fanbinding: hello love (a silent kiss from a wish)
a lil bedazzled octavo of a short story from the 2020 Captain Swan January Joy inspired by the wishing star that kicks off the action.
method: modified paperback/sewn boards hybrid technique. sewed the text block normally and sealed with archival tissue and paste mix before drumming on marbled end papers. cover constructed from a sheet of kraft paper and then covered in homemade bookcloth and sealed marble paper.
the bookmark charm was attached to the rear end paper before i drummed it to the back cover. i made the charm after several trips to local craft stores to scavenge something that gave me that wishing star feeling. it's clamped with a jump ring and ribbon clamp.
So. This fic. I was not going to write it. I’ve had little ideas in my head for a while of a CS college/university AU but I didn’t really want to dive into anything new. But then the thing I intended to write for @csjanuaryjoy just began to feel a bit uninspired and uninspiring so I thought what the hell I’ll write down some ideas for a college AU and somehow it turned into this monstrous one-shot. (Yes I know there are one-shots longer, but this is GARGANTUAN for me.) It has some smut and some misunderstandings and miscommunication and mutual pining by the truckload, plus Captain Book because they are my forever BroTP.
I hope you enjoy!!
Gratitude as ever to @thisonesatellite for whipping this into shape and also just general awesomeness.
SUMMARY: Emma Swan does not want to think about Killian Jones. She doesn’t want to think about his eyes or his face or that time he pressed her against a wall at a frat party and made her forget her own name. She definitely does not want to think about that. But when they are partnered with each other on a project they both are determined to ace she can’t avoid him any longer... or the feelings growing between them.
She’s pressed against the wall, the sounds of the party fading into the background as his lips devour hers. He tastes like beer and corn chips and God that shouldn’t turn her on nearly as much as it does. She clutches at his hair as his hand slips beneath her shirt to cup her breast, the other digging into her thigh as she hitches her leg over his hip and grinds against him. He tears his mouth from hers and stares at her, panting, pupils blown, and then she pulls him back down to her lips…
“Miss Swan?”
The sound of the professor’s voice snapped Emma from her memory and back into the small seminar room, made warm and slightly stuffy by the early afternoon sun slanting through its tall windows.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear the question.”
“Perhaps because I didn’t ask you one,” said Professor Gold, fixing her with that unblinking stare of his that had been setting undergrads quaking in their boots for twenty-five years. “I merely wished to confirm that you are in fact present in this classroom. In mind as well as body.”
She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck and had to force herself not to squirm. “Yes, Professor. Sorry.”
Professor Gold stared at her for another painful moment then looked away. Emma sighed in relief. “As I was saying,” the professor intoned. “Your pair research papers will constitute twenty-five percent of your final grade, something I’m sure you are already aware as no doubt you have all read the syllabus with great care and attention.”
Emma could tell her classmates in the Political Science seminar wanted to groan, but didn’t dare do so in front of Professor Gold. As and nor did she.
“I do not wish to have any bickering about choosing partners so I have chosen them for you myself,” Professor Gold continued. “You will find this list—” he held up a sheet of paper “—affixed to my office door should you have need to reconfirm the pairings that I am about to announce.” His gimlet stare swept the room. “Are there any questions?”
There weren’t.
He nodded. “Excellent. Now, Mr Booth, your partner will be...”
Emma listened as the professor read out names, trying not to fidget but feeling herself grow increasingly tense as name after name was called but none were hers… or his.
“…and last, but I feel quite certain—despite this morning’s momentary lapse—not least, Miss Swan you will be working with Mr Jones.”
Breathe, Emma.
She glanced across the conference table to where Killian Jones sat slouched in his chair. His posture was relaxed but a pink flush began to creep across his cheekbones as he sensed her gaze on him and then his ridiculous eyelashes fluttered and their eyes met.
Memories assailed her again—of those eyes dazed and wanting… her fingers in his hair… his tongue in her mouth… his hand between her legs… She tore her eyes away and focused on her notebook as Professor Gold reminded them of the requirements and due dates for the pair project, then quickly gathered her things and fled the room as soon as he dismissed the class.
She was halfway down the hall before Killian caught up with her.
“Swan!” he called, “Wait!” His fingers snagged the sleeve of her jacket and she spun around and yanked it away.
“What?” she snapped. Knowing she was being ridiculous and that she couldn’t run away or avoid him when he was her damn project partner made her extra defensive.
He looked taken aback by her tone, then resigned. “I just—” he attempted a smile “—I just thought perhaps we should exchange numbers. For the project.”
She scowled. “I’ll see you in class on Tuesday.”
“But we’re going to have to work outside of class as well,” he pointed out. “You heard the crocodile, this is a quarter of our final grade and I don’t know about you but I intend to ace it.”
“The crocodile?”
“Gold.”
“Yeah, I got that from context but why do you call him a crocodile?”
“Don’t you think he looks like one?”
He did a bit, in his cold, reptilian eyes, but she’d be damned if she agreed with Killian Jones about anything. “Not scaly enough,” she retorted, and he laughed, a deep, rich laugh that settled low in her belly and throbbed there.
“So,” he said, still with a wide smile and eyes bright with mirth, “…numbers?”
Emma hesitated, scrambling to come up with a reason, any reason, not to give him her number. “I just—I don’t think—” She stumbled a bit as the light went out of his eyes and his smile faded.
“All right,” he said, taking a pen from a pocket on the side of his satchel and grasping her hand firmly before she could snatch it away. His fingers were warm and slightly rough on the inside of her wrist as he held her hand steady and scribbled some numbers across the back of it. She held her breath, her heart racing, watching the tip of his tongue play at the corner of his lips as he finished writing and looked up, straight into her eyes. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her cheek as it had been that night, his touch on her skin achingly familiar. Emma swallowed through her parched throat and forced the memories away.
Killian blinked rapidly and gave himself a small shake, dropping her wrist like it burned him. He cleared his throat. “There,” he said. “That’s my number. Do with it what you will. But let me reiterate, Swan, we will need to work on this outside of class. I’m going to get an A out of that old reptile if it’s the last thing I do.”
His expression was dark and stubbornly determined, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw. She watched it dance, mesmerised.
He frowned. “Is there something on my face—” he began, then from down the hallway someone called “Jones! Hey, Killian!” and he turned to see who it was.
A leggy brunette sauntered up and kissed Killian’s cheek, then made a production of wiping her lipstick off it with her thumb. “Hey, Ruby,” he greeted her, submitting to both the kiss and the cleanup with a fond smile that made Emma’s teeth grind. “What’s up?”
“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who just agreed to play at my party on Saturday!” Ruby waved her phone under Killian’s nose. “DriftWood! That band, the one we saw at the festival last month, you remember?”
“Aye.” Killian took the phone and smiled as he read the screen. “Ah, brilliant, I liked them.”
“I fucking loved them, gah I can’t wait!” She took her phone back from Killian and did a little dance. “This party is gonna be so amazing. You and Belle are coming, right?”
“Of course, lass, we wouldn’t dare miss it.”
“Smart man.” Ruby grinned her megawatt grin then appeared to notice Emma for the first time. “Hey,” she said. “Um, Emma, isn’t it? Mary Margaret’s roommate?”
“Yeah,” said Emma between clenched teeth, wondering why the hell she was still standing there.
“I thought so. You can come too, if you want. Open invite, and MM will be there.”
“Thanks,” said Emma shortly. “I’m busy.”
“Oh.” Ruby glanced at Killian but he said nothing. “Well, if you change your mind—”
“I won’t. I’ll see you in class on Tuesday, Killian.” She turned and stalked down the hall, fingernails digging into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists to stop them shaking.
~
“Ugh, I don’t know why you like her,” said Ruby, watching Emma disappear around a corner. “She’s such a bitch.”
“She’s not a bitch.” Killian could still feel the softness of Emma’s skin, the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips in tune with his own pounding heart. His whole hand was tingling, and he flexed his fingers absently. “She’s just—closed off. I think she must have been hurt in the past.”
Ruby snorted. “Haven’t we all?”
“I’m not just talking about your girlfriend of five minutes breaking up with you, Rubes,” Killian chided. “I mean real pain.” He saw a lost girl behind Emma Swan’s eyes, someone who’d been left alone. He was all too familiar with how that felt, but it wasn’t something he could talk about with Ruby. “Anyway, never mind,” he said, smiling at her. “Have you had lunch?”
“Why do you think I came to find you?” Ruby grinned as she wrapped both her arms around one of his and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You owe me ten bucks from last weekend and I will totally accept payment in the form of cheeseburgers.”
Killian laughed. “Cheeseburgers it is then.”
~
When Emma got back to her dorm apartment that afternoon she scrubbed Killian’s number off her hand. But not before she programmed it into her phone. Just in case, she told herself. In case she got on a roll with the project and had something to discuss with him before Tuesday’s class. She held her breath as she saved the new contact then turned her phone upside down on the side of the sink as she washed her hands.
She only had one class on Fridays so the next afternoon she went to the library to get started on her research. She was heading back to her table with an armload of books when she caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket in the corner of her eye and ducked back into the stacks just in time to avoid Killian as he walked by. Peeking around the corner of the shelf she saw him sling his satchel onto a table just two away from where she’d left her things and shrug out of his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair.
He wore dark jeans and a grey t-shirt with ‘Bristol Rowing’ in faded letters on the chest and before he sat down he rolled his neck and shoulders, the muscles across his back visibly flexing beneath the worn-thin fabric of his shirt.
“Ugh, seriously have mercy on us,” groaned a voice to her left. Emma turned to see two girls with their heads close together, books clutched against their chests, watching Killian intently.
“He’s just unfair,” said one, by the sound of her voice the same one who had just spoken. “No guy should be allowed to look that good.”
“Right?” replied the other. “He’s in my American Lit class and I swear I want to die every time he talks. That accent. Is he still with that Belle chick, do you know?”
“I think so. I see them together like all the time. Last week on my way to work I saw them going into the history museum, if you can believe it. I guess that’s his idea of a fun date.”
“Ugh. Too bad.”
“So too bad,” agreed the first girl. “I wish she’d share. They can go to boring-ass museums together in the day and then at night I’ll take that home and climb it like a tree.”
“Ride it like a bronco,” giggled the other.
“Bang it like a screen door in a hurricane.” They collapsed against each other, laughing, and Emma saw that Killian had plugged some headphones into his laptop and was tapping his foot as he opened a document. He didn’t even notice his fans, she thought snidely, firmly ignoring the twisty ache of regret threaded with guilt that thinking about Killian’s girlfriend always caused her. When she was certain his attention was fully on his writing and music she slipped quietly into the study area and over to the table where she’d left her things. Quickly gathering them along with the books she’d selected, she headed for the checkout desk. She’d study at home, she thought.
~
Emma worked on her various papers and projects all Friday evening and most of the day Saturday, and late Saturday afternoon found her sitting on the couch in her pajamas with her glasses perched on her nose and her hair in a messy bun, a book balanced on one knee and her laptop on the other, typing frantically, so engrossed that she didn’t notice Mary Margaret until her roommate plopped down on the sofa next to her.
“Are you still working?” she said, by way of greeting.
Emma peered over the tops of her glasses. “I have eighteen credits this semester, MM,” she replied, “it’s a lot of work.”
“I know, but you push yourself too hard,” said Mary Margaret, frowning in that mother-hen way that Emma found both comforting and deeply irritating. “You need to take a break, Emma, or you’ll break yourself. Why don’t you come to Ruby’s party with me, have a night off?”
“I’d rather write all my essays twice,” muttered Emma, glaring at her screen. “The second time in pig latin.”
