriend’s sort of love life.
“Hmm?”
“We’ve got the lorelei, we’ve got Tinkerbell, we’ve got a ship full of Lost Boys and pirates, we kept him from getting any more shadows… what do we do now?”
“We figure out what Pan’s plan is.”
“Can we not just… kill him?” she knows they can’t - probably - but she’s pretty sure the idea hasn’t been thrown out there yet so it’s worth a shot.
Killian shakes his head like she expected him to. “If we could, I’d have done it by now. I did once, when I first returned to Neverland after decades away. I ran him through with my sword trying to avenge my brother.” Her hand on his arm tightens without her meaning it to. “He pretended, made a whole show and lay there until I was sure he was dead - and then he started to laugh. Just another game - the first one I played with him even if I didn’t know it. He told me it was the only time he would let me win.”
“We’ll find a way.”
He smiles at her, small and half-hearted but she believes him. “I’m sure you will.”
***
“Why do we have to do this?” one of the boys - Kyle, she thinks - complains, dropping the wooden sword to his side. It had been so strange and jarring to learn some of the Lost Boys names over the last few days. “ We have nothing to do but wait ,” Killian had said. “Tink has let the Constant know that we’re ready to meet with them and they’ll send word when they’ve decided if they’ll hear us out .” For some reason, the boys had all been like Wendy in her mind, born ‘ somewhere around the 1880s, I think, ’ or Will, who’d come to Neverland during the Blitz, using dreams to escape the nightmares of real life. But this new group of boys weren’t characters out of a book or an old black and white photo.
“My mom named me after the guy in some robot movie that had just come out,” Kyle mentioned and it was a moment before it clicked. “The Terminator?!” He’d only shrugged. “That might’ve been it.” This boy was her age. He couldn’t have been born more than a couple of years after she was. Another boy’s tattered shirt had a faded image of Lilo and Stitch on it - he didn’t look more than twelve. These boys were just… kids. Regular kids like the ones she grew up with and the ones who lived in Storybrooke or Boston - boys like Henry. And now they were soldiers.
“We have to do this,” Wendy answers, giving his fake sword a tap with her own so his arm straightens, “because everyone on this ship needs to be ready to defend her when the next raid happens - If you want to live until the next one.”
“But we already know how to fight,” he whines. “We defeated you every time.” If Wendy’s upset at the casual mention of her crewmates being slaughtered, she doesn’t let it show. “I already know how to sword fight.”
“Do you now?” Killian calls from the helm before she can answer.
“Captain…” his first mate starts but he ignores her. He’s an imposing figure, clad in black leather with the metal of his hook gleaming in the sun and the weight of his sword heavy at his hip. As his footsteps echo across the deck as he makes his way over to where the boys had begun their training they all go silent.
“Now now, Mr. Darling, if the boy thinks he’s beyond our instruction he should have the chance to prove himself.” He stops in front of the new recruit, drawing his sword in a slow, measured movement, the tip an inch from the kid’s nose and Emma panics for just a second that he might cut him down right there. But then he turns to Wendy, “Bosun, get this boy a real blade,” and she realizes he’s had exactly the effect he intended as everyone around him tenses.
Wendy goes to fetch a weapon, shooting him the kind of eyeroll kids learn to make in front of adults without getting caught - one she knows very well.
“Think you can defeat me, boy?”
To his credit, Kyle straightens his shoulders, taking the offered sword and raising it to the Captain’s, ready for a fight. She thinks she might see the tiniest bit of approval beneath the scorn in Killian’s expression. The boy moves first, swinging at him with all his might as he deflects again and again. Killian’s toying with him - she knows he is. She saw Killian fight Will that first night on the Jolly. His blocks are too slow, letting the kid get within inches of hitting him. He doesn’t make a single attack, his feet unmoving and she’d think it was cruel if she didn’t understand why he was doing it.
Finally, when the boy starts to sweat, she sees Killian shift, adjusting his stance as he swings at his opponent. The block comes almost too late, only stopped by the way Killian pulls back at the last moment. He does it again, and again, backing the boy across the deck with blow after blow. There’s no flourish to it, no showmanship, just skill and finesse and strength and speed.
The kid starts to panic, the attacks coming too fast and Emma holds back a gasp when Killian’s blade slices across Kyle’s forearm. After that, it’s easy for Killian to twist his blade out of the kid’s shocked hand with his own, his elbow coming up to knock the boy flat on his ass. By the time he looks up, nose bloody, eyes dazed and watery, Killian’s sword is pointed at his chest, his brow arched in a harsh challenge.
“Please don’t kill me,” the boy says so quietly and so heartbreakingly that she thinks she sees Killian’s face soften just the barest amount before he takes a step back, dropping his sword.
“Listen, all of you,” he booms, though every eye on the deck is already on him. “You’ve never defeated anyone. Until now you’ve been playing a game and the game has been rigged. And I’m sorry to say, you’re now on the losing team. The only thing that matters from this moment on is staying alive. And the only way to stay alive is being a skilled enough fighter - and knowing how to hold that skill back enough - that Pan will want to fight you again.”
He lets this hang in the air for a moment, the boys’ faces showing different degrees of confusion and understanding and horror. “So all of you will follow Mr. Darling’s instructions and learn everything you can from him. You’ll fight to defend this ship, yourselves, and each other when the time comes because you’re part of my crew now.” He reaches a hook out to Kyle who sits cradling his nose and heaves the boy to his feet. “And we look after our own.”
Killian looks at the boy who nods, message received loud and clear, before clapping him on the shoulder. “Scarlet, see that our newest crew member’s wounds are tended to. He put up quite the fight.”
“Aye, Captain,” Will complies without argument or sarcasm and Killian must be as shocked as she is because he keeps his mouth shut.
“Darling must have said something to him,” he tells her when Emma joins him, his sword sliding carefully back into its sheath as he watches Wendy continue her lesson.
“Or maybe you just did.” Killian only looks at her, brow raised in disbelief before she gestures at the sword hanging at his belt. “So, come on, are you going to show me how to use this thing or not?”
His face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Ah, Swan, I’ve dreamed of the day that you’d ask me to show you how to handle my sword.”
***
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Tinkerbell asks. She’d floated onto the ship that night, looking stronger than when Emma had last seen her - the few days with the Constant clearly having done her good. Her wings looked taller, fully unfurled, the crepe paper like skin no longer breakable and frail as they flutter behind her.
“Is there good news?” Killian sighs, standing from his desk where he’d been looking over maps of the island while Emma asked him questions about them, how each was different based on when it was drawn, what Pan had changed, who he had brought. He seemed unbothered by the fairy magicking his window open and letting herself in.
“They’ve agreed to meet with you. They haven’t agreed to help,” she clarifies when Killian looks surprised, “but they’ve agreed to hear you out.”
“And the bad news?”
“They’ll only meet us in Echo Caves.”
Killian lets out a heavy, long suffering sigh, thumb brushing the inner corner of his brow, words dripping with sarcasm. “Wonderful. Did they happen to give a reason why?”
“Something about making sure you can be trusted - some incident at skull rock?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” he mutters under his breath.
“Really because the way I heard it -”
“It’s fine. Tell them we agree to their terms. When do they expect us?”
“First light.”
Killian nods. “We’ll be there. And Tink,” he adds when she turns to leave. “Thank you.”
She sneers. “I’m not doing it for you.” And then she’s gone before he can say another word.
“What’s Echo Caves?” Emma pulls her knees up to her chest where she’s perched on the desk after she’s sure the fairy’s out of earshot and Killian’s sagged back in his seat.
“Another one of Neverland’s little delights,” he sighs again. “The magic of the cave compels you to share your deepest secret - whether or not you’re even aware of it.”
“Have you gone before?” she asks.
“Once.” His hand drifts up without her really noticing, fingers curling around her calf, thumb tracing over her shin and she thinks maybe it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “Pan wanted to test my loyalty.” She rests her chin on her knee, dreading what he may have had to confess to Pan to keep himself alive on this horrible island. He smiles up at her then, a put-on apathy. “Thankfully, I had many terrible deeds in my past to confess to.” He doesn’t give her a chance to say anything before he releases her and stands again - something dropped between them and something else put up.
“Are you afraid?”
Killian doesn’t look at her. “Always.” Her heart tightens. She understands - she’d only been here a few weeks and she’s been terrified every moment - apart from her brief experiment with fairy wine - centuries… she can’t imagine. “But not of the Constant. Tiger Lily may hold a grudge but they’ll do whatever’s best for this island, and so will their people. And I’ve no ill-intent towards them or love for Pan.” He looks at her then, pausing. “Are you?”
“Of having to spill my deepest secret to a bunch of strangers? No, why would I possibly be stressed about that?” she smirks half-heartedly.
“Strangers?” Killian raises a brow, sliding back across the room and resting his hand and hook on the desk on either side of her. “You hurt me, Swan. I thought we were friends - acquaintances at least.”
She shoves at his chest rolling her eyes and he smirks. “Usually a guy has to buy me dinner before he gets to hear the all sordid details of my past.” Or coffee in an empty theme park where a pretty smile and a well-placed sneak into his past makes her think she’s safe to reveal herself, to trust someone with all of it.
“Hey,” his thumb brushes over her knee as he tries to catch her gaze. “Where’d you go?”
Not anywhere he needs to know about - or anywhere she’d care to revisit. So she smiles at him, lets her foot brush against the side of his calf, teasing, distracting. “Just trying to figure out which of my deepest secrets are gonna come spilling out of me tomorrow.” He doesn’t believe her, his lie detector almost as good as her own, she's realized, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
“Well you are a mystery, Swan,” he tells her with a half-hearted smirk.
“Not for much longer, apparently.”
Something shifts in the way he’s looking at her, sympathy or understanding as he cocks his head. “You know you don’t have to come if -”
“I’m going.”
Killian huffs a laugh. “Of course you are. Well if there’s anything you want to get off your chest without an audience, now’s the time.” His eyebrow quirks up in challenge. “Won’t be a secret anymore if you tell me.” She meets it.
“What? Is one revelation about me not enough for you?”
Something shifts again, something heavier, her skin warm and humming with fear and anticipation as he looks at her the way he had when he’d been curled around her on the floor of the brig. His voice is lower when he speaks. “Perhaps I’d just like to know you, Swan.”
She casts her eyes to the floor, his gaze too intense - always too intense - before setting the smirk that had fallen from her lips back in place. “You first.”
“I’m an open book, love. Ask me anything you like.”
She has one question, one that’s been itching at the back of her mind since she’d seen the canvas of scars etched across his skin. “Who were you? Before you were here - before you were ‘Captain Hook’?”
His bravado falters for a moment. “I was many things. Son, brother, slave, sailor, lieutenant, captain, pirate, partner… None for very long.” He gives her another of those showy smirks. “It seems Hook is the only one that stuck.” Her heart breaks a little, so many loves lost and so many injustices done in such a short life. She thinks of the scars that had criss-crossed his back, that she’d asked about so casually then - slave he’d said - and she wishes she could do it over, pay both them and him the reverence they deserve. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
His hand slides to her wrist, to the laces she’d tied there the first day she’d come back to the sheriff’s office alone. All of his things had been gone. Desk cleared out, jacket taken from the back of his chair, the few things he bothered to keep - a tacky ceramic wolf, a photo of him and some friends she never bothered to ask him about, even the bottle of whiskey he kept in his top drawer - had been ransacked. He had no family that she knew of - no family that could be found at all - and she’d just known that it was Regina. She’d come in and wiped every trace of Graham clean like he never existed - apart from a single pair of boots forgotten by the back door.
“They belonged to someone I used to know.”
“Someone you cared for?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugs. “He’s gone now.”
“It mattered enough for you to keep a piece of him with you.” He fingers the laces again, focusing on them, not making her meet his eyes again. “I know what it is to lose the people that matter most.”
Emma pulls her hand back, sliding them both behind her under the guise of leaning back on the desk and gives another dismissive shrug even as she can’t make herself look at him. “Yeah, well, when you grow up like I did you learn pretty quickly not to get attached.”
Thankfully, Killian knows how to take a hint, straightening and flashing her an off grin. “If only we all possessed such a skill, Swan.” Then, pushing away from the desk, “I best let the others know what awaits us all tomorrow.”
Emma swallows, this island has already taken so much from her - her son, her name, her memories - almost - her whole belief system… How much more can it really take? She doesn’t ask - not anymore as she slides into Killian’s bed instead of her own, and he doesn’t say anything as he joins her a few minutes later, just pulls her against him, breath warm and comforting against her cheek as they try to shut themselves off from the cries that ring out on the deck above them.
*******
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if you recognise the title, welcome to my heathers the musical brainrot! the song definitely influenced this absolute smut fest of a fic but there is a very fluffy ending! one day i'll learn to just give you smut but today is not that day!
i give my heart to @belovedcreation for her amazing support and beta services for this fic, you're the best, babe!!
rated E | 8127 words
also on AO3
summary: Regina manages to delay Peter Pan's curse for a few hours during which she spends time with Henry. Emma, having spent quality time with her family, decides to spend time with another equally special person. With only 6 hours until she is separated from Killian what else better to do than get "freaky"?!
Storybrooke’s Main Street was empty. All lights were turned off and the only source of light was the full moon. It was both eerie and peaceful, knowing what was to come.
Pan was defeated. Rumplestilskin was dead. There was a curse coming.
Emma sighed in the quiet night. Maybe she should be used to it, this impending doom every year, but really, who could?
According to Regina, the curse would hit at dawn. She was glad for the extra time Regina gave them, time to say goodbye, time to just be together. After that, Henry and Emma were off to an adventure of their own and they would be separated from their family.
Right, there was no getting used to that.
But now, with her parents asleep, Henry at Regina’s and everyone else making use of their last hours in the modern world, Emma felt restless. They had had a nice dinner at Granny’s, drank, and talked. There had been no tears, no frowns, no goodbyes.
But he had been there, sitting in the furthest corner of the counter. He had shared a drink with David, smiled at something Granny told him. Had spoken to Neal, hugged him. Had looked at her, watched her and turned away when she looked back. And yet, no word to her.
Well, if that’s how he was going to play it then- Emma sighed again, interrupting her own thoughts. They had 6 hours before their whole lives would be disrupted, before they were all separated once more.
Fuck it.
It was easy to reroute her wandering path. Before she knew it, Emma had stopped in front of Granny’s inn, her foot hovering over the first step. There was a faint light coming from the door, just like it had been two years ago when she first arrived in town. Walking through that door would be like proclaiming to the whole town what she intended to do and that was a mood killer.
Taking a step back, she saw one more light on. It was just as faint but it was on the second level and she could feel it, deep in her gut, that that was the window she was looking for. Emma took a deep breath as she looked up at it. Was she really about to do what she thought she was about to do?
Was she drunk enough for this? She could still feel that last drop of liquid courage in her stomach but really all that walking had sobered her up. Hopefully it was enough to give her that push. And really, it was a wonder she didn’t fall to her death as she climbed the trellis on the back wall, her only goal that faint light in the window. If she was thinking of anything but her destination, she would have laughed at how she wasn’t climbing with him but to him this time.
The window was locked because of course it was but she could see him lying in the bed with his back on the headboard, a beat-up book open with one hand, his hooked arm over his thigh. Hook was the picture of relaxation, his billowing black shirt unbuttoned, black leather trousers and bare feet on the bed. He really was making use of Granny’s offer of modernity on their last night in town.
It was now or never. Later she should have a chat with Granny about how easy it was to snap the window lock but it boded well for her tonight. Before she took a breath, Emma was stumbling into the room with an incredible lack of grace.
“Swan.” As she fumbled to stand up, she watched Hook put down his book unhurriedly. “What are you doing in my room?”
“Shh.” She brought a finger up to her lips as she fumbled to remove her boots. “There’s only a few hours until everything goes to shit.” She took a mental picture of the amused and confused smirk twitching his lips as she approached the bed. “Now is the perfect time for you to give me that ‘fun’ you promised.” His eyebrow hitched before the other joined in shock when she straddled his lap. “Or was that all talk?” His book was thrown to the floor in a flash, his eyes never leaving hers.
“No,” Hook answered quickly. “I just didn’t think-”
“It’s like I said,” Emma interrupted. “We understand each other. This world is really unfair so I say we make it beautiful here.” Leaning over him, she placed her hands on his shoulders.
She saw lust, desire, confusion, sadness, affection in his eyes and that should have made her run out of that room. But how could she when this was what she wanted most? His hand found her hip and she deserved an award for keeping it together at the touch of his strong, warm hand. “What do you say?” She urged.
“That works for m-”
Not wanting to waste any more time, she pressed her mouth against his just like she did in Neverland. And just like in that jungle, it only took a second for Hook to reciprocate the kiss, his mouth opening under her ministrations and giving just as good as she gave. His hand left her hip to thread into her hair while hers gripped his shoulders tighter, before she moved them down his shirt.
She had never seen him so undressed before, not even in the sweltering heat of Neverland. Her fingers found the open parting of his shirt and felt the surprisingly soft chest hair underneath. His responding moan to her touch had her hand clench in his chest, a wave of arousal wafting over her. His lips left hers and for a split second she was going to complain before she felt his lips on her jaw, on her neck, by her ear. Her mouth opened in silent pleasure as she felt his hand on the small of her back pressing her closer to him. Her hands were trapped between their chests but she wasn’t complaining.
His lips found her ear and she gasped at the feel of his teeth nibbling her earlobe before his tongue soothed the sensitive skin. A moan escaped her lips as her nails dug into his chest, his skin warm under her touch and making him gasp against her skin. Pulling away enough to free her hands but not so much as to stop his ministrations, she slipped her hands inside his shirt and began to slide it down his arms.
His hand left her back to completely remove his shirt and throw it god knows where. Without the distraction of his lips or her anxiety at starting this tryst, she took her time to look at his chest, her hands absent-mindedly following the path of her eyes. She took in his strong build, the muscles originated from hard work while at sea, his dark chest hair and the way it led down to a treasure she was excited to plunder tonight.
“Looked your fill?” Her eyes wandered up slowly to where he was watching her with interest, his lips red and full from the kisses they shared, his cheeks pink.
“Nope,” she answered, watching as his eyes widened in surprise before crossing her arms in front of her and pulling up her sweater and undershirt in one go. Boy, was she glad to have left her coat at home. She threw it behind her without looking, focused instead on the way his eyes took the same path her eyes had. His gaze felt like a touch and her skin broke into goosebumps at the thought. “Have you?”
He shook his head slowly as his hand ghosted its way up her back. She arched at the soft touch and she could swear his eyes darkened at the sight of her chest so close to his face. Before she could straighten her posture, she felt him pull her to him and then his mouth was on her collarbones, on her shoulders, on her chest, on the curve of her breast, pressing open mouth kisses on her bare skin. She fumbled behind her to unlatch her bra, removing it without disturbing his excellent work. She keened loudly when his lips latched onto her nipple, tongue lashing relentlessly and causing her to grind slowly against his lap.
She felt his responding groan against her flesh and his impressive erection between her legs. Her whole body lit up like the freaking fourth of July, her hands grabbed onto his head to keep him where she wanted him, to keep his talented mouth on her breasts. She had heard rumors of women orgasming just from this and thought them liars but this man was making her believe.
His hand, redundant in keeping her close to him, moved down her bare back until it reached the waist of her jeans. She wondered if he even knew what jeans were, if she should say something, if she should help him. All thoughts vanished from her head when he pressed his thumb hard against the ridge of her jeans, right on top of her aching clit. Was there like a clit magnet in that man’s finger? Her loud moan silenced any other noise.
With his left arm around her waist, his mouth on her other nipple and his thumb causing friction against her clit, she was almost sure that she was about to come like this. But there was something missing, and it wasn’t the way his teeth nibbled her flesh.
Her hands left his head and without the pull, he unlatched his mouth from her breast, looking up at her with dazed eyes and heavy breath. God, she wanted to commit that face to memory, engrave it in her brain. On instinct, she fused their mouths together, her nibbling on his lower lip just as he had done on her breast. He whimpered under her attention and, regrettably, his hand stopped moving. But that was probably for the best because it gave her the clarity of mind to reach for the button and zipper of her jeans.
“Emma…”
The way he moaned her name against her lips drew a shiver up her spine, her skin trembling in anticipation. With a last kiss to his swollen lips, she pulled away from his lap, sitting perpendicular to him on the right side of the bed. Glancing at his face, she saw the worry on his brow and the fear mixed with the lust in his eyes. But she couldn’t look at him any longer if she wanted to get out of these jeans. After a short struggle, she managed to peel the denim off her as well as her socks. Maybe she should be more concerned over where her clothes were going to end up but really, looking up to see the dark gaze of a plundering pirate just made everything else disappear.
Gone was the worry and fear, there was only desire in his eyes. Her mouth was parted as she breathed heavily and she leaned back on her hands, leaving her chest prominently out and vulnerable to his intense gaze. His hand landed on her ankle where it had landed on his lap, his thumb rubbing on her skin and causing goosebumps to rise up. Seemingly fascinated with her response, he moved his hand up her leg slowly before stopping on her thigh. His thumb reached the inside of her thigh and began to massage it carefully. An unexpected moan left her lips and she opened her legs wanting more of his touch and wanting it where she craved it most.
Swift as a cat, she blinked to find him on his knees between her legs, his eyes never leaving her underwear-clad center. His hand continued its upward motion on her leg, stopping at the apex of her thigh. His gaze met hers and his thumb met her clit, rubbing it in a slow circular motion. She moaned, throwing back her head. His thumb pressed firmly and she found her moans silenced by his desperate lips.
“You’re so wet, Emma,” he whispered against her lips, his thumb circling softly while his fingers quested to her center. Her hips stuttered under his touch. “Can I taste you?”
His desperate question had her letting out a quiet moan before nodding her head. Her head was full of fantasies of what his touch and kisses merely hinted at. He hooked his finger and metal substitute on her underwear, the cold of the appendage causing her skin to tremble. She raised her hips to allow him to remove them and he surprised her by placing a kiss above her clit, a small hint of what was to come, his breathy chuckle making her shiver as it hit her skin.
She couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop watching the way he kept his eyes on her center, on his focused frown, on his adoring lips. Damn, why hadn’t she done this before?