Mary Margaret’s expression shifted into one of fond exasperation. “Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun!”
“No, it’ll be fun for five minutes then you and David will disappear into a dark corner and I’ll be left alone with Ruby who hates me and—her friends,” retorted Emma.
“Ruby doesn’t hate you!”
“Every time she sees me she pretends we’ve never met before.”
“She—”
“And you know she does, Mary Margaret, you’ve seen it yourself!”
“Well, okay, that’s not very nice,” Mary Margaret conceded, “but she’s really great once you get to know her.”
Emma snorted.
“And what’s wrong with her friends?” Mary Margaret continued, then her eyes narrowed. “Or by ‘friends’ do you actually mean ‘Killian’?”
Emma shrugged. “It’s just… awkward with him.” Seeing him with Belle, she didn’t say.
“What, because you two kissed once? Emma that was way back last semester, he probably doesn’t even remember.”
“He doesn’t.”
“So what’s the proble—oh. Oh. OH. Oh I see.”
“What the hell does that me—”
“You like him.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were wide. “You like him!”
Emma scowled. “No I don’t.”
“Yes you do! You like him and you hate that he doesn’t remember making out with you! Oh my god this explains so much!”
“It doesn’t—look, MM, look.” She closed her laptop and her book and set both on the coffee table, then turned to Mary Margaret with a pleading gesture. “Look,” she said again.
“What? What am I looking at?”
Emma took a deep breath. “Killian and I, we—we didn’t just make out,” she said.
“What!” Mary Margaret’s shriek nearly rattled the windows. “What did you do?”
“He—got me off. With his hand.” She winced as Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped and barrelled on before her roommate could ask any questions. “And I absolutely intended to return the favour, at least,” she said. “Though really what I wanted was to find someplace private where I could fuck him stupid.”
“Well. Naturally.”
“And you’d think,” Emma continued, “that in a damn frat house there would be an empty room somewhere, but on the way to look for one we sort of got distracted by, well…” she waved her hand and Mary Margaret nodded eagerly.
“So what happened?” she asked.
“What happened was the party got busted and everyone scattered. We were in an empty hallway that was suddenly full of people running and in all the confusion we got separated. I looked for him once I got outside but I couldn’t find him and so I just—went home.” Emma shrugged again.
“But—why didn’t you ever talk to him about—”
“I did,” Emma interrupted. “I saw him the next day, outside the library.” With Belle. “And he—well, he made it clear that he didn’t remember, or didn’t think it was anything worth remembering.”
Mary Margaret frowned. “Are you sure? That really doesn’t sound like him. Maybe he was just being—“
“I’m sure,” said Emma flatly. She could still feel the hot humiliation of it, the crushing sensation in her chest when she saw Belle clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’d said. Could still hear the dismissive words he’d spoken, annihilating the fragile hope she’d been stupid enough to let herself feel.
She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat and gave Mary Margaret a tight smile. “So you can see why I’m not exactly eager to be around him,” she said.
Mary Margaret was still frowning. “I guess so,” she replied. “But there will be loads of other people there, you know, it won’t be hard to avoid him. And Ruby’s booked a band that’s supposed to be really good.”
“I know, but—”
“And you could really use a night of fun, sweetie.”
Spending the night dodging Killian and Belle was hardly Emma’s idea of fun, and when you added Ruby to the mix, plus the fact that she wouldn’t be able to drink because she could not trust herself in the vicinity of Killian Jones if she were in any way impaired, and it began to sound like actual hell. She shook her head firmly.
“I’m sorry MM, but I really don’t want to go.”
“But—”
“Look, I’m going to finish this history paper then work for a few hours on my PoliSci research and after that I promise I’ll watch a movie or do something else relaxing, okay?” she said. “You go to the party and have a great time. And tomorrow maybe you and David and I can have lunch together.”
“Well, okay, if you’re sure,” said Mary Margaret, still with her worried frown.
Emma forced a smile. “Definitely. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
~
She texted Killian on Sunday afternoon. As much as she hated to admit it the unavoidable fact was that he was right. They were going to need to meet outside of class to get this paper written if they wanted a decent grade and she was just as determined to get an A as he was. Professor Gold was a notoriously tough grader and even if Emma wasn’t currently rocking a 3.8 GPA with only a semester and some summer classes left before graduation, she would still want to get an A from Gold, just to prove she could. For the challenge.
She had a sneaking suspicion that Killian’s motivation was the same.
She texted him not really expecting a reply; he was surely hung over and in no mood to think about studying, she thought, and so the buzz of her phone less than a minute after she’d sent the text took her by surprise. His message said that he had also made a start on research and was available on Monday afternoon if she wanted to get started on the project. Emma didn’t need to check her schedule to know that she was available at the time he suggested but she did anyway, and debated for several minutes before finally replying that was fine and she’d see him tomorrow.
Her stomach was twisting with nerves when she arrived at the library and saw him waiting for her in front of the check-out desk. He gave her a bright smile which just made it twist harder.
“Hey, Swan. I’ve staked out a carrel for us,” he said.
“Already?”
“I, uh, had some other stuff to work on so I got here an hour or so ago.” He scratched at a spot behind his ear and Emma frowned. He wasn’t lying but her internal lie detector was telling her it wasn’t the whole truth either. There must be another reason he’d gone early to the library.
She followed him up to the fifth floor, where instead of communal study tables small clusters of carrels were scattered among the stacks, a perfect haven for people who preferred to study in solitude. Emma loved it there.
Killian headed straight to a carrel in the farthest corner of the floor, just beneath a large window where sunlight dappled by the early-spring buds of an ancient oak tree made shadow patterns on its scarred wooden surface.
“I hope this is okay,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. His other hand was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans and his shoulders tight with tension, and Emma realised with a jolt of surprise that he was nervous. Flirty, confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance Killian Jones was nervous. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
“It’s good,” she assured him with a small smile. “Perfect actually. I love this corner, it’s so peaceful.”
His smile bloomed again. “That’s it precisely. I come here as often as I can.”
“Mmm, me too.” Emma declined to mention that she’d seen him there more than once and resented his presence in her preferred space. Or that she’d wished, deep down, that they were the kind of friends who could share it.
She swallowed hard as they sat next to each other at the small table, its high walls protecting them from the view of anyone who didn’t expressly look to see if the carrel was free. They were sure as hell sharing the space now, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. Of course, it would help if she could look at his hands without thinking about where they’d been and what they could do there, or his lips without remembering them trailing fire up her neck as she clutched at his hair.
She cleared her throat and looked away. “So,” she said, to fill the silence as she pulled out her books and laptop. “How was the party?”
“Oh, uh, it was fine. Fun. DriftWood was great, and apparently they’ve just been scouted. I have a feeling they’re going to be big.” He shot her a grin. “Selfishly, I hope they are so I can be smug when I tell my grandchildren the tale of how I saw them before they were famous. Beatles at the Cavern Club for our generation.” He laughed, and Emma couldn’t suppress an answering smile.
“You like music then?” she asked.
He nodded, a bit warily. “I do, but I don’t really like talking about it. People get so passionate about what they like and don’t like, and it tends to make them judgemental.”
“Yes!” Emma turned to face him, forgetting her nerves in her excitement at someone saying what she’d always thought. “I hate that so much, when people make judgements about me as a person because of the music I like. So I listen to the Jonas Brothers sometimes, so the fuck what? I listen to other stuff too!”
Killian bit his lip and she froze. Fuck.
“You’re judging me about the Jonas Brothers, aren’t you?” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You so are!”
“Honestly, love—”
“You’re such a hypocrite.” Emma glared at her screen as she opened the document with her project notes, slamming on the keys far harder than necessary. She didn’t see Killian’s hand twitch towards her, just a shiver of movement before he deliberately closed his fist and pulled it back.
“I’m not judging, Swan, truly,” he said. “I agree with you completely, we like what we like and that’s fine.”
Emma shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. “You’d be a lot more convincing if you didn’t look like you were trying not to laugh,” she retorted.
He laughed.
“Oh my God I should never have told you anything,” she groaned, letting her head fall onto the table.
Killian leaned closer, still not touching her but close enough that a tingle spread across her skin at his nearness. “Okay, look, the Jonas Brothers are not something I personally am into, but if it will make you feel better I’ll confess that in certain moods I like to play Taylor Swift at an obnoxiously high volume,” he said, and when she dared to peek up at him his expression was open and earnest.
She sat up. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes. Sometimes I even dance.” He smiled. “Is that an embarrassing enough admission for you?”
“Oh, more than.”
“Good.” His smile widened into a grin, and she felt her own lips curl in response. Their eyes held for a moment, their hearts pounding, until Killian blinked and made a gruff noise in his throat. “Anyway, um, the band.” He opened his laptop and typed in the password. “I chatted with them a bit after their set and they were talking about going on to a club, but I ended up having to leave early because Belle wasn’t feeling well.” Emma stiffened, the smile fading from her face. “Which means I was far less hung over yesterday morning than I expected,” Killian continued, “and was able to spend the afternoon getting started on my research, and—Emma? Are you okay?”
She forced her lips to curve. “Fine,” she replied, “I’m fine. Show me this research.”
He did, and she was surprised by how good it was, then surprised at her surprise. Of course he was good at research, she thought, almost in despair. Everything about him seemed expressly designed to check every box on her ‘perfect man’ list. Everything except his beautiful, smart, elegant, charming, and very nice girlfriend.
He had come up with ideas and conclusions that were exactly in sync with her own, even filling in some of the gaps in the reading she’d done, and in her enthusiasm about finally working with someone whose intelligence and engagement in the project was equal to hers Emma completely forgot her hurt and resentment towards him, forgot Belle, even forgot their kiss. She forgot everything, in fact, except Killian’s smile and the blue of his eyes, his razor-sharp mind and how damned much she enjoyed his company. They talked through the plan for their whole project, divided up the research and brainstormed ideas, and wrote their outline. It was the most productive group project meeting Emma had ever experienced, and when her phone alarm buzzed to remind her of the time she felt genuinely disappointed that it had to end.
“I have a class at four,” she told Killian almost apologetically. “So I should probably be going. Um, do you want—should we check in again on Wednesday?”
He nodded eagerly. “Aye, let’s. Same time and place?”
“Works for me.” She gathered her things together and put them in her backpack, slung it over her shoulder then turned to look at Killian. He was watching her with a soft expression that made her chest flutter and her belly clench.
“This was—well it was—great,” said Emma.
“It really was.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite a team.”
She tried not to smile, but the tug at her own lips was irresistible. “You might be right,” she conceded. “At least for PoliSci projects.”
“It’s a start.” The look in his eyes was so familiar, the same look he’d had at the party. She still remembered it, all of it with perfect clarity, despite all she’d had to drink. The heat in his eyes and how they seemed to caress her face, the way they kept darting to her lips as he licked his own until she couldn’t take any more and had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him upstairs to the empty hallway and giving in to the lust that she’d felt since the first time she saw him.
“Hey, you guys.” They started in surprise and turned to see Belle approaching, strolling gracefully in those towering heels that Emma could never quite get the hang of. Her warm smile encompassed both of them. “How’d the meeting go?” she asked.
“Great.” Killian grinned at her. “We got a lot done.”
“So are you ready for a coffee break?”
“Absolutely, I could use a shot of caffeine. Swan, would you like to join us? You should have time to grab something before your class?”
Emma felt like she’d been doused in icy water, so numbed that she missed the eager note in Killian’s voice, the hopeful yearning in his eyes. Silently she cursed herself for getting caught up, again, in her attraction to him, letting herself forget that there could be nothing between them except this project.