She watched as he laid down between her legs, as he raised her hips to place his arms underneath her ass, as his eyes darkened when her folds opened under his gaze. She watched as he lowered his head and yet still let out a gasping moan when he dragged his tongue from her center to her clit, wrapping his lips around it just as he had done with her nipples.
“You make the most delicious sounds, love,” he murmured and she felt the vibrations against her center making her thighs tremble.
“Please.” She begged quietly, unused to the feeling but knowing that there was nothing else she wanted to do. She begged for his touch, for his mouth, for him. “Please, Killian.”
She felt his eyes on her before, with a loud moan, his tongue returned to her aching center, flicking over her clit and taking her breath away, her hands grasping for his head, tangling in his hair. His hand grabbed onto her ass cheek, bringing her as closer to him as he could, kissing her below as he had up top. And what a talented mouth that man has.
“Say it again,” he asked desperately against her before his tongue flattened against her clit and wiggled.
She wasn’t even sure what he wanted or had enough breath to ask but when she cried out, “Fuck, Killian,” it must have been the right answer. Suddenly, he raised to his knees, bringing her hips up with him, keeping her against his mouth. Her legs fell over each of his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her waist. Fumbling to grab onto the sheets, onto something, she settled in for a loud ride. His mouth was relentless against her cunt, licking against her clit, penetrating her with his tongue. Her moans were ringing in her ears but all she cared about was how she could keep his mouth against her forever. When his lips wrapped around her clit once more and sucked, everything shattered around her, back arching as she called out his name in her climax.
Her breathing was heavy, her legs turned to jelly and she didn’t even know how she was going to move after that. His hand and hook gently lowered her to the bed and she brought her hands to her hair, trying to get a hold of her breathing. Damn.
“Alright, Swan?”
His voice caught her attention and she opened her eyes to watch him looking down at her, his eyes burning with desire, beard glistening, chest heaving and hand shifting his cock over his tight trousers. That vision caused a fresh wave of arousal to pool at her center.
Fuck.
She must have said it out loud because his hand tightened and his lips parted in a quiet gasp. Drunk on the way he was watching her, Emma lowered her hands down her chest, passing across her nipples. The short contact had her biting her lip as it sent a spark down her body. His eyes followed her hands as she slowly ran them down her belly to stop at the top of her thighs. His tongue passed through his lower lip and he closed his eyes in a hum.
The realization that he had likely tasted her in his lips had her circling her clit with her right pointer finger. He opened his eyes and she bit out a gasp at the way his pupils dilated at the sight of her pleasuring herself in front of him. Without taking his eyes off her circling finger, he unlaced his barely laced trousers, his cock springing out thick and hard. He took hold of it, his fist tightening around his base, and her mouth went dry.
Two of her fingers slid easily inside her and she delighted in the way his head tilted and his teeth dug into his lower lip. She brought them out to circle her clit and back inside a few times, with the same rhythm he ran his hand up and down on his cock. Satisfied with how much of her fluids she managed to accumulate on her fingers, she sat up under his watchful eyes.
Carefully bringing her fingers to his face, she smirked with the way he dutifully opened his mouth to welcome them. Her mouth parted as she breathed in sharply at the way he sucked and ran his tongue between them, cleaning all evidence of her arousal off of her fingers. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he released his hold on them but not before nibbling on her digits.
Biting her lip, she manhandled him until he was sitting back against the headboard. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed in confusion but, as she began to pull on his trousers, he bit his lip in excitement and lifted his hips to help her.
“Damn trousers,” she muttered in impatience under his amused grin.
“Never heard you complaining before.”
She rolled her eyes and his whole face lit up in mirth. Wanting to stop his amusement and proud that she had finally removed the leather, she ran her tongue across the length of him. His teasing stopped as he let out a guttural moan, his hand clenching into a fist where it rested on his lap. She grinned victorious as she took hold of his shaft to bring his tip into her eager mouth and sucked.
“Fuck.”
She preened under his unveiled pleasure, moving her hair over her shoulder, licked into his slit and moaned at the way his hand dug into the back of her neck. She took him further into her mouth and felt his hand clench in response. Taking hold of his wrist to urge him to take that control he so wanted, she relaxed her jaw and slowly lowered her head. He gasped and she felt him pull on her hair, inching her closer and closer to the base of his cock and she groaned in pleasure around him. She could feel herself getting wetter as she took more and more of him until her nose ghosted over his hip bone.
She felt him quickly pull her away from him and her bottom lip jutted out in an instinctive pout. She wanted more, needed more. He grinned over his heavy breathing and ran his thumb over her lower lip. She licked its tip and his grin widened.
“I’m afraid I would spend myself in your lovely mouth if you kept going.”
She rubbed her thighs together at the image he made appear in her head and she pinpointed the moment he noticed by the glint in his eyes. Maybe next time.
But there wouldn’t be a next time, would it?
She could feel her spiraling thoughts get out of control and before they could ruin this next, her last night, she straddled his hips, a knee on either side of him. Before he could take his next breath, she slanted her mouth over his, letting the feel of his mouth and her lingering taste in his tongue overwrite any thoughts that weren’t about him and his talented mouth.
Her hips ground against his length, slathering it with her arousal, and his hand left her head to take hold of her ass, fingers tightening against her flesh and urging her to keep moving her hips over him. She moved her lips over his scruffy jaw, his mouth free to encourage her with his heavy breathing and quiet moans, until she carefully bit into his earlobe.
“Killian,” she whispered, receiving a louder moan in return, her hand running down his chest until she felt his tip on her fingers. “I need it hard.”
As she bit more firmly in the flesh behind his ear, she raised her hips and lowered herself onto him. He entered her fully, taking away her breath and making her arch her back in one swift move. His moan was echoed in hers as she felt his left arm wrap around her waist to keep her close.
She tried to control her breathing, her body adjusting to his length, to the wonderful feeling of being connected to him. She joined their foreheads with a satisfied sigh and moved her hips in a tentative thrust. The feel of him inside her had them moaning in unison and she wanted nothing more than to hear that sound over and over again. Grasping onto his shoulders, she raised her hips until only his tip rested inside her.
“Tonight, I’m yours,” he whispered against her lips, his hand returning to the side of her neck, his left arm still heavy around her waist.
Tonight, she was his.
She slammed her hips down on his and didn’t wait before she raised them again. Her movements were helped by his returning grip to her hip, urging to move as fast as she wanted, to take as much as she needed. He gave her control and she took it, moving up and down in his lap, taking her pleasure. She buried her face against his neck, her moans silenced against his skin, thighs trembling as she felt her orgasm build up.
His thumb against her clit had her tumbling down into her climax, her back arching and head thrown back in a loud moan of his name. With a growl, she found herself on her back, his still hard length deep inside her and his mouth on her neck bringing her back to the present.
She dug her fingers through his hair, keeping him against her skin, his almost imperceptible thrusts along with his hardworking lips preparing her for another round. Never had it been like this. She pulled his head up to look at her, wanting to look into his eyes, wanting to see his face when he came. She ran her thumb over his swollen bottom lip like he had done before and felt the rush of affection mirrored in his eyes overtake her.
“Make me forget,” She pleaded, her eyes reflecting the anxiety and panic she wanted to push away. All she wanted was to forget that soon, she would have to leave this town behind. She would have to forget her family; she would have to watch the only people who had ever wanted her disappear.
His hand trailed from her shoulder down and up to her wrist. He moved one of her hands away from his neck so he could kiss her palm, a kiss she felt all over her eager body, before he placed her arm more firmly around his neck. Knowing what he wanted from her, she moved her own arm, holding her own hand behind his neck. His lips ticked up in a small smile and he urged her to wrap her legs around his waist.
She let out a gasp when he shifted his hips adjusting his position. He smirked before he planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “As you wish, Emma.” The sound of her name washed over her and lit up the smoldering fire inside her.
Her moan was loud and deep at the way he began to thrust against her, a slow, deep grind made to fan the fire into a hot blaze. His chest rubbed against her nipples and her breath quickened. She could feel the hum inside her telling her that this orgasm would be just as good as the others, even if he just kept that touch, that speed.
To her displeasure, he stilled his hips and moved his chest away. Her nails dug into his back, desperate to keep him there, desperate for the release. She whined, opening her eyes to complain but fell silent when she saw his wrecked expression, his mirrored desperation.
Waiting, feeling the buzz of expectation under her skin, she watched as he took a deep steadying breath. She watched as he kneeled on the bed, his thighs glued to hers. Her hands fell to the bed as he straightened up, fisting the sheets at the look of hunger in his eyes. He ran the side of his hook down her thigh, the sensation making her bite her lip and moan when the tip rubbed carefully over her nipple. So lost in pleasure, she barely noticed when he maneuvered her legs until they were straightened against his chest. His hook left her breast so he could lift her hips up off the bed and slide a pillow under her ass, aligning them perfectly.
Without warning, he reared his hips before slamming against her causing her to scream out. “Oh, fuck!” His lips pulled into a dirty grin, she could feel every inch of him inside her and, unable to gain any traction, all she could do was hang on for the delightful ride.
With unrivaled gusto, he slammed his hips again and again, the sounds of slapping skin, of his heavy breathing, of her loud moans, filling the room. The world around them vanished, all that existed was him and her, his touch, his moans and groans, her whimpers and shouts, his skin, her skin, them.
The speed at which her orgasm hit her should have surprised her but he felt so good and filled her up so well that she was more surprised that it had taken that long. She clenched around him and his hips stuttered before he threw his head back, the veins in his neck straining with his restraint.
“Come, Killian,” she begged, needing to feel him, needing to see him. “Come for me.”
As if he had only been waiting for her order, his deep groan preceded the twitching of his cock inside her as he spilled his release. The feel of him filling her drew out her orgasm, making her feel so full, so right, so complete. His grip on her legs loosened as he came down from his high and, no longer restrained, she let them drop to the bed on either side of him. Grabbing his wrists, she eased him down on top of her until his warm body covered every inch of her, his head nestled on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair as they took control of their breathing, as she felt him soften inside her, as their bodies cooled down, unrushed.
Her fingers drifted onto his back, running up and down the light welts of scars she could feel, the marks of his long life, of his difficult life. She felt him placing chaste kisses on her skin as his breathing returned to normal. He touched on her own scars with those gifted lips, touched on the scars of her loneliness, her abandonment, and created another, a deep cut down her chest, and cauterizing it with the warmth of his breath. Her sigh was deep and satisfied as she cupped his head. His teeth nibbled on her stomach and she let out a breathy chuckle that he returned.
“I hope you weren’t thinking of sleeping tonight,” she warned, his mouth on her keeping the fire inside her alive. “It’s not morning yet.”
He hummed a denial, the vibration against her nipple making her bite her lip. “With you in my bed? Not bloody likely.”
Her laugh turned into a moan as he sucked a mark on her breast, her nails digging into his shoulders. His hum of pleasure guided her into dragging her nails down his back, likely leaving red marks in her way. Still inside her, she felt his cock twitch. Interesting.
Taking hold of his hair and pulling his face to hers, she took a mental note of their mutual enjoyment of hair pulling and landed a smacking kiss on his lips. She pulled away to find him grinning at her, his eyes soft under the blaze of renewed desire. She clenched around him, drawing a hiss out of him and a grin from her.
“I need to go to the bathroom but-” She gestured with her head before pushing against his chest and against her will, causing him to slip out of her. He moved away slowly, reluctantly until they were both sitting on the bed. She pulled him to her for a dirty kiss, swallowing his moan with her lips. “Get yourself ready for me, won’t you?” Her innocent question was accompanied by a not-so-innocent drag on her nails over his hip bone, his responding moan feeding her growing arousal.
He nodded dazedly, watching her under hooded eyes as she slipped out of bed. She turned around to step to the bathroom, stopping when she felt the swat of his hand on her ass. She looked over her shoulder to see him settling down on the bed with a poor imitation of an innocent smile. She rolled her eyes to mask her smile before carrying on her way.
When she exited the bathroom, she found him still splayed on the bed watching for her return, his hand moving slowly up and down his half-hard shaft. Leaning against the doorway, she saw his cock twitch under her interested gaze, her hand moving up her body. Under his wicked grin, she sauntered to the bed, settling into his inviting lap, kissing the smile off his face.
The next hours passed much like the previous, his talented mouth and cock dragging several orgasms out of her, his body full of marks from her own mouth, her nails and palms. His hook had created its own set of marks on her body, marks that drew a symphony of moans from her before it ended up digging into the mattress, cutting into like a hot knife through butter. They didn’t talk, nothing except moans, praises and demands escaping out of their lips.
“There’s not a day that will go by that I won't think of you,” he’d whispered against her temple as she came down from another earth-shattering orgasm and she wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment, to assure him that she would think of this night, of him, everyday.
But she couldn’t, so she kissed his chest instead, moving her lips higher and higher until she found his lips, leading them to another round, to another orgasm, to another memory. And at dawn, she kissed his parted lips and slipped unnoticed from his slumbering body.
She met her family at the townline, almost thankful for the sadness of the moment as it stopped any questions they might have for her whereabouts that night, or why she winced with every step she took and how it masked her anger at having to say goodbye to something she was already missing. And she missed him. Missed them. Missed her family. Missed Storybrooke.
But still, she drove away from the town she had called home with her son beside her and sent a silent goodbye to the man she wished to remember, the man she had left asleep in his room. She said goodbye to Killian Jones and to the future he could have given her. She was almost thankful that she was losing her memories.
---
When he appears at her door, a bright happy smile on his face and her name spilling from his lips, she is surprised to find him in front of her. For so long, he was the main character in her dreams, in her fantasies, the first and only person she would think about at night, the man whose mere idea was enough to have her refuse that furniture seller’s invitation. And feeling his lips against hers sparks something inside her, a feeling of right, of balance, of peace.
But she pushes him away, she brings her knee up to his crotch and she closes the door on his face. It’s impossible and she refuses it, ignoring the way her heart is still pounding on her chest.
But he’s persistent. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give up. He says his name is Killian and she can almost feel the way her mouth would wrap around it in the throes of passion. His name is Killian and he tells her impossible things. He begs her to trust him and damn her, she does. She takes the vial from his hand and downs the liquid in one go. The memories assault her all at once - her parents, her son, Storybrooke, him.
“Killian?”
His eyes soften with his smile. “Did you miss me?”
She hears the teasing tone in his voice but she also sees the way his eyes plead with her, burn into her, and she does, she misses him so much that it’s almost like a physical tether pulling her to him. She takes hold of his face, vial forgotten on the floor, and pulls his lips to hers, hoping her desperate kiss answers his question. His arms wrapping tightly around her waist tells her it does.
“Emma-”
“I’m sorry for leaving you,” she interrupts, her forehead touching his, her eyes clenched shut. “I wasn’t going to be able to leave if you were awake, and I-”
He silences her with a kiss, this one a mere press of his lips and she feels his smile against her mouth. “I know, love.” His hand cups her face, his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “I missed you too.”
She pulls him for a deep kiss, her tongue finding its way into his mouth, their moans lost against their lips, her fingers buried in his hair. She can still feel the way he touched, the way he held her, the way he marked her, the way he filled her. There is a burning inside her and she yearns for him just as she did that night a year ago.
“Wanna come to my apartment?” she murmurs against his lips, grinning at the way his hand tightens on her hip.
“I’ll follow you anywhere, love.” And she believes him.
The walk back to her apartment isn’t long and she has done that path many times over the past year but now, hand in hand with the man she wants nothing more than to see naked again, it feels like an eternity. As they reach her door, she sends a silent thanks to Henry’s sleepover plans before opening it. She pulls Killian inside by the lapel of his coat, his back slamming against the door and closing it in a quick movement. His pleased grin tells her he likes it when she takes control but she is much more interested in what his mouth can do when it’s kissing her.
She has eliminated any space between them, letting her feel his moan reverberate against her chest. Her hands have found their way inside his coat and she is grasping and pulling at his shirt and waistcoat needing him naked. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” She complains before she slips his large coat from his shoulders.
“So are you.” His hand grasps at her jean-clad rear while his hook digs into her sweater. She hums in agreement and grins at his displeased moan when she pulls away from him.
“I need space to take off my clothes, don’t you think?” With a pointed gaze, she drops her coat and pulls off her sweater.
“I’m incapable of thought around you, love.” He speaks towards her breasts and she would roll her eyes if she didn’t feel the goosebumps his intense gaze caused. Wanting to expedite the removal of their clothes, she began to walk backwards into her room and away from his grasp.
Almost like he is reading her mind, he unbuttons his vest one-handed, the sight reminding her of his masterful fingers and the way he played her. He unbuttons his shirt only enough to pull it off by the collar. Her hands fall to the button of her jeans just as his find his laces. She kicks off her boots and throws them somewhere in the room, his bigger ones receiving the same treatment. They stand in the middle of her bedroom when she finally removes her jeans. His trousers fall to the floor and she is reminded of how the Enchanted Forest probably doesn’t have boxers when his cock is free to be admired by her lustful gaze.
“Swan.” His hoarse voice makes her drift her gaze up to his eyes and she is reminded of their fire, of their lust, now and then. “You’re looking at me like you want to devour me.” There’s no complaint, it’s almost like a wish he doesn’t want to admit to but she does.
Slowly, she steps up to him, his cock so close to her. Her eyes remain on his and the way they darken at her proximity. With a smirk, she grasps his length in her fist and nibbles at his parted lower lip. “That’s because I do.”
Swiftly and silently thanking her carpeted floor, she sinks down to her knees, wasting no time in dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, the memory and the feeling of how he feels inside her mouth causing her to moan against him. His hand wastes no time in grasping onto her hair and she rewards him by welcoming him inside her mouth.
His moan echoes in her room and she closes her eyes in pleasure, in happiness. Her mouth works around him slowly but determinedly, his loud response spurring her on. Her hand slips between her legs to find her already wet center and circles her clit with her finger. His hand flexes on her hair and she drags her teeth over his underside dragging a loud curse from him. Tongue lapping over his slit, she looks up to find his eyes on her, burning with hunger.
“Pull my hair,” she orders before taking a deep breath and taking his whole length down her throat. His shout is loud and she slides two fingers inside her. She smiles internally when his fist twists in her hair and pulls, moving her up and down his length, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
“Fuck!” he curses before she feels him pull her away from his cock. She looks up at him breathing heavily and with her fingers rubbing small circles over her clit. “Fuck…” he repeats in a dazed whisper before he pulls her to her feet by her hair and crashes their mouths together, moans lost in the intense kiss. “What a heavenly mouth you have, Swan,” he whispers when they pull away, his teeth pulling on her bottom lip.
“I need you inside me,” she whimpers, grinding her hips where his cock is pressed against her belly. “Please, Killian.”
His growl is the only warning she gets before his lips slant over hers and his hook tears at her bra. She moans against his mouth as she removes it the rest of the way and her nipples rub against his chest hair. She feels the bed against the back of her knees but is not allowed to fall with the way his left arm holds her against him.
“I won’t last long,” he warns, looking into her eyes, his lips swollen and red like hers must look.
“Me either.” She can feel it, deep inside her, that earth-shattering orgasm she knows is about to be pulled out of her. They have all day, all night, forever. That thought has her pull his lips to hers, her nails digging into his back, his moan reverberating in her chest, in her heart.
He nods with closed eyes before he turns her around and she finds herself face down on her bedspread, feet on her carpeted floor and nudged apart by his. Her hips sway in expectation, in the feeling of him filing her once more, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She feels him peeling off her underwear and then his lips at her lower back, at her hips, kissing at the uncovered skin of her plump cheeks, her hands fisting her sheets at his touch.
At the same time her underwear slips down to her ankles, his mouth finds her center, pulling a gasping moan from her lips. His pleased hum vibrates against her folds and she moves her hips closer to his face. “You’re so ready for me, love.”
She nods and looks at him over her shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”
A shadow passes over his eyes before he nods. “Then let’s not wait any longer.”
“Please.” Her hips wiggle and begging becomes easier with him, when she knows she can lower her walls and he’ll keep her safe.
The world rights itself when he slowly drags against her walls and she feels like she found the missing piece of a puzzle. His chest is heaving as he waits for her to adjust to him, his eyes burning against her skin when she clenches around him. “Take me, Killian.”
His hips pull back and she is already waiting for the moment they’ll return to her. Her moan is lost in the plush quilt when he bottoms out inside her. His pace is relentless against her and it almost makes her forget the year they were apart. Almost. His brace keeps her hips in place while his hand on her upper back keeps her chest against the bed, her nipples rubbing against the fabric with every thrust. His hips stutter against her at a particularly deep thrust and she wonders how long he’ll be able to last and if it’ll be long enough for her to join him.
Before she can move her hand to her clit to help her along, his hand runs up to the back of her neck, fisting her hair and pulling. The pain mixed with pleasure is delicious and she needlessly places her hands on the bed to hold her up. “Yes! More, please, harder!”
His fist tightens in her hair and it’s almost perfect, she just needs- The curve of his hook on her clit, pressing against her bundle of nerves, brings her to a loud climax, his name echoing in the hot room. She is pulled to an upright position and his arms wrap around her waist, slamming one, two, three more times against her before he comes with his mouth against her shoulder. His chest heaves against her back, his breathing is hot on her shoulder and she can feel their release drip down her legs. It’s perfect.
“Emma,” he whispers as his lips kiss their way up her neck. “I missed you so much.” His voice is wrecked over more than their straining activities and she lets her head fall over his shoulder to kiss his jawline.
“Come with me,” she mumbles against his skin, wincing when he slips out of her. Taking hold of his hand, she pulls him to her ensuite. “We need a shower.”
They are quiet as she guides him inside the glass case before she follows. They are quiet as the warm water runs down their bodies, as they slather their bodies in soap, as he massages shampoo in her hair with his hand, as she does the same for him, as they let the water clean them of any remaining product. It’s good - feeling him so close, his touch, his presence. She wants it everyday. She wants him, not just his body, him.
Still without talking, she guides their dry bodies under her sheets, not caring for the afternoon sun still shining outside her window. She needs to lay with him, she needs to have this slow moment with him, to have this time. His eyes stay on hers as they lay on their sides facing each other under her cozy sheets and his hand leaves her grip to move her still damp hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting over her jawline until his thumb runs over her bottom lip.