“No,” she snapped, and suppressed a flinch at the looks on their faces. She could hear how rude she sounded and as much as she hated it, she needed that rudeness, needed the distance it put between her and people who had the power to hurt her. People like Killian, who got past all her defences without even trying and left her far too vulnerable. “I should go. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Bye Belle.” She turned and left, forcing herself not to run.
~
Killian watched her go, his heart in his throat and his blood still humming with the effects of two hours spent tucked away with her, so close that he could feel the heat of her skin and smell her hair, and see the gold flecks in her eyes whenever they met his. He felt dazed and off kilter but also triumphant, certain now that everything he’d always suspected about Emma was true—that behind those walls she kept so firmly between herself and everyone else there lay a woman worth knowing. A bloody brilliant woman whose wry sense of humour matched his own and whose perspective and ideas challenged him in a way he couldn’t remember ever being challenged before. It was exhilarating and intoxicating and glorious, and he was so, so fucked. And so not in the way he wanted to be fucked by Emma Swan.
“You know you’re ridiculous, right?” said Belle, observing him with an amused smirk.
He scowled at her. “Are you mocking my pain?”
“I’m mocking your Victorian-maiden pining,” she shot back. “It’s been months since you got off with her and I bet you still think about it every day, don’t you?”
Killian could feel himself turning red. “Maybe.”
“Still sneak glances at her across the table in your seminar, still get coffee every morning at that place you hate because it’s where she goes,” continued Belle.
“Shut up.” Killian shoved his laptop into his satchel and flung it across his shoulder, avoiding Belle’s eyes.
“Still do most of your studying in the library, hoping you’ll see her here.”
“Bloody hell, you make me sound like a stalker,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Belle’s smirk softened into sympathy. “No, just a guy with a serious crush,” she said gently.
“Aaand now I sound fifteen.”
She snorted a laugh. “What you are is smitten, Killian, actually smitten, and that’s not a word I ever thought I’d need to use in real life. It’s adorable and also deeply pathetic.”
“Thanks a lot, mate, you’re always such a comfort to me,” he snarked as they began to walk towards the elevator.
They were halfway to the ground floor before Belle spoke again. “You know you could just ask her out,” she said.
“I did!” Killian threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture. “You were there, and I’m sure you remember that her refusal was pretty unequivocal.” He could still feel the pain of it, of all his hopes of finally having a chance with her ground to dust under the heel of her boot.
“Maybe if I hadn’t been there it would’ve gone differently,” Belle muttered under her breath.
The elevator dinged as she spoke and Killian frowned. “Sorry, what?”
Belle shook her head. “Nothing. But I do feel I should remind you how you’re always the one who says that if you want something you have to fight for it.”
“That doesn’t apply to people, though, unless they want it too. If she wanted me…” He remembered the party, remembered the struggle to control his racing heart when she appeared at his elbow smiling a wicked smile and flirting back at him, remembered losing his breath and his sanity as she leaned in close and let her fingertips trail up his thigh. He remembered the sizzle of the connection he’d felt between them, the understanding he could have sworn she’d felt too. If Emma wanted him, if she gave even the smallest hint that she was open to something happening between them, he would fight like hell for her.
If.
“But she doesn’t,” he continued gruffly, “she’s made that perfectly clear.” He swallowed hard as the familiar ache squeezed his chest.
“But if you—”
“Belle, please, can we talk about something else?” he implored, and after a short pause she nodded. Killian hunched his shoulders as they walked the short distance to the coffee shop. He could still feel Belle’s eyes on him and sense her concern. But there was nothing she or anyone else could do. Emma had made her decision, he just had to find a way to live with it.
~
To Killian’s relief Emma seemed fine in class the next day, smiling softly when he entered the seminar room and their eyes met, setting his heart racing again. The seat next to her was empty and he hesitated just inside the door, debating whether he should sit in it. Before he could decide if she would welcome or retreat from him, August swaggered into the room, plopped himself right down in the seat and proceeded to attempt to flirt with her.
At least she wasn’t any more receptive to August than she was to him, thought Killian crossly as he sat in his accustomed seat across the table from her, watching the scene play out from the corner of his eye. August’s philosophy-and-creative-writing-double-major pretensions never failed to get on his nerves and from the look on Emma’s face whenever the other man opened his mouth they got on hers as well.
He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that he was apparently lumped into the same category as August bloody Booth.
The subject of their seminar class was Topics in Political Philosophy, and despite Professor Gold’s cold eyes and often cutting remarks Killian had always enjoyed it. The crocodile was a brilliant mind, one of the reasons he’d chosen this university for his year abroad, and debating him was the kind of fierce challenge Killian lived for. He knew Gold liked to bait him, to play devil’s advocate and watch him squirm, and he prided himself on never giving in.
Ordinarily when he and Gold got caught up in one of their sparring matches the other students would sit back and listen, not daring to venture a remark. Today, however, as he was catching his breath after an impassioned argument in favour of migrant rights and waiting for Gold to fire back, he was astonished to hear a voice, cool and confident, coming to his defence.
It was Emma. He spun in his seat to look at her and she caught his eye, giving him a little smile before refocusing her attention on Gold. The professor turned to her with a raised eyebrow and slightly bared teeth.
“Interesting point, Miss Swan,” he said. “And why do you think that?”
It was Gold’s most terrifying question, one that pinned the student on the spot and forced them to support their argument with solid evidence. Most crumbled beneath the pressure of it and of Gold’s unblinking stare, but Emma sat up straighter, green eyes glinting as she threw down a Plato quote and followed it up with Rousseau, smoothly shoring up the weak points of Killian’s own argument with irrefutable authority.
Gold stared at her in silence for so long the tension in the room became unbearable, drawing out endlessly as the rest of the class waited, barely daring to breathe, until finally he gave a brusque nod. “Well argued, Miss Swan,” he said.
As one the other students turned and gaped at Emma, who herself turned to Killian with a triumphant grin that was also, somehow, shy.
You are amazing, he wanted to say, wanted to shout it, wanted to leap across the table and kiss her. But Gold was already moving on to another topic, and Emma returned her attention to her notebook, and Killian released a shaky breath and tried not to wonder what the fuck he was supposed to do with all these feelings.
~
Emma normally fled the seminar room as quickly as she could once class ended but that afternoon she gathered her things slowly and timed her exit to coincide with Killian’s. He noticed of course, and gave her a bright grin.
“That was sheer brilliance in there today, Swan,” he said. “You are officially my hero.”
She shrugged, ducking her head to hide her pleased smile. “Professor Gold always says I should talk more in class, so…”
“You absolutely should,” said Killian vehemently. “Especially if you’re going to be saying things like that.”
“And now I’m worried I’ve set the bar too high,” laughed Emma.
“Nonsense. I’m sure that was only scratching the surface of what you have to offer. Remember, I know how you research.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, managing to infuse the word research with such suggestive inflection that Emma felt herself blush.
They walked in silence for several minutes, Emma simply following Killian where he led without really noticing their path as she steeled herself for what she had to say to him.
“Look, Killian,” she said finally. “I want to apologise.”
He frowned at her. “Apologise?”
“For how I acted yesterday,” she clarified. “I was rude to you and to—to Belle, and I’m sorry.”
Killian shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You have nothing to apologise for, love.”
“No, I do,” she insisted, and rushed on when he opened his mouth to argue. “Please, just let me say this. I know I can be… hard sometimes. I push people away. But I don’t want to push you away. I mean, I want to... I want… damn it!”
Killian stopped and turned to her, and she noticed that they were standing in front of the main doors to the student union. “What do you want, Emma?” he asked gently.
“Can we—” she twisted her fingers together, avoiding his eyes. “Can we be friends?”
She looked up at him just in time to see something flash across his face, something that looked almost like hurt. But then he smiled. “Of course we can. I’d be honoured to call myself your friend.”
She huffed a breath as her stomach fluttered and jangled with pleasure and nerves. “I don’t really know how to reply when you say stuff like that,” she said.
“You could just say ‘yes’.”
She frowned. “Yes?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“Well,” said Killian, striding to the door of the union and opening it for her with a small bow. “First I say ‘I’m going in here to get some lunch would you care to join me,’ and then you say…” he gestured at her, eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” she said, fighting a smile.
“Brilliant.” He grinned at her as she preceded him through the door. “How does pizza sound?”
“Sounds great.”
Time to put the past behind her, Emma told herself firmly as they stood in line for pizza. What happened happened and she couldn’t undo it, but she had to find a way to work with Killian and also, damn it, she liked him. And he seemed to like her. That was enough. It would have to be.
~~
Killian slammed his book shut, shattering the studious silence of the library and making Emma jump. Another student in a nearby carrel shot them both a dirty look and she shrugged apologetically.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I can’t do it any more,” he declared. “I cannot study another moment, Swan! I protest! I revolt!”
She rolled her eyes. “Bit dramatic.”
“Emma. Look at the weather today,” he said, gesturing to the window behind them, where the oak tree had sprouted tender, pale green leaves and the sky was a blinding and unclouded blue. More than a month had passed since they’d started their regular library study sessions and during that time spring had decidedly sprung. “It’s gorgeous out there,” Killian continued, “we are all but finished with this project—which is a work of sheer and unadulterated brilliance, guaranteed to knock the crocodile’s socks off—and I refuse to remain indoors any longer. Let’s take the afternoon off.”
“I have a class—”
“Skip it.”
She stared at him, mildly shocked. “I can’t skip a class!”
“Why not? Will you fail if you’re not there on this one occasion?”
“Well, no.”
“Will the professor die from missing you?”
She snorted. “No.”
“Skip it! Take the afternoon off. Come for a walk with me.”
“A walk?”
“Aye, Swan, a walk. Where you put one foot in front of the other and propel yourself forward.”
“I know what a walk is, Killian.”
“Really? Because you sounded uncertain.” He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes again even as a grin tugged at the corners of her lips.
His grin dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her stomach clench in a way that was by now so familiar she hardly noticed it. “Let’s get coffee and walk down to the pier and look at the sailboats,” he said eagerly. “I’ll show you the one I intend to buy someday.”
“You want to buy a sailboat?” she asked in surprise. This was the first she’d heard of any such intention, though she knew Killian so well now she sometimes forgot they hadn’t always been friends.
“Oh yes. And sail it around the world,” he replied.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded. “I’d like to, anyway. Liam naturally thinks that would be a foolish waste of time. But if the sailboat were mine, well, he couldn’t do anything to stop me, could he?”
Emma smiled and shook her head. “Liam just worries about you,” she said. “You’re lucky, to have someone who worries.”
Killian was instantly contrite. “You’re right, of course, love,” he said, with that look in his eyes that always made her want to throw herself in his arms and just sink into him. “And in truth I will probably not go around the world on a sailboat, but instead find a job after graduation and settle down to fifty years of grind like a good little cog in the machine.” He grinned as Emma laughed. “But let’s go look at the sailboats anyway.”
“But—”
“No arguments, Swan, we’re having an afternoon off.” He stood and slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Come on.”
~
They got coffee from the little shop just off campus that they now considered their regular place, where they went every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after their study sessions and before Emma’s four o’clock class. Cups in hand, they strolled through the small, residential neighbourhood where student rentals sat alongside slightly run-down family homes until they reached the water.
A weatherbeaten wooden pier stretched out before them, with a small rocky beach on their left and a marina far in the distance to their right. They went to the end of the pier and sat, their feet dangling just above the surface of the water, and watched the boats out on the blue horizon.
“That one,” said Killian, pointing. “That’s the sort of boat I want.”