“You came to bring me home, didn’t you?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, knows it already. “Something happened.”
“I came back for you,” he answers, his hand taking hers back in his grip. “Something has happened but to be honest, I was just waiting for an excuse to come back to you. Someone sent me a memory potion and a message that a curse was coming, so I took the Jolly Roger as fast as I could away from its purview.”
Her eyes widen. “You outran a curse?”
“I’m a hell of a Captain.” His smirk is small but it still makes his eyes shine and she brings her free hand to his face. His eyes flutter closed at her touch. “As soon as the dust settled, I knew that the barriers were down and all I needed was a magic bean to find you.”
“Magic beans are not easy to come by.” Her eyebrows rise in surprise and suspicion.
“They are if you have something of value to trade.” His words are careful and his eyes lower to her shoulder.
“Like what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head before returning his gaze to hers, pain hidden beneath resolve. “Now that you have your memories back, we can return to Storybrooke and see what the damage is. All that matters is that you remember.”
There is more to the story, she can tell. She had seen his desperation for her memories to return and now she sees the grief he tries to hide. “What did you trade for the bean, Killian?”
His eyes and mouth widen at her unrelenting questioning and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to lie to her. “It really is of no consequence, Em-.”
With her hands on his shoulders, she forces his back onto the mattress while she sits looking down at him, her eyes drilling into his. “What was the price?”
He sighs defeatedly. “The Jolly Roger.”
Her breathing stops and she feels her lips part and eyes widen. His ship, his home, and he traded it to bring her back, for her. She can feel her heart slam against her chest at the realization but instead of panic, there is something else, something scarier, something that had ruined her before.
But as she looks into his eyes, those loyal, determined blue eyes, she realizes that this is different, she is different and he is different too. And suddenly, it all comes down to a simple truth. “I love you, Killian.”
It comes unrestrained, the words wrapping around the silence that fills the room. His eyes are bright and wide, an overwhelming hope and disbelief making her want to repeat those words until he believes in them. So she does, her voice stronger than before, more confident.
“I love you.”
She is an open book to him. He reads her heart in her eyes and she sees the moment he finds that simple, wonderful truth. His lips stretch out into a dazzling smile, the definition of happiness. “I love you, Emma.” And how could you not smile at such beautiful words?
Their lips meet in a soft kiss, softer than any kiss they had shared but just as good, if not better. The kiss is more than skin connecting with skin. She feels whole as his arms wrap around her and her hands cup his face. She loves him and he loves her.
It is perfect.
Tomorrow, she’d worry about fairytale parents, villains and curses. Tomorrow, she’d be their Savior. Tomorrow, she'll go back home. Tomorrow, she’d worry.
Today? Today, she is going to enjoy the feel of Killian’s arms around her. Today, she is going to let him love her with his mouth, with his body, with his words, with his actions. Today, she is going to be Emma Swan, the woman who loves a fairytale pirate and is loved in return.
I went digging into my eleventy-billion ideas scattered throughout my drive to bring you a list of either last words or close to what I wrote last on the docs. I tried to make sure there wasn’t smut in the lines, but I did curse.
Hopefully this kick starts the muse. She’s been hibernating while real life goes crazy.
@captainswanwipwednesdays
Untitled 1776 fic
With a quick check of herself in the mirror, she threw a shawl around her shoulders and shut the door quietly. When she was certain Arthur wouldn’t see the fear on her face, she opened the door and stepped towards him before Arthur or his men could enter her house again.
Blackberry Summers
“I would give my entire fortune to know those thoughts.” He murmured as he leaned close enough to trail a finger down her cheek. “What was it that made you blush, Swan?”
@teamhook’s fic
“You should learn how to tie one of these things”
“Why? It gives you a sense of accomplishment”
Ice Castles
Her brow furrowed again and she pouted slightly. “What are we doing?”
“I think it’s time a certain Swan took flight.” He kissed the tip of her nose before he picked her up in his arms and stepped onto the ice.
Rear Window
How had she missed that? Emma immediately sent a text to Will before groaning into her pillow. She was completely fucked.
Fairest chapter 5
“I’ve already made an appointment at Ella’s for dress shopping!” Her aunt looked like she might pop from excitement.
Killian wrapped his arms around her waist. This wedding was going to be an explosion of tulle, but at least she wouldn’t be wearing the feather dress.
Untitled A/B/O Smut
“Probably.” He chuckled and brushed a kiss to her shoulder. “But I should probably get some clothes on?”
“In the washer.” She hummed. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Untitled A/B/O
The pull to hold her was too strong to ignore this time. Emma buried her face in his chest as the tears wracked her body. When she finally calmed, she pulled back to meet his eyes. He had no idea what she was looking for, but she found it and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him closer.
Her scent gland was right beside his nose and whatever she was producing made his head swim. He was vaguely aware of her standing on his feet as she tucked herself against him. It didn't matter. She could step on him all she wanted if it meant she'd stay here.
“You do know who you’re talking to, Miss Charming?” The smooth voice was pure malice.
“You came to me for help, not the other way around.” I shouted at him. “Go find someone who wants magic.”
Captain Who - Eleventh Hour
The crack snapped shut and Olivia stared at her blank bedroom wall, “Who was that?” She asked him. “Was that Prisoner Zero?”
Captain Who - The Snowmen (for @everything-person )
“Snow that can remember? That’s silly.” Was she teasing him? Bloody hell.
“What’s wrong with silly?” He felt a smile tug his lips despite his sour mood. Bloody hell this mood had lasted longer than some of his previous regenerations.
“Nothing. I’m still talking to you.” There it was again. That smirk in her voice, the light in her eyes. A century or two ago, he would have thought she was flirting, but that wasn’t possible anymore. Was it?
“What’s your name?” His manners were a little rusty, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Emma.” Her smile grew brighter.
“That’s a nice name. Emma.” He turned to return home. “You should definitely keep it.”
How I Met Your Mother
“Didn’t my sister tell you? I was able to catch an earlier flight.” She asked and she draped her coat on the chair. “What’s going on?”
The door burst open as a red haired woman tumbled in. She was followed by a tall muscular blond man with a sandwich nearly falling from his mouth as he navigated the steps. “Liam! Elsa gets in early! Oh…hey Elsa!”
Cordially Invited
“It’s why I came looking for you, Captain. You requested my last two dances, did you not?” She smiled mischievously and handed him her dance card. K Jones was written in the last two entries.
Kaos
Granny, Ruby, and Leroy were having a heated argument when a disembodied female voice interrupted: I’m having trouble understanding you. Playing Shake it Off by Taylor Swift.”
A song filled the dining room and Leroy tugged something from deep in his pockets. “No!” He growled at the talking phone.
Only Murders in the Building
"I swear if you apologize for that, I'll make you wait 10 more years." She rasped.
He rested his forehead against her and chuckled quietly. "I would despair if you did."
Sparkling Cyanide
Six people were thinking about Regina Mills-Gold who had died nearly a year ago.
Citadel
The metal scraping of a chair on the floor made Killian’s eyes throb in pain. Bloody hell. His head was already pounding.
Archie sat across from him and leaned his trusty umbrella against his chair. “Alright, Agent Jones, care to tell me what happened?”
Killian closed his eyes and focused his glare on the inside of his eyelids. “I told you already.” He took a breath and met eyes like chips of ice. “I returned home with my wife.”
Archie drew out his tablet and a pen as he began tapping on a screen. “Right. And who would that be?”
“Olivia Rogers.” He replied.
Parabellum
In the ashes of his happiness something else took shape. If he couldn’t be a better man for her, he could become their worst nightmare.
They should have left him in peace.
Untitled Mashup
"My father loved Egypt so much, he married my mother, who was an Egyptian" Killian Jones to Emma Swan after drinking rum for the first time.
@teamhook ’s Christmas
Someone like Emma deserved better. She deserved a better man that he had been or could hope to be. Maybe, he could give her back her sibling.
I’m Wishing
He chuckled at the odd turn of phrase, but before he could inquire about the relevance of the temperature, the door opened to a stooped, wrinkled old woman with stringy gray hair looking painted. What had Ruby called it? A cartoon?
Death on the Nile
She tilted her head to look at her husband. He truly was beautiful in the sunlight. His big blue eyes sparkled at her when he smiled. She traced the tip of one elven ear with her fingertip and laughed when he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. For a few moments, she allowed herself to be swept away by the depth of love she saw reflected back in his eyes.
Code: Omega
Killian sighed when his cubicle mate, Ariel, brought him coffee and a danish from her coffee run. "Lass, if Eric doesn't propose soon, we should talk."
"Ha!" She grinned. "You'd never be able to afford me."
"A man can dream." He chuckled. "You are an angel. Thank you."
Aunt Soolie
“Natural?” West looked furious. “Well it might be natural for a sardine, but this girl’s father put me in charge of making sure she grows up to be a proper lady. Which is why tomorrow at 8 o’clock, I’ll be taking this girl to St Meissa Academy and you will only get your depraved hands on her Christmas and summer and I wish I could find a way to stop you from that!”
Blind Date
Emma pressed against him as he drove to the restaurant. She caught the tip of his ear between her teeth and he nearly drove into the other lane. “God your scruff is so sexy. I wanna know how it feels between my legs.”
Traveling Storm
Late that afternoon, they arrived at a clearing and he felt panic set in. A woman grabbed a young girl with blonde curls, but the child slipped past to run away from the house. “Papa!” she shrieked over and over before Teach picked her up and walked back inside. The woman shouted and ran for him, but he grabbed her by the throat and took them both inside.
Pet for Rent, Chapter 1/4 (The Meet Cute) A CS Modern AU Story
For those of you who read "Sowing Seeds of Trust", you might remember that my dog Zeke had a starring role in it. To my great heartbreak, he died of cancer last June. When we rescued him, the shelter had named him Ernie, and he will be referenced with that name in this story.
Life without a dog proved to be very lonely, so at the end of August, we rescued another dog. The sad story of the dog in this story is what really happened to our new dog. He was named Norman and we renamed him Winston, just like in the story. That's actually him in the pic set with his 'ducky'.
This was supposed to be a short, sweet story, but somehow turned into 4 chapters. Updates will be once a week.
Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom and also to @beckettj and @zaharadessert for helping me understand the football (soccer) system in England.
SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.
RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)
WORDS: 7754
ALSO POSTED TO A03 & FFN
Story begins under the cut
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Emma Swan flopped down onto her sofa with a sigh. Since their beloved dog Ernie died three weeks ago, she had come to dread her eight-year-old son Henry’s bedtime. Every night when he said his prayers, he ended with, “God, please tell Ernie I love him and miss him, and please send me another dog. Amen.”
Her son knew the chances of getting a dog were slim to none because of his soccer practices and games, and Emma’s schedule for her new job at the sheriff’s station. They had no time to train a puppy.
Understanding why he couldn’t have a dog didn’t make his heart hurt any less. Her heart was just as broken, knowing the sadness and loneliness Henry was experiencing.
After decompressing for a few minutes, Emma’s searching hand located her phone on the end table. She unlocked it and opened her Discord app, selecting the icon representing the parents’ group of Henry’s second grade class. Sitting up a little straighter, she typed a message: Does anyone have ideas of how to help Henry get over the loss of his dog? He keeps praying for a new one, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog to get one with our busy schedule.
She watched the screen intently for a couple of minutes, but when no names appeared to show that someone was answering, she tossed the phone onto the couch and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.
Forty minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, going through her nightly routine and changing into her pajamas, she went back into the living room. Television held no interest for her, and realizing she finished her last library book the previous evening, she picked up her phone to mindlessly play a game. Upon unlocking it, her screen opened to the Discord page and she saw three replies to her question.
The first two simply expressed sympathy for the loss of Ernie, but the third one offered a helpful suggestion. Have you thought about ‘renting’ a dog for a day? The animal shelter just outside of town offers that option. We did it for my mother when her Maltese died. The post ended with the web address for the shelter.
Emma immediately pulled up the site and, after searching the homepage, clicked on the tab for ‘services’. Scrolling down the list, she saw ‘Rent-a-Pet’ and selected it. As she read the description of how the program worked, she idly twisted strands of blonde hair around her index finger.
It sounded like a great compromise for their situation. For a donation to the shelter in the form of money, bags of pet food, treats or toys, one of the available animals could come home with them for several hours. The dogs and cats were guaranteed to be docile and house-trained, and could be adopted by the ‘renter’, if desired.
Clicking on the link taking her to the bios of the pets currently housed at the shelter, she filtered it to include only canines. Pictures of nearly two dozen dogs filled the screen, each more adorable and aww-worthy than the last.
Quickly ruling out any that were guaranteed to shed fur all over her house or were bigger than her son, her search was narrowed to nine prospects. She knew her rambunctious son would be keen to play outside with the dog and walk him or her to Storybrooke’s dog park, so a tiny fru-fru pup was out of the question, too. That left six.
She selected one at a time, reading about their breed and temperament. When she brought up the picture of the fourth candidate, the big, chocolate brown eyes and happy expression nearly made her heart melt.
‘Norman’ was a mixed breed and very little was known about him, because he was found tied to a stop sign in the middle of Portland, Maine. He was guessed to be a cocker spaniel mix and was approximately 1-2 years old. His black fur looked sleek and Emma knew he probably wouldn’t shed. A short video showed him romping and playing with another dog in the fenced play yard of the shelter.
Saving the page, she brought up the calendar on her phone and checked their schedule for the rest of the week. Henry had an early soccer game on Saturday, which would be over by 10:30, leaving the rest of the morning and afternoon free. Switching back to the shelter website, she hit the ‘Rent-a-Pet’ button again and began filling in the information, selecting ‘Norman’ when it gave her the choice of animals.
She decided not to tell Henry about the plan, opting to surprise him with it instead.
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
“Great game, kid,” Emma complimented her son, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Your pass to Avery was a nice assist. That goal turned out to be the game winner.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Henry grinned around his mouthful of granola bar. “That’s the first time all season we beat the orange team.”
“I know, and I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Emma fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket, before picking up her lawn chair and water bottle.
“Are we gonna get ice cream?” he asked, before cramming the rest of his snack into his mouth.
“You just ate a granola bar and a banana, and lunch will be in just an hour or so,” she laughed. “I have something else in mind.”
“Whaisit?” he queried, the unswallowed food muffling his voice.
“Well, I know how much you miss Ernie, and Violet’s mom told me about a program at the animal shelter that lets you rent a pet for a few hours,” she answered slowly, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. “So, I signed up to get a dog for you to play with until three o’clock this afternoon.”
Henry stopped in his tracks, swallowing down the rest of his snack as his eyes grew wide. “Really? You can do that?”
“Yeah, we’re scheduled to pick him up at eleven. What do you think about that?”
His exuberant shout of joy and sprint to the car was all the answer she needed.
🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
Emma couldn’t keep up with her son once he unstrapped his safety belt, exited the car and bounded toward the front door of the shelter. He was already ringing the little bell on the counter for service before she made it inside and chided him lightly for not waiting for her.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and light blue eyes entered through a door, the barking of dogs stifled when it clicked shut behind him. He gave them a dazzling smile and greeted them warmly with a hearty ‘good morning’.
Emma reached forward to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan and this is my son, Henry.”
“David Nolan,” he responded, shaking her hand, then doing the same with Henry.
“My teacher’s name is Mrs. Nolan, the same as yours,” the boy told him.
“You wouldn’t happen to be in second grade at Storybrooke Elementary, would you?” David asked.
“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.
“Ah, well, that means your teacher is my wife!”
“Wow, cool!” Henry exclaimed. “She’s the best teacher I ever had!”
David’s grin grew even wider. “That’s good to hear. She tells me all about her students every evening and she thinks yours is the best class she’s ever had!”
“It’s quite a coincidence, meeting you here,” Emma commented with a smile.
“I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret I met the two of you. Now, what can I do for you today?”
Emma pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen a few times. Then she laid it on the counter and turned it to show David. “I signed up for the Rent-a-Pet program. Here’s the email with my confirmation.”
David peered down at the screen and used his finger to scroll down a bit. “I see you chose Norman,” he commented, looking up at her.
“Um, yeah. Is he a good dog? I don’t want any messes in my house or car.”
“He’s a great dog,” he assured her, reaching back to the wall behind him to lift a leash off of a hook. “Gets along well with other dogs, seems to love kids, and is generally a very happy little guy.”
Henry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we take him to the dog park? Ernie always loved going to the dog park.” His countenance dropped, a small cloud of sadness passing across his features.
David shared an understanding look with Emma. “Of course you can take him. I’m sure he will love it! Would you like to come back with me to get him?”
The boy turned to look at his mother. “Can I?”
“Sure, kid. I think I’ll come back, too, if Mr. Nolan doesn’t mind.”
“The more, the merrier,” David said cheerfully.
He waited until they joined him on the other side of the counter, then opened the door to the large room full of animal cages. Immediately, the sound of barking, howling and meows filled their ears.
“They get very excited when they know someone is coming back here. I think the animals closest to the door are spies and tell the others,” David joked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.
Emma walked behind Henry, watching him turn his head left and right to peer at the occupants of all of the pens.
“Aw, Mom, look at that little puppy! He’s so cute! Aw, that dog seems sad. I bet he doesn’t like being in a cage. Look Mom, they have cats here, too.” His litany was continuous as they slowly walked down the aisle between the enclosures.
Finally, David stopped in front of a pen and turned to them, gesturing toward the dog inside. “This is Norman. He has a sad story, but he’s kept his sweet temperament, haven’t you, boy?”
As if in answer, the black dog stood up, his tail starting to wag as he realized the man was talking about him. Henry dropped to his knees in front of the cage, placing his hands against the wire. “Hi, Norman! My name is Henry. Would you like to come home with us for a little while?” The dog’s tail was wagging so fast, his entire body wiggled. “I think he understands me, Mom!” Henry said excitedly.
As David slipped inside the pen to clip the leash to Norman’s collar, Emma asked, “Has he ever been rented before?”
“Several times,” David answered, straightening up once he had the leash attached. “He’s always done really well.” Opening the door of the kennel again, he allowed the dog to go ahead of him, out to where the boy still knelt.
“Hi, boy,” Henry crooned, running his hands over the dog’s head.
Emma bent down and stroked the sleek fur on Norman’s back and sides. “He’s so soft,” she commented.
“He appears to have the coat of a cocker spaniel,” David said, “but he’s definitely a mixed breed.” He watched the boy and dog interact for a few seconds before holding out the looped end of the leash. “Would you like to lead him out to the lobby, Henry?”
He looked up at Emma with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay, Mom?”
“How is he on a leash?” she asked David. “He won’t pull my kid’s arm out of the socket, will he?”
David laughed. “He does fairly well, but if he gets excited, he can get pretty rambunctious. He’ll be fine just going to the lobby, but you might have to walk him out to your car instead of Henry.”
“Sounds like a deal, kid,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.
Henry eagerly accepted the leash and started off down the aisle. “Come on, Norman. Come on, boy. You’re gonna like it at our house. We still have some of Ernie’s toys and balls.”
Emma and David trailed behind. “How long ago did you lose your dog?” he asked.
“Almost a month and Henry is really struggling with it. He and Ernie were best buds.”
“I’m sorry. That’s rough, especially for a kid.”
“And his mom,” Emma added. “I never realized how much I loved that dog, until he got sick and I knew we were going to lose him.”
“Hopefully, Norman will give you both a few hours of enjoyment and help ease the heartache a bit,” David said, before hurrying forward to pull the door open for Henry and the dog.
While David printed off the paperwork, Norman sniffed around Henry, who sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling when the dog licked his ears. “Ernie used to do that too, remember, Mom?”
Emma smiled down at him. “Yeah, you must have very tasty ears. Maybe you should start washing them better.”
“I won’t need to, after Norman washes them!”
She turned back to finish signing the papers. “It’s nice to hear him laughing again. He hasn’t done much of that lately,” she confided to David.
“I think this will be good for both of you and Norman. He really likes being around people. I’m very surprised he hasn’t been adopted yet.”
“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”
David shrugged. “This tends to be a slow time of the year for adoptions. Summer is over and school is back in session, so people don’t have as much time to welcome a new dog into their house.”
“That’s the boat we’re in right now,” Emma commented.
“Once it gets closer to Christmas, people will come in looking for pets to give as gifts. That’s good, but also bad, because about a quarter of them are brought back when they realize a pet is more work than they anticipated.”
“We got Ernie from the shelter when Henry was two. He was already five years old, house-trained and had all of the annoying puppy behaviors out of his system.”
“Most people want puppies instead of adult dogs, but there are a lot of advantages to getting an older dog.”
“Norman doesn’t seem to be very old.”
“I’d say at least two, but he’s pretty chill. Once he runs out of energy, he becomes a couch potato.” David collected the paperwork and tapped it on the counter to straighten it. “Well, that’s all I need from you. Norman is yours until three o’clock.”
“Yay!” Henry shouted, causing the dog to start barking.
Emma reached down to take the leash. “Don’t get him all riled up right before we put him in the car, kid.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Henry apologized. “I just can’t wait to get him home! Can he sit in the back with me?”
“Sure, but first you need to thank Mr. Nolan.”
Henry popped up from the floor and looked back at David. “Thanks, Mr. Nolan! I’ll take good care of Norman, I promise!”
“My pleasure, Henry. Have fun!” David grinned.
Mother and son exited the building, with Norman leading the way, tugging excitedly on the leash. “Slow down, pup,” Emma laughed.
Henry ran ahead to open the door of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle, sliding the front seat forward and clambering into the back. As soon as Norman reached the car, he hopped in and sat on the seat beside Henry like he’d done it every day of his life.
“Well, that was easy,” Emma commented, removing the loop of the leash from her wrist and tossing it beside the dog. After closing the door, she circled around behind the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and choked up at the sight meeting her eyes. Henry had his arms wrapped around Norman’s neck with his eyes closed and his head resting against the dog’s.
Emma was sure the time with Norman was going to be good for both boy and dog, but she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when it came time to bring him back to the shelter.
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Emma was barely able to get Henry to eat when they got home, and had to reprimand him for sneaking Norman bits of his sandwich. The dog, for his part, sat politely while they ate, not begging or whining. She was impressed with his behavior, remembering how she had to break Ernie from begging at the table when they first adopted him.