Emma looked at the one he indicated, a sleek and shiny sailboat that was certainly attractive but not nearly as much as Killian’s face, with its soft, wistful expression that to her surprise she realised she’d never seen before. She shook her head, a wry little smile on her lips. Months of struggling to avoid looking at him, she thought, and now after four short weeks of friendship she knew all his faces, every subtle nuance of his expressions. She knew what he looked like when he was happy, when he was frustrated, when he was angry, when he was lost in daydreams or when he was about to say something outrageous. She knew what he looked like when he was listening to her with that focused attention that made her feel like she mattered, and when he wanted to take her hand but held himself back.
Because he wasn’t sure how she would react, Emma knew, and she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure how she would react either. For as much as she still wanted him and wished things between them could be different—a feeling that only grew stronger the more they learned about each other—the idea of making herself so vulnerable to him again was terrifying. And, of course, there was still the small matter of his girlfriend.
Belle had never again shown up at the library when they were studying, and Killian rarely mentioned her. When he did it was always casually, in passing: a story she had told him when they were having dinner, or something funny they saw at one of Ruby’s parties. Parties Emma herself could never bring herself to attend despite Mary Margaret’s repeated pleas. Her friendship with Killian had become so precious to her and her feelings for him so deeply personal that she couldn’t stand the idea of exposing any of it to the eyes of Ruby or Belle. Even Mary Margaret didn’t know how close she and Killian had become, or that much of the time she spent at David’s, Emma spent at their apartment with Killian.
“Swan!” Killian chided, giving her an exasperated frown. “You’re not even looking!”
“I am!” Emma pulled herself from her reverie and looked back at the boat. “It’s—okay, I don’t know anything about sailboats but it looks… nice?”
He laughed. “One of these days, woman, I will take you sailing, and teach you how to appreciate a vessel such as that one.”
Emma smiled as a rush of warmth flooded her. She doubted she would ever get tired of hearing him say things like that. Things that suggested they would stay in each other’s lives once their project was finished. That he treasured their friendship as much as she did. That he wouldn’t leave her.
~
They sat on the pier for nearly two hours, watching the boats and talking aimlessly until the breeze off the water grew too brisk and they wrapped their jackets tightly around themselves and headed back to campus.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then?” said Killian when they reached the corner next to the sciences building where he had to turn left to get to his apartment and she continue straight to go to hers. “Your place?”
“Yep. Come by about four.”
“I’ll bring the beer.”
“Killian, we are still going to have to get some work done, especially since we wasted today.”
“Wasted?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
She huffed. “You know what I mean! It was fun and yes, we probably did need the break but it’s put us behind schedule.”
“Never fear, Swan,” said Killian with a smile, leaning in so that their heads were almost touching. “We’ll be able to get everything finished tomorrow. And then, beer.”
She laughed, her heart pounding as she watched him lick his lower lip and then bite it. “All right, all right. See you then.”
“See you then, love.”
Emma headed home, still with the silly, happy smile spending time with Killian always put on her face. She let herself drift into daydreams as she crossed the campus and was just cutting through the small lawn behind the library when she caught sight of Belle and Ruby sitting close together on the grass. Emma stopped abruptly, wondering if she should turn around and go home another way. They hadn’t noticed her yet so she still had time, and after the lovely afternoon she’d just had she really didn’t want to get stuck making awkward small talk with Killian’s girlfriend and someone who always pretended not to remember her name.
Before she could decide what to do, Ruby wrapped an arm around Belle’s shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. A soft, deep kiss that looked well-practiced, with Belle’s hand fisted on the sleeve of Ruby’s jacket and Ruby’s fingers twined into her hair. It was intense and intimate, comfortable but also hot, the kind of kiss that only happens between people who have kissed before and intend to continue doing so well into the future.
Emma gasped and then she reeled, stumbling backwards and around the corner of the library where she leaned weakly against the wall, struggling to get her head around what she’d just witnessed.
Killian, was her first and frankly only thought. What am I going to say to Killian?
It wasn’t her business, obviously. What went on between him and Belle was between them, and Emma very decidedly did not want to get involved. But she couldn’t bear the idea of him being hurt, and if Belle was lying to him, running around with Ruby behind his back, then his heartbreak was all but inevitable.
Her own heart was already hurting for him.
What was the right thing to do here, she wondered frantically. Would it be better for him to find out from her or from Belle? Was Belle even planning to tell him? Was it a case of ‘he deserves the truth’ or ‘keep your nose out of other people’s business’?
Emma’s mind raced as her feet carried her blindly back to her apartment where she smiled vaguely at Mary Margaret and waved away her attempts at conversation, then retreated to her room. Dropping her backpack carelessly on the floor, she kicked off her boots and her jeans and crawled into bed, wrapped the duvet tightly around herself and tried desperately to think.
~
She was no closer to a decision about what to do the following afternoon, and as the clock ticked ever closer to Killian’s arrival her thoughts became more and more muddled. Surely it was best to say nothing, she thought. Leave it between Killian and Belle. But could she? Could she spend the evening with Killian, listening to his gorgeous voice and looking at his precious face, all the while knowing he was about to have his heart broken?
But could she bear to be the one to break it?
Her bell buzzed and she took several deep breaths before opening the door to see Killian standing there with a wide smile and a six-pack of brown bottles which he presented to her with a flourish.
“Wait till you try this beer, Swan. It’s made in this place not far from—what’s wrong?”
“What?” She attempted a smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Love, you’re practically vibrating with tension, it’s clear that something’s troubling you. You can talk to me about it you know.”
Emma laughed a bit hysterically. “I really can’t,” she said.
“Of course you can,” said Killian softly. “You can tell me anything.”
There was the faintest note of hurt in his voice, a tiny furrow between his brows caused by her reluctance to confide in him, but he couldn’t know just how much more painful the secret he was trying to pry from her would be.
“I can’t tell you this,” she whispered.
His frown deepened and he looked at her for an uncomfortably drawn-out moment before giving a small nod. “As you like, Swan. But you know I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.”
She forced herself to smile, digging her fingernails deep into the skin of her arms to stop herself from grabbing him, from wrapping her arms around him and shielding him from every hurt. “I know.”
Fuck Belle, she thought with a sudden fierce fury. Fuck her for doing this to him, for treating his heart so carelessly, for hurting him. Emma couldn’t imagine letting Killian go. If he were hers she never, ever would.
God she wanted that so much. Wanted the freedom to touch him whenever she liked, to rest her head against his shoulder as they sat on the pier, to let her hand brush his as they said goodbye. Just those small, casual touches that carried so much intimacy. She wanted the freedom to tell him how she felt, to hold him in her arms and kiss him as she had before, to feel his hands on her again and to finally get hers on him.
Belle had had that freedom and she’d thrown it away, and the unfairness of that, the waste of it, made Emma so angry she couldn’t stop tears from welling up in her eyes and overflowing onto her cheeks.
Her habit of angry-crying was seriously inconvenient.
Killian had his back to her as he set the six-pack on the counter of her little mini-kitchen. “Anyway, about the beer,” he said, glancing back with a grin that fell from his face at the sight of her tears, replaced by a look of panic.
“Emma!” he choked, almost stumbling in his haste to get to her side, stopping just shy of touching her and flexing his hands helplessly in the space between them. “Emma, love, what’s the matter? What’s happened?” He lifted his hand as though to touch her cheek then yanked it away and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please talk to me,” he implored. “Let me help.”
Emma wiped furiously at her cheeks but the tears kept falling. “You can’t help,” she said.
“But why? Has someone done something to you? Has—”
“No! No. I’m fine.”
He scowled. “You are obviously not bloody fine.”
“No, I am, really. I cry when I’m angry, that’s all.”
“Well then, what’s made you angry?”
“Killian, please,” Emma swiped at her cheeks again, and in frustration turned away from him. “Don’t push me on this, it’s something I just—I—I won’t tell you.”
She heard him gasp, a sharp, hurt intake of breath that she could swear actually cut into her. “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want. Perhaps I should just go.”
“No!” She spun around again, her heart cracking at the sight of the blank expression on his face and the pain in his eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“I think it’s best, Swan, as you clearly don’t want me here.”
“No, I do!” she implored. “That’s not it at all, I just—it’s just this thing I can’t tell you about—”
“This thing that’s upset you so badly it’s made you cry.”
“Yes it has, but I—it’s not my business.”
“It must be, or it wouldn’t bother you so.”
“It—concerns someone I care about. But if I tell them, it will hurt them.” She met his eyes, silently pleading for understanding. “If your friend saw something that they knew would hurt you to hear about, would you want them to tell you?” she asked him. “Even if it wasn’t really something they should be involved in?”
“Without knowing the precise details of the situation it’s hard to say,” replied Killian. “But I think yes, I would want to know the truth. Regardless of the source.”
“And you wouldn’t blame the source for telling you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Okay.” Emma nodded. “Okay.” She pressed her hand against her stomach and drew a deep breath. “I saw Belle kissing Ruby,” she said, watching carefully for his reaction. There… wasn’t one.
“Where were they?” he asked.
“In that little grassy area behind the library.”
“Ha,” he said. “Well, it’s about bloody time.”
“It’s—what?”
“They’ve been sneaking around for months, I’m glad they’re finally taking it out in the open,” he said. “Belle had her doubts; she was hurt badly in her last relationship and with Ruby being… well, Ruby, she didn’t want to jump in too quickly.”
“Wait, wait… you knew about them?”
“Of course I knew, they’re two of my best friends. They thought they were being so covert, but you can’t play a player,” he said with a faint grin.
Best friends. Emma struggled to process precisely what he was saying. “But—isn’t Belle your girlfriend?”
Killian stared at her. “No.”
“Since when?”
“Since… always?”
“But I thought… everyone says… what?”
Killian scratched behind his ear. “We went out a few times at the beginning of last semester,” he said. “I’d just started here and everyone I met seemed to think we’d be perfect together and they kept trying to set us up, so we gave it a shot. But there was just no spark, though we really liked each other so we agreed to be friends. At no point was she anything like what I’d call a girlfriend.”
She continued to gape at him and he scowled. “Emma, I asked you out,” he said, with an edge of anger in his voice. “When Belle was standing right there. Do you really think I’d do that if she was my girlfriend?”
Emma felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. She had thought that, in fact, and had continued to think it even after she got to know him well enough to see that he wasn’t at all that kind of guy.
“You told her I was just someone you met at a party,” she said in a small voice. “It sounded like you were saying I wasn’t anyone important, or that you were trying to explain me away so she wouldn’t suspect you’d—” she broke off as the creeping heat turned her cheeks pink.
His ears had gone bright red. “I’d what?” he asked gruffly.
“Nothing.”
“That I’d kissed you?” he pressed. “That I’d watched in awe as you came on my fingers?”
Emma gasped. “You do remember!”
“Of course I bloody remember! Several times a day, usually. I can’t get it or you out of my damn head, and believe me I have tried. You’re not an easy woman to forget, Swan.”
“But you always acted like—you never said anything!”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘I fancy you madly and still dream about my fingers in your cunt, please let me fuck you before I lose my mind’?”
“I mean, you could have started with coffee.”
“I tried!”
“You gave up awfully quick!”
Killian huffed in exasperation. “Call me old fashioned, love, but when a woman says no, and especially when she says it as emphatically as you did, I take that as her final answer!”
“Which means you thought that that I was the sort of person to just screw someone against a wall one day and then spit in their face the next?” she snapped. “Why would I do that?”
“That is precisely the question I’ve been asking myself for months now.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “I thought—I hoped—at the party, before we kissed… I thought that we had a connection. That you might actually be interested in me. And what I said to Belle the next day, about how we met… I was trying to tell her that I had actually met you, properly I mean, and that I’d talked to you, because she knew how I—” he broke off with an uncertain glance at her.
“How you what?” she encouraged, barely daring to breathe.
“How I had a thing for the gorgeous blonde in my politics lecture,” he said softly. “The one who never even looked at me and disappeared after every class before I had a chance to talk to her.”
“I looked at you.”
His eyes widened. “You did?”
“Well yeah, I mean, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes. But I—I saw you. In class, whenever you talked the things you said I just—I always felt like you got me. Like we were coming from the same place, you know?”
“Aye, I definitely do know. I felt the same. I tried so many times to catch you so I could introduce myself but you always ran off straight after every lecture and I never seemed to be quick enough.”
“I had another class right after that one, on the other side of campus. I had to run to get there.”
“So you weren’t running from me?”
“No! I wanted to talk to you too. To get to know you. Why do you think I approached you at that party?”
“Well, you did seem to have rather more than conversation on your mind.”
“Okay, fair enough. But we talked, didn’t we? Before, er—”
“Before you dragged me upstairs and had your wicked way with me?”
“Oh my God.” She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks and he laughed.
“Aye, love, we did talk.”
“And I felt that connection, just like you. Enough to make me want to… you know.”
“Drag me upstairs and have your wicked way with me?” He was smiling a smile she hadn’t seen since the night of the party, the cocksure one with the predatory edge that made her thighs clench.
“Yeah… that,” she replied in a breathless voice and watched his eyes darken.
“Emma, does this mean—” His smile faded into something far more yearning and he reached up, slowly and with a wary caution that squeezed her heart, and brushed his fingers across her cheek, wiping away the lingering dampness from her tears. She drew a sharp breath and pressed her face against his palm, shivering at the electric tingle his touch sent dancing across her skin. He hadn’t touched her the whole time they’d been working on their paper, she thought, not once. Not so much as a brush of elbows in the study carrel. He’d been so careful to respect what he thought she wanted.
She looked up at him, at his eyes so soft and hopeful. “Does this mean what?” she whispered.
“Does it mean you might want to—that we could, perhaps—”
She closed her fist into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He groaned into her mouth as his arms wrapped tightly around her, his fingers sinking into her hair. She hummed and twined her own arms around his neck, opened her mouth beneath his and let herself be swept away, her blood pounding with the need to get her hands on him, get as close to him as she could, the same desperate urgency she’d felt at the party compounded now by all the feelings that had been slowly growing between them over the past four weeks.
When they broke for air and he leaned his forehead against hers his eyes were almost the same as they had been that night, dark and alive with heat and desire but this time completely sober. There would be no forgetting this, for either of them, and no turning back from it once they’d taken this step.
Emma wanted to take it. She was ready, more than ready, and he was—
“Emma,” he murmured once he’d recovered enough breath to speak, and the gravel in his voice made her ache.
“Hmmm?”
“Please let me fuck you before I lose my mind.”
She laughed and grabbed him by the shirtfront again, tugging him behind her and into her bedroom. The minute they were through the door she pulled the shirt up and off him, tossing it aside.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you naked?” she asked as she trailed her fingers up his chest.
“I hope at least six months,” he replied, snaking an arm around her waist and yanking her flush against him, pressing his mouth to her neck.
“Longer. Since—oh, God—since the first day of class last semester.”
“What a coincidence,” he murmured against her collarbone, hands sliding beneath her shirt and snapping open the clasp of her bra with a deft twist of his fingers. “That’s precisely how long I’ve wanted to see you naked.”
“Well then.” She pushed him away and held his gaze as she whisked off her shirt and bra in one move, smirking as his jaw slackened at the sight of her bare breasts. He stepped closer again, letting his fingertips trace along her collarbone and over the curve of her breast, across the hardened tip of her nipple.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this.”
“Me too.” She trailed her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, over the smooth skin and muscles firmed by rowing and into his hair, pulling him close and thrilling at the hiss of his breath through his teeth when her breasts pressed against his chest. She kissed him again, open-mouthed and hot, as his hands roamed her back and downwards to curve over her ass and pull her hard against him. The feel of his erection cradled between her thighs drew a ragged moan from deep in her throat and she clutched at him with desperate fingers, trying to pull him closer. But Killian, despite the dazed lust in his eyes when he broke the kiss, was not a man to be rushed. With a wicked smirk he sank to his knees and pressed his face against her belly, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants and pulling them down, following their progress with his lips.
She gasped. “Killian—”
“Hmmm?” He buried his nose in the soft patch of curls between her thighs.
“Oh my God.”
“You smell so good,” he growled. “I could smell you on my fingers, the morning after the party. I’ve never been so sorry to wash my hands.”
Emma clutched at his hair, her head spinning, and at the first stroke of his tongue through her folds her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. She could hear herself moaning, needy, desperate cries that grew louder as he licked deeper, his tongue stroking and pressing against her clit until she came with a hoarse scream, gripping his head to keep herself upright.
He stood quickly, catching her as she stumbled and collapsed against his chest, pulled her head into the crook of his neck and tangled his fingers in her hair. She could feel his cock pressing insistently against her hip and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.
Just as soon as she got her breath back.
“That’s two,” she gasped when she could speak again.
“Two what?” he murmured into her hair.
“Two times you’ve made me come. I feel like I owe you.”
He chuckled. “The night is young, Swan.”
“Considering it’s like five in the afternoon.”
“Exactly.” He leaned back to look down at her, grinning that cocky grin that had lust stirring in her belly again. “And I have many, many suggestions for ways you can make it up to me.”
She let her hand trail down his abs, beneath the waistband of his jeans to wrap around his cock, a saucy grin of her own curving her lips when he gasped. “Oh really,” she purred. “Do tell.”
~
The following Monday morning Killian met Belle for coffee, like always.
“Hey,” she said as he got in line next to her. “I wasn’t sure you’d show. You went dark all weekend, is everything okay?”
“Aye.” He could feel himself flush and rubbed at his neck behind his ear. “Never been better.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “You slept with Emma!” she cried.
“I—what makes you say that?”
“Oh my God, you did! You actually did!”
“All right, okay, I did,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down. How the hell did you know?”
Belle grinned smugly. “You have the worst poker face ever, that’s how.”
“It’s why I prefer dice,” he muttered.
“So tell me everything,” she said, clapping her hands together. “All the details.”
“I am absolutely not going to do that.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay fine, but at least tell me she isn’t going to blow you off again. This isn’t another one-time thing?”
The door opened with a jangle of its bell and Killian looked up to see Emma, slightly breathless and with a shy smile on her face as she approached them. His heart soared, and the smile he gave Belle was pure happiness. “Definitely not just a one-time thing,” he said.
Summary: And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.
Notes: This was inspired by one of those lists you can find on social media. This one dealt with people who thought they were better than someone else , and then were put in their place. When I read this story, I immediately thought of Walsh trying to pull this crap with Emma to impress her.
Thank you @profdanglaisstuff for being my beta and helping me get the story back on track.
Rated: G
Ao3
Emma knew within two minutes that this was going to be a bad date. Emma can’t believe that Ruby, of all people, set her up with the worst guy in the world. Mary Margaret she would have expected it from, but apparently Ruby was in the happy love bubble now that she was dating Liam, and since Mary Margaret and David had their little newborn bundle of joy, Ruby apparently took up the ‘setting up Emma on blind dates’ mantle.
And Emma had been on her share of bad dates: the guy who couldn’t remember her name and kept calling her Enya, the guy that had to pull over before they even made it to the restaurant to puke on the side of the road, the guy that talked about his ex the entire evening and then called said ex numerous times and asked Emma how he could get her back. But Walsh, he was something else entirely.
Emma had learned her lesson about blind dates picking her up. She always met them where the date was going to happen, that way she had her own mode of transportation to get out if the date went sour. The restaurant Walsh wanted to meet at was a pretty swanky place, and happened to be a five minute walk from her apartment. Emma wore a cute pair of black wedge booties with her dress instead of heels since she would be walking. Walsh frowned about the shoes right off the bat. He didn’t think they looked classy enough with her dress; a white dress that came to right above her knees and was sheer black on the top and sleeves. Then he told her how dangerous it was for a woman like her to be walking around town and he would have just picked her up if he’d known she was planning on walking. When Emma tried to interject that she worked in bail bonds and knew how to take care of herself, he went on a tirade about the criminal justice system, because owning an antique furniture store apparently made him not only a prick, but an expert in law as well.
And then Walsh insisted on showing Emma his boat. Now Emma had to admit she was intrigued. She loved the water and had always wanted to go sailing. She only knew one person with a boat and that was Ruby’s boyfriend’s brother, Killian. Emma had only met Killian a handful of times, not enough to ask to be invited onto his boat. She had seen it docked down at the marina, knew it was called the Jolly Roger, and knew that he thought it was hilarious because he too had a hook for a hand just like the literary owner (though Killian’s was the mechanical kind that could grasp items and not one that was sharp and needed only for pirating). Oh, and Walsh was a big ol’ fat liar, because they were definitely standing in front of Killian’s J olly Roger right now and not any boat belonging to Walsh.
“So you like Peter Pan then?” Emma said once she could actually get a word in edgewise (that was yet another mark in the ever expanding negative column, Walsh talked non-stop, and mainly about himself).
“What?” Walsh said, surprised that he’d been interrupted.
“Your boat. It’s called the Jolly Roger . I just figured you were a big Peter Pan fan. Or, I guess, more a Captain Hook fan,” Emma said, stating the obvious.
“Well,” he started, as if he were giving a lecture and not talking to a date, “the Jolly Roger is actually the name for the flag pirates flew on their ships with the skull and crossbones.”
“So you like pirates?” Emma asked, getting tired of this whole charade.
“Do you like pirates?” Walsh said taking a step forward. With any other guy it might have been a sexy move, with Walsh it was just creepy. Emma took a step back to distance herself from him. Walsh didn’t seem to notice, he kept creeping into her space.
“Hey, buddy, back up, please!” Emma said making her voice loud and firm so there was no way he could misunderstand the tone. She also put her hand out so he couldn’t come any closer.
“Oh, come on Emma,” he said with a sly smile that made him seem slimy and not seductive in the least. “I bought you a nice meal, we’ve had a nice conversation, you like my boat. We both know where this is heading.” Walsh fingered a piece of Emma’s hair and moved it to behind her shoulder. Emma’s skin crawled at that. She was going to kill Ruby, and she was going to do it slowly and torturously so she knew exactly how Emma was feeling right in this moment.
“I think the lady said to back off, mate.” A voice came from behind Walsh’s shoulder. Emma instantly relaxed. She recognized that accent. It belonged to the true owner of the boat, Killian.
But Walsh was not going to be deterred from whatever scenario he had concocted in his head about how this night was going to end.
“How about you back off?” he said, turning to Killian. “You’re not supposed to be here unless you own a boat.” His eyes flicked to Killian’s ragged looking jeans, white t-shirt, flannel shirt, flip flops, and messenger bag, instantly deeming him unworthy of possibly owning a boat on this dock.
“True, true,” Killian said, his cerulean eyes immediately looking at Emma as if to say ‘what is wrong with this idiot’ .
“Well,” he paused for dramatic effect, “it’s a good thing I own this boat then.” Killian grinned swinging up the ladder. Walsh’s jaw dropped. He had obviously thought he’d get away with the boat ruse and had not expected the actual owner to show up and out him in front of his date.
Walsh tried to recover. He grabbed Emma’s hand and mumbled, “Let’s go,” but Emma didn’t budge. She snatched her hand away.