Henry and Norman bonded quickly as they chased each other around the small backyard, playing with a tennis ball and squeaky toys from Ernie’s toy basket. Emma sat on their small patio, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of happy barking and her son’s laughter. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, posting it to the Discord group and tagging Violet’s mom to thank her for the idea of renting a pet.
Just after two o’clock, Emma suggested taking Norman to the dog park before going back to the shelter. They played there for forty minutes, then the three of them returned home and piled back into the car. Once again, she caught sight in the mirror of her son hugging the dog and sighed, but instead of dreading Norman’s return, she decided to enjoy every minute of happiness it was bringing to Henry…and herself.
Their time with the dog was over all too soon. After Emma parked the car at the shelter, Henry got out of the car and trudged to the door with the leash gripped tightly in his hand. Norman seemed to sense the boy’s mood and walked slowly beside him, his head hanging low.
David was at the desk to greet them again, an understanding look at his face at the dejected look of all three of them. “Was he good for you?” he asked.
“He was great,” Emma answered, rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back. “Wasn’t he, kid?”
“Yeah,” Henry quietly agreed, his eyes trained on the floor.
“You know, you’re welcome to rent Norman, or any of our other dogs, anytime you want,” David said.
Henry looked up. “But what if someone adopts him?”
“Well, that would be a good thing for Norman,” Emma reminded him.
“I guess,” Henry sighed. He knelt down beside the dog, wrapping him up in another hug. “I’ll miss you, boy, but maybe I’ll see you again.” The dog licked his cheek, eliciting a small giggle. Then Henry stood and held the leash out to David. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I had a lot of fun with Norman.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” David said, accepting the leash and moving around the counter. Patting the dog on the head, he added, “I hope we’ll see you again, soon.”
Henry turned pleading eyes to his mother. “Can we do it again next weekend, Mom?”
“You have Avery’s birthday party next Saturday, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Henry nodded, then bit his lip in contemplation. “The next weekend, then?”
Emma laughed. “We’ll see.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s head. “Be a good boy, Norman. You’re welcome at our house anytime.”
After saying their goodbyes, they watched David take the dog toward the door leading to the back. Norman turned and gave them a sad look before following the shelter worker through it, tearing at Emma’s heart even more.
She swallowed hard and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”
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The sadness soon wore off and for the next several days, Henry talked almost incessantly about all of the fun he had with Norman. Emma checked their schedule and saw that Henry had another early game three weeks later, which would be the last game of the soccer season. She relayed that news to Henry, asking him if he wanted to rent Norman again that day, and was answered with a very enthusiastic ‘YES!’
She nearly forgot to make the reservation, only remembering three days before, while waiting to pick Henry up from practice. Quickly, she pulled up the website and filled out the form, glancing up often to see if Henry was coming off the field because she always liked to meet him as soon as he did, instead of waiting for him in the car.
Emma was especially glad they decided to rent Norman Saturday, since Henry’s soccer team lost their final game by one goal. His downcast look was soon replaced with excitement when she reminded him that they would be going to the shelter.
When they arrived, he bounded out of the car and waited impatiently for his mom to join him, before practically sprinting to the door. It took a couple of minutes before David emerged from the back, beaming a smile when he saw them waiting at the counter.
“Henry! Emma! I’m very happy to see you again!”
“We’re here to get Norman,” Henry said excitedly.
A puzzled look crossed David’s face. “I’m sorry, but Norman is already being rented by somebody else today,” he informed them.
“What?” Henry asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Then he turned to Emma. “But Mom, you said we would be getting Norman.”
Emma was already pulling the email up on her phone. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Nolan. I reserved Norman when I filled out the form. See?”
She turned her phone for the worker to see it. David looked at it carefully, then pointed to the screen. “It looks like you didn’t ask for a specific dog.”
“I didn’t?” she questioned, then looked at her phone more closely, her heart dropping when she saw the blank space beside the ‘requested animal’ inquiry. “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry when I filled it out and I must have missed that question.”
“We have several other dogs,” David consoled. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun with one of them.”
“No I won’t,” Henry pouted. “I only want Norman.”
“Henry…” Emma started, but was interrupted when the door behind her opened.
“Good morning, Dave,” said a deep voice with a distinctive British accent.
Emma turned to see the newcomer and nearly swallowed her tongue. The man standing before her had to be a mirage, because surely someone that handsome didn’t really exist. He had a lean physique clad in dark jeans and a maroon henley, with a tantalizing view of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned neckline. A black leather jacket completed his ensemble. His chiseled jawline was covered with a pleasing amount of scruff and his dark, windblown hair was falling over his forehead. He sported a wide grin and, between that and his deep blue eyes, Emma was mesmerized.
She was suddenly very aware of her own appearance. Henry’s early game meant she had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, donned an old hoodie and stuffed a beanie over her barely brushed hair that morning. Her face was free of makeup, unless you counted a few stray flecks of mascara that stubbornly refused to come off when she washed her face the previous evening.
“Hey, Killian,” David greeted.
The man’s - Killian’s - eyes had settled on Emma, a glint of curiosity evident in them.
“Oh, um, come on Henry,” she said, after several moments of silence. “Let’s get out of this man’s way.”
“But Mommmm…” he whined.
Emma put her hand on his shoulder and guided him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”
“I’m in no hurry, Miss,” Killian began.
“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m afraid I created a problem that might take a while to straighten out, so please, go ahead.”
“In that case, thank you very much,” he smiled. Turning his eyes to David, he asked, “Is Winston ready?”
Emma was surprised to see the genial shelter worker furrow his brow at the other man. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”
Killian shrugged. “He looks like a Winston to me, and he answers to that name when he’s at my house.”
David glanced at Emma and Henry and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Grabbing a leash off of a hook, he said, “Give me a minute,” then he pushed the door open and disappeared into the back.
“Are you adopting a dog today?” Henry asked Killian.
“Alas, no. I just moved into a small apartment here three months ago and am still trying to get everything organized and put away. Being in a new town has been a bit lonely at times, so I’ve been coming here now and then to borrow a dog for a few hours.”
“That’s why we’re here, but somebody is taking the dog I want,” Henry grumbled.
“Henry, that’s enough,” Emma reprimanded. “You haven’t even looked at any of the other dogs.”
“None of them will be as good as Norman.”
Killian’s brows raised. “Did you say Nor-”
Just then, the door behind the counter opened and David came through, trying to control a very excited dog.
“Norman!” Henry cheered, dropping to his knees. The dog started jumping toward him, wildly licking his face as soon as he reached the boy.
“I thought you said he was already rented today,” Emma questioned David.
“He is,” he replied, looking pointedly at Killian.
Emma followed his gaze and saw the other man watching the interaction between Henry and the dog with a sheepish look on his face. The pieces began to click together and she asked, “Wait a minute - is Norman the dog you’re renting today?”
“Aye,” Killian confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re here for the same dog.”
“But you called him by another name,” Emma continued.
“He’s the dog I’ve rented every time and he just doesn’t seem like a Norman to me, so I started calling him Winston,” Killian explained.
All three adults stood looking at the whirlwind of fur jumping all over Henry, who was giggling so much, he could hardly catch his breath.
Finally, Killian spoke. “It seems as though Win-, I mean, Norman, has made his choice. Please let Henry and…his mother have the dog today, Dave.”
“Emma,” she informed him. “My name is Emma Swan, and you don’t have to do that. You had him reserved first. Besides, Henry needs to learn he can’t always have his way.”
“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my time with the dog, knowing how sad it would make Henry,” Killian responded. He took a step forward and offered Emma his hand to shake. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”
As they shook hands, David cleared his throat. “Um, I have an idea of how to work this out. It’s a nice day, so why don’t all of you take Norman to the dog park together?”
Emma and Killian both whipped their heads around to stare at him. He seemed to shrink back a bit before stammering, “I mean, that way you could all spend time with him and get to know each other at the same time. You’ve been saying you’d like to meet more people in Storybrooke, Killian, and that’s where Henry and Emma live.” Looking at Emma, he added, “I’ve gotten to know Killian pretty well because he sings in the church choir with me and Mary Margaret. He’s a good guy.”
Emma slowly turned her eyes back to the very handsome man whose hand she suddenly realized she was still holding. She dropped it quickly, as she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Then she looked at Henry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman sprawled across his lap. He was looking up at her with hope in his eyes.
Meeting Killian’s gaze once again, she asked, “What do you think?”
“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Emma.”
“You wouldn’t have to go all the way back into Storybrooke,” David said. “There’s a small dog park at the end of the walking path, where a lot of people take dogs they’re thinking of adopting.”
“Please, Mom?” Henry pleaded. “Norman would like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”
Emma took a look at the pair and groaned, “It’s bad enough when you use the puppy dog eyes on me, kid. Now you’ve got the dog doing it, too.”
Killian chuckled lowly, the sound of it making Emma’s stomach flip in a very pleasant way. “I would hate to disappoint the two of them, so I’m game if you are, lass.”
Emma chewed her lip in contemplation for a few seconds, before saying, “Okay, but on one condition - you let me pay half of the rental fee.”
“I already paid the fee online,” Killian said.
“So did I, so I guess that takes care of that.”
“Not really,” David said. “You both paid, but you’re only renting one dog. I should reimburse each of you half of the fee.”
“Keep it,” Emma and Killian answered at the same time, then both laughed.
“The shelter can always use a little extra money, can’t it, Mr. Nolan?” Emma asked.
“Please call me David. And of course we can, if you’re both sure you don’t mind.”
As soon as they affirmed their answer, David walked around the counter and picked up the end of the leash. Handing it to Emma, he said, “In that case, Norman-slash-Winston is yours for the next four hours. You can bring him back sooner, if you like, but I’m sure he’s going to love getting out for a while. Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s usually a couple of food trucks near the dog park on Saturdays. Have fun!”
Emma and Killian thanked him, then went out the door with Norman straining at the leash, and Henry skipping along beside him. They quickly found the sign marking the path and started walking it.
After several paces, Killian turned to Emma and asked, “Is it me, or do you feel like David just set us up?”
“One hundred percent,” Emma laughed.
“How long have you known him?”
“David?” she questioned. At his hum of affirmation, she said, “Henry and I rented Norman three weeks ago and that was the first time I met him. David, I mean, not Norman. Well, it was the first time we met Norman, too. His wife is Henry’s teacher. Again, I mean she’s David’s wife, not Norman’s.” She knew she was rambling, but the thought of spending several hours with the gorgeous stranger was making her nervous.
Killian laughed. “That’s a relief. I borrowed Win-, uh, Norman three times and he never once mentioned being married.”
It was Emma’s turn to laugh - mostly because what he said was funny, but also in relief that he responded to her embarrassing prattling with humor, instead of judgment.
“So, if Dave just met you, he probably doesn’t even know if you’re married or dating anyone. That was a little presumptuous of him.”
“Are you fishing for information, Mr. Jones?” Emma teased.
“Killian will do,” he grinned. “And…perhaps?”
Before she could answer, Henry ran back to join them. “Can I take Norman, Mom? He’s walking really well on the leash, so I don’t think he’ll yank my arm out of the socket.”
She looked at Killian, who raised an eyebrow with a bemused look on his face.