“Do you really think I’m going to go anywhere with you after that stunt you just tried to pull?” Emma asked, incensed that he actually thought she would want to continue the date, especially since she’d already been asking him to back off before Killian interrupted.
Walsh looked pissed that his plans had been derailed and stomped off down the dock. Emma let out a sigh of relief. She really hadn’t wanted to kick his ass.
“Everything okay down there, Swan?” came Killian’s voice from the boat. He had a look of concern on his face.
“Just peachy,” Emma said, smoothing out her dress. She had two options: head home, get into comfy clothes and watch Netflix, or see if she could finally get onto Killian’s boat.
“Permission to come aboard?” she asked, tilting her head and giving a lop-sided smile. Killian’s face went from concern to surprise at her request.
“Permission granted,” he said, coming over to the ladder and reaching out his hand to help her aboard. Emma was never more glad for wearing her comfortable booties than in that moment.
Killian’s hand was warm when she placed hers in his. Emma scrambled up the ladder as gracefully as she could, but eventually just ended up clambering over the top of the boat in an effort to not show off what was underneath her dress. She straightened up once she was on the deck, pulling down her dress that had ridden up and trying to tame her blonde curls from the whole endeavor.
“Hi,” Emma said softly once she had righted herself.
“Hi,” Killian said, chuckling a bit. “You want to tell me what was with the wanker you were with down there?” he asked.
Emma blushed and then groaned. “Blame Ruby. Apparently because she’s so happy with your brother she feels the need to embrace her inner Mary Margaret and try to make everyone else happy as well. She set me up with that ‘wanker’.” She said doing a poor imitation of Killian’s accent. Killian raised an eyebrow.
“I would have thought Ruby had better taste than that, considering she’s dating my brother.”
“Right?” Emma said, wondering how Ruby ever thought this date was a good idea. And then she asked curiously, “What are you doing out here at 10 o’clock on a Friday night? I’d think you’d be out with the guys or out with a girl or something.” She tried to sound casual about it. They’d only met a few times, but Emma had not failed to notice how good looking Killian was, what with his artfully looking bed head, neatly trimmed scruff, and piercingly blue eyes. He was also very considerate, always one to help out a friend when they were in a bind.
“Liam’s taking Ruby out on the boat tomorrow and needed some things set up, and since they are also out tonight, I offered to do it for him.” He scratched his hair right behind his ear, a cute nervous gesture that Emma had seen him do a few times. “Would you like to help since you’re here?” he asked scratching behind his ear. The bravado he’d had when getting rid of Walsh now seemed to be replaced with nerves. Was he nervous around her?
“Sure,” Emma said. She followed him down the ladder to the boat’s interior.
“Let me give you the tour.” He grinned as she landed next to him. “This is the kitchen where I’m placing food for Liam and Ruby’s picnic date tomorrow.” Killian said pulling out some wine bottles from the messenger bag, placing the white in the fridge, and putting the red one in a wine rack built into the kitchen area. “There is the dinette table they will be eating at for their date,” He placed a piece of crusty bread on it, “the couch they will most likely be making out on, and the queen-sized bed that I’m sure they will take advantage of,” he finished, grabbing the last of the food from his bag (what looked like deli meats, cheeses, and fruit) and placing them on the kitchen counter. Emma gave a slight grimace, even though she knew it was probably all true.
“Looks like Liam’s got quite the date planned,” Emma said, “Why are you setting this up and not him?”
“Because Liam and Ruby are in a new relationship and can’t keep away from each other long enough for Liam to go to the store and set things up himself.” Killian rolled his eyes. “And, also, I’m a good brother and had nothing better to do tonight. And since it is my boat, I thought I’d be nice and make sure everything was in working order.” Emma nodded understanding. How many times had she helped out some of her girlfriends by doing the same thing? She was about to say as much when her stomach let out a huge grumble. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
“Let me guess, Swan,” Killian stated, coming over to her. “Wanker took you to some high priced restaurant where you pay $50 for two slices of meat and they call that a steak dinner?” Emma laughed.
“It was three pieces, and a carrot cut in two halves, and a dollop of mashed potatoes with sour cream and chives drizzled artfully on top. I’m starving,” she said, smiling at him.
“Well, darling, take a seat and we can dig into some of this delicious food that Liam and Ruby were supposed to dine on tomorrow.” Killian immediately grabbed two plates from the kitchen cabinets, placing the items from the counter on therm, along with two wine glasses, and placed them on the dinette.
“But, then Ruby and Liam won’t have anything to eat.” Emma said now feeling awkward as Killian pulled out a chair for her.
Killian grabbed the red wine and a corkscrew and opened the wine. He poured some into his own glass and then gestured to Emma’s. She nodded as he poured her some. “Being the wonderful younger brother that I am, I will replenish whatever stores we consume tonight. Besides, I can’t let you go hungry, that’s just bad form.” He held up his wine glass toward her. Emma brought hers up to clink with his.
“What a gentleman.”
“I’m always a gentleman, love.”
They made little sandwiches and Emma and Killian both playfully tried throwing grapes in each others mouths (try being the operative word, they both missed each others mouths spectacularly), while having one of the best get to know you conversations Emma had ever had in her life (“By the way, I really like your shoes,” he said at one point. “Thank you!”).
“I’m sorry this is how our first dinner ended up happening,” he said smiling that killer smile. “I really would have rather asked you out properly instead of rescuing you from a bad date.”
“You thought about asking me out to dinner?” she asked. Killian’s eyebrows practically rose into his hair, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Um… yes?” he said, now running his fingers through his hair, and Emma could see that he was worried he had overstepped. She almost laughed at how nervous he was. It was really sweet. Emma grabbed his hand and hook and took them in her own from across the table.
“Good,” she said, maintaining eye contact and smiling back at him. “I’ve thought about it too.” Killian let out a breath as if he’d been holding it, just waiting for her reaction. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, drawing nonsensical patterns on it.
“Can I ask permission to call this our first date then, love?” The boldness in his voice was back.
“Permission granted.”
This is the dress Emma’s dress is based on for her date.
Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories
pairing: emma swan/killian jones
rating: g but maybe t
wc: 3276
Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.
He won’t. He never does.
if i’ve done my job correctly, this little number will warm up your january morning with a little bit of fluff and banter between our favourite star crossed couple! shout out to the @csjanuaryjoy team and discord server for all being such diamonds and a big back-breaking hug to my girl @thisonesatellite who's tenacity, support and mad beta skills encouraged me to polish this off, even when i was mostly dead (but still slightly alive).
tagging @itsfabianadocarmo, @teamhook, @kmomof4, @superchocovian, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @artistic-writer (if you wanna be added to the list just shout up!)
available on ao3 ♠
it’s yours, it’s mine
“Breathe through it, love. It’s just a routine extraction.”
Sometimes, Emma loves Killian Jones— well, all of the time, really. ‘Til death do us part and all that. Sometimes, however, in situations like these, as Whale pulls the thick glass shard from her palm, she really wishes he’d shut up.
He won’t. He never does.
Modern medicine fascinates him, in practicality and in fiction. It’s her fault really, showing him early on the wonders of Netflix. Storybrooke really isn’t as action-packed as it once was, leaving her plenty of time to hook (ha!) her husband on hospital dramas. They’re currently six seasons into a Scrubs marathon but his favourite is, by far, House. That Cameron lass looks an awful lot like you, love He says, every time she questions him on it. It’s gonna blow his tiny mind when he finds the sexy doctor outfit she has tucked away in her underwear drawer, complete with stethoscope and clipboard.
A slick squelch and nauseating drag as Whale slides the glass from where it embedded itself in her hand snaps her from her thoughts, drawing out a hiss she can’t bite back. It’ll leave a nasty scar, that much she knows.
“Fuck!”
“You did a real number on yourself, Emma, but the worst part is over.” Pressing an antiseptic gauze pad over the wound, Whale offers her a wink. Despite the land being free of curses and peace all around blah blah blah, he still manages to catch her last nerve with his cocky demeanour, pressing down on the now stained gauze with some force. It stings like a bitch.
“I’m pretty sure the worst is yet to come, Doctor.” Killian chimes in, leaning over to see the tools laid out on the sterile tray resting on Emma’s bedside table. She had protested the bed, claiming she could take the stitches standing or sitting or anything but laying down. The nurse looked as if she was ready to wrestle her down if she refused. The bed had been the lesser of two evils. “What type of stitch will you be using?”
“Killian—” She starts but isn’t able to argue with the fascination in his eyes. He’d seen hospitals before, of course, been on the receiving end of their services on more than one occasion, but he never held the same kind of enthusiasm then as he does now, watching as Whale inspects the gash on her hand.
“Actually, Captain Jones, your wife is lucky. I think it’s just shallow enough that a few steristrips should do the trick.”
“Thank God.” Emma mutters under her breath, not missing how Killian gives her non-injured hand a reassuring squeeze.
Whale applies the strips with practised ease, allowing each one to gently seal the edges of the wound closed. There’s a tension where the adhesive tugs at her skin on either side of the gash, uncomfortable but not unbearable. She’s dealt with worse.
It takes eight strips in total, each one taking less than a minute to apply. Whale talks through it, trying to distract from each uncomfortable twinge but it’s all background noise. Emma lets herself zone out, focusing only on the slow drag of Killian’s thumb across her knuckles.
Emma rolls her eyes at Whale and his insistence that she take it easy. “Take a few days off, Sheriff. Doctors orders.”
“Oh please,” She scoffs, flexing her palm and feeling the discomfort as she does so. Not that Whale needs to see that. Killian smirks, pressing a kiss to her cheek as the doctor calls him over. “I could use magic to heal this in a heartbeat if I wanted to.”
“Is that so?” He hands over a bottle of painkillers to Killian, nothing fancy, and a few extra dressings for the wound. Killian tucks them in his pocket, taking a look at the chart at the end of her bed. He’d look good in a lab coat, hair pushed back, glasses, using his authoritative voice to order two week’s bed rest… wow, now she’s the one with a fantasy.
“Then why don’t you?” Whale teases, one eyebrow raised. His hair is lighter than it had been when they’d first met. Someone had clearly discovered peroxide in the land without magic. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. The childish retort sticks in her throat.
“Someone’s got to check everything’s up to standard here, mate.” With a wink, Killian pats the doctor on the shoulder, the brace of his hook catching his shoulder blade with a dull thud. Whale winces away from it. He drops the subject of Emma’s magic and returns, grumbling, to disposing of the bloodstained gauze into the fluorescent biohazard waste bin.
Their whole trip to Storybrooke General had taken less than half an hour but, as Killian drives them home—a recent development, having only just gained his permit after years of pestering from David—exhaustion rolls over her in waves, encouraging her eyelids to flutter shut. She reaches her hand for his thigh, resting it there just to feel warmth beneath her palms. The heat in the damn car still doesn’t work, despite David’s attempts to fix it throughout fall. By October, he’d given up. She really needs to find a better mechanic.
“You okay, love?”
“Yeah, just cold.”
“We’ll be home soon.” He reassures, taking his good hand from the wheel to stroke hers atop his thigh, softly caressing her wedding band. “I’ll sweep up all the glass and you can curl up on the couch. We can watch Pride and Prejudice again if you’d like?”
In their time living together, without the pressure of being the saviour or magical prophecies or bad guys, he’d come to know her so well. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to adapt as easily as he did—she’d half expected him to miss the adventure and danger—but Killian had taken to domesticity like a duck to water, revelling in life’s simple things like electric blankets, text messaging and two for one offers on Ben and Jerry’s. She couldn’t be more thankful for her husband. She tried to show him whenever she could. With words, kisses and more.
“1995 or 2005?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” The smirk across his lips is the one she fell in love with. She would recognise it anywhere. “2005, of course.”
“Right answer.” She hums, content, letting her eyes slip shut for the rest of the ride.
//
The painful throbbing spikes in her palm, radiating through her wrist and falling short just shy of her elbow. It’s almost agony and the grunt it drags from her has Killian peering over her in seconds, a concerned furrow in his brow. Falling asleep in his lap, arguably, had seemed like a good idea at the time, with her brief nap on the ride home doing nothing to sate her tired yes. Now? Not so much. There’s a crick in her neck and a throb in her spine and her toes are cold from where the blanket hadn’t quite covered them.
“Painkillers wearing off, love?” He strokes the stray hairs from her forehead with the point of his hook, careful not to drag the tip against her skin. Anyone else would’ve questioned using his hook in such a manner, but she’d become accustomed to the addition in all aspects of their life—even the intimate ones—and, above all else, she trusts him. Killian’s been wielding the appendage for longer than she’s been alive, after all. It’s a part of him as much as she is.
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t take any, did you.”
She shrugs.
He sighs, exasperated. “Emma—”
“I know, I know.” She leans up to kiss the frown from his lips, ignoring the protest from her aching back. This must be what ageing feels like. “I figured I’ll survive without them.”
“You’ll survive, aye, but you’ll be a misery arse the entire time.” He’s right, of course, Emma can already feel the irritability creeping in with each pulse of her hand. Why does he always have to be right? He smirks, meeting her with another soft kiss. “You’re pouting, love.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’re stuck with me.” He reaches over to the coffee table, bringing back the abandoned bottle of painkillers and a half-full glass of water precariously balanced in one hand. “‘In sickness and in health.”
Emma’s heart stutters, fluttering in her chest as Killian offers them to her.
Years ago, they’d promised no walls, no secrets. Then they’d promised forever.
Her walls are all but rubble now, he’d torn down each one with ease; each adventure, each endeavour, each loss and return, solidifying his place in her heart.
Their wedding day, despite the circumstances surrounding it, still stands true as one of—if not the—best day of her life. They’re working slowly on forever.
Well, maybe not as slowly as Emma had originally thought.
She’d done pretty well on the whole ‘No Secrets’ thing, for the most part, only vetoing the rule come birthdays and Christmas and the occasional anniversary, just to keep things exciting. Over their years together, the need for secrets dissipated the closer they got.
Until last week, sat on the floor of her mother’s bathroom with the fate of their future clutched in her fist.
The five-minute wait had been agonising. Mary Margaret paced, talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular as Emma clutched her knees tight to her chest, memories of the first time she’d done this flooding back. Back then she’d been trapped, alone and afraid.
Two thin blue lines.
She took three more tests, just to be sure.
Identical results.
The tears that came this time around weren’t ones of fear or trepidation, but happiness. A second chance.
Emma hadn’t been ready for a child the first time—pregnant too young in a situation too fucked up—but now, surrounded by love and trust and support, maybe she is.
Dark hair, blue eyes—or maybe green eyes, her cheeks, his smile—
“Swan? Anyone in there?” As quickly as it formed, the vision is gone, replaced with her husband’s soft smile. God, she hopes she has his smile. She? He? They? Does it matter? Emma shakes the thought away, pushing herself up on her good hand and tucking her legs beneath her. Her back doesn’t scream in protest which is a good sign.
“I was just thinking.” She shrugs, letting herself lean against his arm.
He rests his head atop hers, pressing a quick kiss to her crown. “That’s dangerous.”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry, go on.” He chuckles, warm and deep, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and letting his fingers caress the exposed skin between the strap of her vest and the edge of the blanket. At some point, he’d put the pill bottle and water back on the table, most likely when she was thinking of—
“There’s a reason why I haven’t used magic to heal my hand and why I haven't taken anything for the pain.”
He nods, the movement of it ruffling her hair slightly. “I figured as much.”
"It's just that it's a lot to take in and I wanted to think of some big extravagant way to tell you because I know you'd have done the same for me, so I planned out a nice evening; home-cooked italian food, a couple pints of ice cream and your favourite rum, which is why I was elbow deep in the glass cupboard trying to find the tumbler Henry had engraved for you before he left, you know, the 'world's best dad' one. I found it but I slipped and— yeah, you know the rest."
Silence rests between them for three heartbeats as she allows it to sink in, half confession, half explosion. She doesn't want to be the one to break it.
"Can I ask," He starts, voice husky and quiet. Emma turns to face him, taking in his features as he calculates what it is she's saying. "Why you'd need that particular glass, love?"
She smiles, letting the warmth of it radiate through her, pain in her palm almost forgotten. "Isn't it obvious?"
His eyes, hopeful and oh so blue, sparkle in the low light. Every time she looks, she finds so much love there, enough to fill them both so completely and she hopes so much that he sees the same in hers. Starting a family is something they’d talked of in passing; hushed conversations, wrapped in the warmth of each other, neither one wanting to surface back to reality as they discuss the fantasies of the future, both frivolous and not. It’s not something they’d actively pursued, but sometimes these things happen.
Accidents happen.
Maybe even happy ones.
"I'm pregnant."
It takes a few seconds for him to respond, the only indication that he hasn’t completely frozen is in the widening of his eyes and the lingering patterns his fingers draw on her shoulder — they slow, pressure barely there at all, but never stop.
“Are you certain? I thought— your protective pill?”
“I know, I was surprised too. I’m sure though.”
Emma hadn’t even noticed her hand sinking down to her stomach, resting over the place she would soon swell, until Killian placed his own hand atop hers. There are tears in his eyes, darkening his lashes as he tries to blink them away, and they’re soon mirrored in her own. God, she loves him. This man, who’d come into her life on the back of a hurricane, broken and hell-bent on revenge, had become part of her world and more, tearing down his own walls along with hers until they were nothing more than two bare souls, open and honest and joined by a love they’d both thought impossible. Who would’ve seen it coming?
(Mary Margaret says she knew right from the beanstalk. Emma always refutes it but, then again, her mother does have some kind of sixth sense when it comes to true love.)
“We’re having a baby?” His voice catches on the word, so impossibly full of love that her heart almost bursts. He’s not looking at her, only focused on where their hands are joined. She can see the thoughts running through his head, clear as day. Baby. Babybabybaby.
“We’re having a baby, Killian.”
“We’re having a baby.”
“Yeah.”
The smile that breaks out across his face seconds before he lunges for a kiss is one of pure elation, relief and joy and delight all at once, and it meets her lips in a ferocious kiss, not the gentle press she’d been expecting. Before rational thought can stop her, she’s straddling his thighs, injured hand resting on his shoulder as his hook caresses the length of her spine. Every time she breaks for air, takes a second just to register the response she’s getting, he looks at her with such adoration. Praises on his lips, promise in his eyes.
She hadn’t expected it to go this way but, then again, she hadn’t expected to spend almost an hour in the hospital awaiting a glass extraction after her original plan had gone awry.
Killian’s tongue in her mouth more than makes up for it.
“Wait,” He pauses, laughing as Emma chases his lips for another kiss. Instead, he offers her his cheek. She pouts, sitting back and wincing at the throb in her hand as she grips his shoulder with her injured one. Gently, he removes it from his shoulder, turning it over to look upon the bandage. The telltale inkblot of red casts a shadow on the dressing, she’d probably tugged it at some point, causing one of Whale’s magic strips to tear. Killian presses a kiss to her palm. “I’ve watched enough of your hospital dramas to understand the reluctance to take your prescription while in such a delicate state but why not indulge in magic?”
In the past few days, between finding out and confessing, Emma spent a lot of time worrying about the magical side of things. Despite Mary Margaret’s comforting and reassurance that everything would be okay, magic or no magic, the weight of her gift sat like lead in her stomach. If Zelena hadn’t skipped town for the Enchanted Forest with Robin all those months ago, Emma would’ve bombarded her with questions. Her next option, Regina, was either too busy to answer the phone or ignoring her calls, burying herself in work after Henry’s departure. Emma never felt like leaving a message. Pregnancy announcements are probably best not left as a voicemail.
She’d tried the library without much luck, only managing to find a few dog-eared copies of What To Expect When You’re Expecting and one horrifically detailed article on birthing techniques from Agrabah. She didn’t want to let slip to Belle either, not before Killian knew.
Emma had shouldered the weight of her doubts, abstaining from magic altogether. It’s honestly surprising that Killian hadn’t noticed sooner.
“I know how it sounds but I just— I don’t know how, or even if, it’ll affect the baby.” The admission comes with a wave of guilt, simmering just slightly below the surface. The first time she’d done this, there had been no one to tell, no one to turn to for comfort, nothing but the four walls and cot in her cell. Killian’s hand and hook, caressing her injured palm, pull her back from the edge of that thought. She’s not that girl anymore. She is no longer lost.
He is her true north.
“No one can blame you for being cautious, love,” He smiles and it makes every part of her ache to kiss him again. She doesn’t, instead, letting her free hand tuck his hair behind his ears. She wonders, with a soft smile, if the way he leans into her touch is intentional or instinctive. “But Henry turned out fine. Better than fine, in fact. Henry’s fantastic. Though your magic was dormant then, it was still there. Just like it’s there now, protecting our little one.”
“Do you really think so?”
Nothing settles her as much as Killian’s knowing smile does. He nods, certain.
“Aye, love.”
Any qualms she’d had about this earlier drain out of her in a sigh; each niggle of doubt, tug of anxiety, flash of fear. All gone. Here, with her husband by her side, she is safe. Whatever happens, they’re in this together. Whatever life throws their way; villains, monsters, tragedy, pregnancy— they’ve got this.
She’d promised him forever, after all.
Between them, her palm glows bright white.
//
Alice Margaret Jones comes, kicking and screaming—all 7lbs 6oz of her—into their lives and she is magical. Killian cries, of course, and Henry comforts him through it, both of them completely enamoured by the newest addition to their family. She’s pink cheeks and blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair but it’s far too soon to see which parent she’ll favour. Emma doesn’t care, too choked up with the love she holds for the angel latched to her breast.
She doesn’t have words for this emotion and can’t begin to even comprehend the gravity of it. Alice, for nine whole months, was her companion, her guide, her conscience. Reassuring her with soft kicks, heartbeat thrumming like a butterfly’s, always hiding from the ultrasound wand on their appointments. Now, she belongs to the world. Now, everyone else gets to experience the purest soul Emma has ever known.
Alice’s tiny hand clutching Killian’s finger in a vice grip is the last thing Emma sees before sleep finally claims her, truly content.
//
There is no scar on the palm of her hand but Killian kept the shard of glass, a reminder wrapped carefully in the velvet box in which he stores all his treasures.
(Apologies for the confusion to anyone who saw this fic posted a couple days ago. I was accidentally early and on the wrong day, so I took it down and am reposting now. Hope you will enjoy!!)
I have had this basic idea floating around in my head for a long time, and almost psyched myself out of it. Since I had wanted to do it for so long, it was like I forgot how I wanted to go about it (if that even makes any sense!) I had the lyrics of the oldies song “Save the Last Dance for Me” (and probably repeated viewings of “The Wedding Date” too! ;) spark the actual idea, and then that line of Killian’s (“Go on, charm your princes…”) so I simply needed to fill in the rest around that imagined scene. Thanks so much to @csjanuaryjoy for giving me the chance to finally get this done by focusing on something fun and a little spicy, but most of all - happy and free of angst.
***This takes place in some post- Season 6 world where they all returned to the Enchanted Forest, as I had always hoped they would do at the show’s end...