“That’s something I said when we picked Norman up the last time,” she explained. Handing the loop of the leash to Henry, she said, “Don’t get too far ahead of us, kid.”
“We won’t,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Emma turned her attention back to the man beside her. “To answer your non-question Killian, no, I am not married or dating anyone. It’s just Henry and me, and always has been. When I told his father I thought I might be pregnant, he didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if I was or not.”
Killian absorbed this news for a few moments before responding, “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if the two of you might be better off without someone like that, anyway.”
“Oh, definitely. Henry is more mature at eight than his sperm donor was as an adult. I was young and foolish, but I had to grow up fast once I became a single mother.” She watched her son trying to get Norman to walk beside him, then turned to look at Killian. “Sorry, that is a lot more information than I’m sure you wanted to know.”
“No need to apologize, Emma. I did ask, in a roundabout way.”
“So what’s your story? Did you move here from England, or am I misreading your accent?”
“You got it right,” he chuckled, then took a deep breath. “There was nothing left for me in England. My brother moved here soon after our mother died two years ago, and once I found out my girlfriend was actually a married woman, I needed a fresh start.”
“Ouch,” Emma commented.
“Aye, and now I’ve probably shared more than you wanted to know.”
“We’ll call it even, and promise to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the day,” Emma said.
“Deal.”
“You said your brother moved here. Does that mean he lives in Storybrooke?”
“Aye, he followed his heart and it led him straight to this quaint little town.”
“Who does he date, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He’s engaged to the town librarian, Belle French.”
“Liam is your brother? I guess I should have figured that out since your last name is Jones.”
“It’s a very common name, lass. Yes, Liam is my brother. I gather you know him?”
“Belle is one of my best friends, so I know him through her. She used to babysit for Henry quite often, when I was a waitress at Granny’s.”
“Ah, the famous Granny’s Diner!” Killian exclaimed. “I visit that establishment frequently. She makes the best lasagna.”
“I think you meant to say the best grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma grinned mischieviously.
“I’ve yet to try those particular delicacies,” he smirked.
“Try them,” she advised. “I guarantee you’ll love them.”
Looking ahead, they saw they were nearing the dog park and picked up their pace. They caught up with Henry and Norman just before reaching the entrance. There were about a half-dozen dogs running around the park, some loose and others on leashes.
“I think it would be a good idea for Mr. Jones to take Norman before we go in,” Emma told Henry. “He’ll be able to control him better if he gets too excited.”
“Okay,” Henry said, willingly handing over the leash.
“Thanks, lad,” Killian smiled.
Henry went through the first gate, holding it open for his mom, followed by Killian and Norman. When they were all in the buffer zone, Henry opened the next gate leading into the main part of the park.
“You’re raising quite the gentleman, Emma,” Killian commented, after he entered with the dog.
“He has his moments.”
They all watched Norman as he began sniffing around excitedly, then pulling on the leash when he noticed the other canines sharing his space. He nearly yanked Killian off of his feet with his enthusiasm to meet new friends.
The next twenty minutes were spent chasing the dog and trying to settle him down. After a few of the other owners left with their animals, Henry found a tennis ball and engaged Norman in a game of fetch. The adults sat on a bench to observe the pair, laughing at the clumsiness of the dog.
Emma noticed Killian rubbing his shoulder. “Alright there, Jones?”
“I think he might have pulled my arm out of the socket, Swan,” he quipped.
“Very funny, smart guy,” she said, making him laugh again. They watched for a few more minutes before Emma asked, “Do you have a job in Storybrooke? I started working at the sheriff’s station three months ago and I don’t remember seeing you around town.”
“I’m an architect. I was able to keep my job with the firm in England by working online and attending meetings with clients and my colleagues via Zoom. All of my time is spent in my office at home. It’s not ideal, but I appreciate my boss being willing to make concessions for me.”
“Do you plan to get a job here eventually?”
“Aye, if I decide to stay.”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Living in Storybrooke has been quite an adjustment.”
“I get that. We moved here from Boston when Henry was two. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, was our neighbor there, and when she decided to move back, she talked me into coming with her. At first, I had a hard time getting used to the peace and quiet. That was one reason why I adopted Ernie - just to have a little more noise in the house.”
“Ernie?” Killian questioned.
“Oh, he was our dog. We had him for six years, but he died a couple of months ago.” She pulled her phone out of the pouch of her hoodie and swiped to reveal her lock screen. “This is a picture of Henry with him.”
“Beautiful animal,” Killian commented sincerely, taking in the photo of the brown and white spaniel. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Emma sighed, locking her phone and returning it to the pocket. “Henry grew up with him and he’s had a really hard time with it. Someone suggested renting a pet from the shelter to help him work through it, and that’s how we ended up renting Norman.”
“They seem to really like each other.”
“Yeah, they got along great the first time. That’s why I signed up to get him again, but I was in a hurry when I filled out the form and forgot to ask for a specific dog.”
“Ah, that explains the mix-up,” Killian remarked.
Another half hour passed while they chatted easily, until Henry came over and flopped down on the ground, quickly joined by Norman. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can we get something to eat?”
“Sure, kid. Put Norman back on his leash and we’ll go find those food trucks Mr. Nolan mentioned.”
They soon located the food trucks just down the sidewalk from the park. After discussing their options, they decided to get pulled pork sandwiches from the barbeque place. It was obvious that people who took their pets to the dog park frequented the food trucks, because each one had bowls of water set out in front of them and containers of dog biscuits on their condiment tables.
While they waited for their food, Henry tried to teach Norman to sit, rewarding him with pieces of the biscuits when he obeyed.
“He’s very good with him,” Killian noted.
“He prays for another dog every night, but our schedule is so busy right now. Plus, it’s such a big responsibility and I’m not sure Henry is ready for it. I might be wrong about that though, seeing how he is with Norman.”
After eating, they followed the sidewalk a little further and spotted a playground. Emma and Killian sat on a bench, with Norman sitting between them as they watched Henry play on the equipment.
“You know, we’ve lived in Storybrooke for six years and I never knew this playground existed,” Emma commented. “We don’t come this way very often, because whenever we go out of town, we take the road going south.”
“It appears to be fairly new,” Killian observed. “Perhaps they constructed it when they built those apartments over there, because they don’t look like they’ve been there very long.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I remember when they were being constructed a couple of years after we moved here, which means they’re less than five years old.”
They lost sight of Henry for a few seconds when he climbed a ladder up into a tower. Suddenly they heard him shout, “Hey, Mom! Look what I found!” and saw him coming down a twisting slide with his arms over his head, clutching a tattered looking soccer ball.
He landed at the bottom and came running over to them. “Someone must have forgotten this at the top of the tower. Wanna kick it around with me?”
“Sure, kid,” Emma answered, hopping up from the bench. “It looks a bit deflated. Are you sure it’s even going to roll?”
“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. Placing it on the ground, he gave it a kick and watched it roll across the grass. “See?”
A black streak flew past him, with Killian following close behind shouting, “Wins-, I mean, Norman! Come back here!”
The dog ignored him, but stopped when he got to the soccer ball. He was trying to pick it up in his mouth when the three humans reached him. Killian was able to kick it away from him, directly to Emma, who stopped it with her foot, then booted it over to Henry. Norman ran from one to the other, in hot pursuit of the elusive ball.
The ‘keep away’ game kept them entertained for a long time. They ran, shouting instructions to each other and laughing until all of them were completely out of breath. Norman was able to intercept some of their passes, but they always managed to get it away from him before he was able to pick it up and run off.
Finally, Emma declared that she had to take a break. Picking up Norman’s leash, she said, “I think we should take him back to the food trucks to get a drink and buy a couple of bottles of water.”
“Aww, Mom,” Henry complained. “I’m not ready to go yet. Can’t I stay here? Killian will stay with me, won’t you, Killian?”
“First of all, you should call him Mr. Jones, and secondly, you’re putting him on the spot, which isn’t cool,” Emma admonished.
Henry looked appropriately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.”
“Thank you, Henry, but if I may be so bold, I don’t mind you calling me Killian. That is, if it’s okay with your mother.”
Henry looked to his mom, who considered for a few seconds, then gave him a nod of approval.
Killian put his arm across Henry’s shoulders and walked him the short distance to where Emma was standing. “I’d be happy to go get the water, Emma.” He took the end of Norman’s leash from her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
While he was gone, Emma sat on the bench watching Henry continue to kick the soccer ball around. Killian and Norman returned a few minutes later, handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her.
“Do I owe you anything for this?” Emma asked, unscrewing the lid.
“Not at all. I think I can afford to buy a lovely lass a bottle of water.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of the adjective, still rueing the fact she met such a handsome man while looking like she just rolled out of bed. As she was getting ready to take a drink, Henry kicked the ball and sent it sailing over their head, causing Emma to duck and spill some of the water in her lap.
Henry ran over, stopping in front of her. “Oops. Sorry, Mom. I was trying to kick it at the teeter-totter.”
Emma brushed at the water droplets, looking around to locate the teeter-totter, which was at least twenty feet away from the bench. “Not even close, kid.”
Killian stood up. “Perhaps I could give you some pointers, lad. I was a rather good football player when I was younger .”
Henry’s forehead creased in confusion. “I play soccer, not football.”
Killian chuckled as Emma explained, “Killian grew up in England and over there, soccer is called football. They call what we play ‘American football’, don’t they, Killian?”
“Aye, lass. Sorry to confuse you, Henry.”
“Oh, I never knew that. So, how good were you?”
Killian rubbed a finger behind his ear, ducking his head a bit. “I played in a semi-professional league for a couple of years and actually tried out for a professional club, before I decided to go to Uni and become an architect instead.”
“Wow! Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “You probably know even more about soccer than my coach!”
Emma laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows a bit more than a volunteer coach for a youth league team.” She took the dog’s leash back from Killian. “Norman and I will sit this lesson out.”
Killian attempted to wink at her. “As you wish, Milady. Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do.”
She smiled fondly, watching the two of them passing the ball back and forth for a while, before pulling out her phone to catch up on her social media apps.
When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw Killian giving Henry instructions for controlling the ball as he dribbled it down the field. Apparently, they were using two trees as the goal and Henry was moving toward them quickly, while trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the ball under control. When he kicked it from quite a distance away, the ball hit one of the trees and ricocheted away.
Killian went to retrieve the ball and took it back to where Henry was waiting. He squatted down in front of the boy and began talking to him, gesturing now and then to different parts of the field.
Henry listened intently, nodding once in a while. When Killian finished speaking, he stood up and did a short demonstration of how to move the ball back and forth from foot to foot. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder, walked the ball further away from the trees and set it down.
Henry lined himself up behind the ball and looked up at Killian. After getting a reassuring smile from him, Henry started dribbling the ball across the ground with shorter, more controlled kicks, while Killian jogged beside him, shouting encouragement. This time, he got the ball much closer to the trees, before giving it a powerful kick that sent it shooting right between them.
Killian whooped as Henry raised his arms in victory, giving a triumphant cheer. What Emma saw happen next put a lump in her throat. Henry flung his arms around Killian’s waist, hugging him tightly, and Killian returned the hug, rubbing his hand over her son’s head as he looked down at him with a proud smile on his face.