She knew exactly what she was doing, of that he was certain. Killian felt his tongue slip out to graze his bottom lip hungrily as he watched his love work the room, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘The saucy minx,’ his subconscious chuckled while he shook his head at his own body’s helpless reaction to his princess wife - even after nearly six years of marriage. Emma Swan - well, Emma Jones - was truly a marvel; that fact had never once changed, from the very first day he had laid eyes upon her in the charred and smoking remains of a refuge camp, all the way up to the present moment as she smiled and curtsied in her formal gown and jewelled tiara.
It was clear to Killian that she would never cease to take his breath away - and the quick, smug glance she cut at him from the corner of her eye, while the foreign dignitary from Agrabah she was greeting with all proper pomp and polite reserve was bowing to her, told him that she knew it as well. Though Emma might still be that “tough lass” he’d taken her for as they climbed the giant’s beanstalk, when she still didn’t trust him and made a formidable adversary cloaked in distrust and suspicion as much as her denim and leather, Killian also got to experience the softness and warmth beneath her armor, more so than he’d really had a right to hope for at the outset. After half a decade of marriage, he was privy to the perfect way her body fit in his embrace, how she rubbed the chilly tip of her nose in the hollow of his throat as she fought against waking in the morning, and the sensual slide of her skin, the softest and most enflaming sensation he had ever encountered, against his own. Yes, Killian knew all those parts of her well, and hoarded each one as the finest treasure, the way any good pirate would. And because he knew her mind and her secrets, he also knew when she was teasing him - as she was doing just then.
Ostensibly, Princess Emma had every reason not to come immediately stand beside him and enjoy his sole companionship. Some three years prior, her family - and most of the inhabitants of Storybrooke - had chosen to return to the Enchanted Forest, their true home and intended birthright, feeling the responsibility to heal and repair their land and set it to rights could no longer be ignored. It had taken hard work and time, not to mention much diplomacy and negotiation, to see the renewal of Misthaven to full prominence and strength, the way it had been once upon a time, but as this celebratory ball commemorated, their homeland was once more taking its place as a center of government and commerce worthy of note. The turnout of their numerous foreign allies and partners for this occasion proved it even more definitively. As the crown princess, it was Emma’s duty to greet the visiting nobles and gathered emissaries, to listen and make them feel welcome. However, though his Swan cared deeply for her country and her people, she was not one to linger in meaningless pandering and conversation when she could avoid it. Normally she would have made short work of the rounds that were necessary, but he could tell she was set on tormenting him, determined to keep her distance for the sake of driving him slowly insane with need.
The vision of her in the red dress she wore - off the shoulders with fluttering cap sleeves, but fitted all the way throughout the bodice and over her hips to the knees where it flared out in what was called a mermaid skirt (though he knew that term would make Ariel’s brow crinkle in consternation and perplexity if she heard it). The shimmering gown was bright red, and reminded him vividly of the vision she had been at the first ball they ever attended together, the first time they had danced, when he couldn’t have imagined just how much they would come to mean to each other. His mouth went suddenly dry as she leaned over to speak playfully with the diplomat’s young daughter, and deliberately gave him a look down the fitted bodice that no one else would catch. She could tell exactly what it did to him, if the wink she sent his way was any indication.
Finally, the crowd waiting to speak with the princess thinned, and he saw Emma’s mother shoo her toward the dance floor as if releasing her from official duty. It might actually be only a short respite; they couldn’t afford to snub or neglect any of those who had gathered in gratitude after all. He also knew Emma well enough to understand that though she might look as graceful as her namesake avian creature, she would never choose to unwind or cut loose while dressed up in heels and finery, doing proper ballroom dances in front of so many watching eyes. She was more inclined to curl up in her beloved hoodies and sweats or go out sailing with him when she truly wished to feel at ease.
Regardless, he would take the chance to cut which was being placed before him. Sliding over to stand before her, Killian raised his brow at Emma as she drew in a sharp breath of surprise at his sudden appearance, and how close he pressed to her before holding out his hand and hook to pull her into a familiar waltz. Still, there was nothing simple or understated about the scorching look her offered her, making certain she felt the heat simmering from his every pore, the sheer desire burning within his eyes, even as his hand played over her back and his hook brushed an escaped golden tentril of her hair off her forehead before trailing along her collarbone, cool against her rapidly warming skin.
The smirk that crossed his face at the gasp escaping his Savior’s painted lips was as taunting and rakish as any he had ever worn in his most daring years of piracy. Leaning nearer still, he could practically feel Emma’s heart hammering, so rapidly that he feared a moment for it beating out of her chest. She clutched the open collar of his shirt, thumb rubbing through the coarse chest hair she loved, just barely peeping out and giving a hint at the rapscallion beneath his respectable garb.
Before he could think to rein in the impulse that took him over, Killian darted forward to nip at the lobe of her delicate ear, tongue playing briefly with the dangling pearl drop of her earring until a quiet little whimper escaped her for him alone to hear, even as they mostly looked to be dancing sedately to anyone else’s eyes.
Pulling back slightly to search his face, Emma’s expression clearly asked her husband what he was doing, and Killian leaned in to whisper at her cheek, his stubble abrading her pale, flawless skin, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “Oh Princess… you’ve been playing quite the dangerous game.”
“Me?” she whispered breathlessly, attempting to feign innocence though her voice was light and thready, and he could see a shiver run through her.
“Oh yes, Love,” he nodded, a wicked smile stretching across his devilishly handsome features as he pressed her. “You know just what you’ve been doing to me all night. I’m onto you, Wife.”
Emma smirked back at him now, sliding into the playful banter that had been a part of their relationship almost from its very beginning. “Is that so? And what am I doing, Husband?” she shot back in jesting challenge.
“Driving me wild,” he growled into the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder, making her flinch away and flush all the way up to the roots of her golden curls and down until it disappeared into the corset of her dress.
They continued to dance, though they moved closer to the edge of the large marbled palace floor and away from the many other couples. Their steps also slowed as they rotated in smaller circles - more and more caught up in each other.
Killian had her right where he wanted as he murmured for Emma’s hearing alone. “You may have your fun being the perfect royal for now, Darling. Charm your princes and bewitch your knights. Laugh and dance and make nice, enchant them all… but don’t forget who will take you home when the night is over. Then you’re mine… and you won’t be so proper.”
His eyes glimmered with blue fire as those words sunk in, and Emma’s chest visibly seemed to heave across the tightly cinched corset in a struggle to draw breath once he had stolen it. Killian licked his lips salaciously, holding her in his stare, and Emma nearly tripped, her knees went so weak. If she hadn’t already been clutching him tightly, she would have fallen in a puddle at his feet.
It seemed the Princess of Misthaven deemed her duties that night fulfilled after all, as it was not much longer before she and her pirate consort husband disappeared for the evening - no doubt saving the very last intimate dance for each other alone.
Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @let-it-raines @shireness-says @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @spartanguard @effulgentcolors @branlovestowrite @lfh1226-linda @thislassishooked @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @profdanglaisstuff @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke
January Joy 2020 is here! I’m super excited to get this started! First things first, the mods this year will be @lassluna and @pirateherokillian. So super excited to see the wonderful creations this year!
What is January Joy?
This is an event hoping to inspire positivity in the fandom. Every day in January will have a piece of Captain Swan art/fic posted. There’s no required theme/length, it’s whatever you want!
How to sign up?
Just let us know what you want to make (fic/art etc.) and what day would be good for you. Since we’re trying for something different every day, we’re going to try to get all the days covered before doubling up on days.
You don’t make art/fic and you still want to participate?
You can drop into the discord and cheer everyone on.
Have a prompt that you think would be good for this event?
Send it in! Best way to help is to give some ideas to those struggling to come up with something!
Here’s a link to the last few years creations! This is going to be great.
Summary: Emma Swan is fed up of January, fed up of the cold, fed up of Leroy. She needs a little joy in her life.
Luckily for her, Killian Jones is always happy to brighten her day.
Also on AO3
Hi there! I’m still slowly regaining my writing mojo, and what better way than with a little happy fic for @csjanuaryjoy?
Thank you so much to @profdanglaisstuff for doing a quick beta read (although not of the final draft so any mistakes remaining were not ignored by my favourite Language & Grammar Guru!). Also thanks to @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu & @mahstatins for cheering me on. :)
It was not Emma’s day. Woken up an hour early by her alarm, her shower refused to warm up leaving her to shower in freezing cold water and she ripped her top as she pulled it on.
She knew the fun was just beginning. What other delights do I have to look forward to? she mused as she pulled on her heavy winter coat, sighing as she missed the armour of her red leather jacket. Leroy is sure to put in a grand appearance. She grabbed her phone and keys and slipped them in her pocket. Who’s he going to piss off today? Maybe he’ll just start shouting "the end is coming!" like that time he got drunk and thought -
Woah.
Emma’s train of thought was completely derailed. There was a white box in front of the door to her flat. The kind that doughnuts came in. She might have thought that it wasn’t meant for her - people didn’t leave unexpected thoughtful gifts for her - but there was a swan on the gift tag.
She looked around for the culprit, teeth clenching as she searched for a lurking prankster. The furrow in her brow didn’t relax upon seeing no one, Will Scarlet lived directly opposite her, and he definitely seemed the practical joke type, “I’ll do anything for a laugh, me,” isn’t that what he’d said? She crouched down towards the box, eyes on Will’s door until the last second, when she flipped over the card quickly, scarcely willing to touch it.
Hope your day is as lovely as you.
Her heart pounded. A normal person might smile at this, but this made her skin itch from the inside. She wasn’t lovely, she was, she was - prickly, her memories provided for her. Yes, prickly, that’s what Elsa had called her.
Emma reached into her pocket for a tissue, wrapped her hand in it, eyes darting back and forward between the box and the ominous closed door facing her. She reached out with her covered hand and quickly opened the box.
A bear claw was inside.
She didn’t know what to think. Except that she was hungry and that the bear claw smelled good. And I hope Will didn’t see that, he’d probably tell Killian.
Which would be fine. Killian was just a friend, of sorts. A handsome friend, not that she’d noticed. One who sometimes smiled at her in a certain way that made her think that maybe getting involved with a friend wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. It’s not like they were close or anything. And besides -
Stop it, she told herself firmly, closing the lid and scooping up the box. She wasn’t one to look a gift pastry in the box. Or something.
***
A glass was placed before Emma, the amber liquid exactly what she needed after her long week. Someone brushed up against her as they leaned against the bar.
"Sorry, love," they murmured, her chest tightened pleasantly at the sound of their lilting British accent.
She looked around, at the same time as the stranger. Hot. It was the only thought in her head at the sight of him. Brilliant blue eyes sparkling with seduction met hers, his tongue traced his lips sinfully. God she hoped she wasn't imagining the interest she was sure she could feel radiating off this dark-haired treat.
"Drinking alone?" he asked, cocking his brow in invitation.
She thought of her friends loitering near the booths. "Not anymore," she said, leaning into him with a smile, one that he returned, mirroring her.
"Jones!" Emma sighed as her latest would be conquest, Jones apparently, jolted forward from the impact of her friend Robin colliding with him, throwing his arms around his shoulders.
"Emma!" Robin exclaimed, shoving his way between her and 'Jones', "I see you've met Killian!"
Emma's face fell as Robin's words ensured that she would not be getting intimately acquainted with Killian. She was a one night only kind of girl, and that just wouldn't fly with Robin's "old mate Killian from across the pond". She shuddered internally at the thought of hanging out with anyone who had seen her O face. (The guy just oozed sex appeal, turning her on with just a polite apology, there was no way he wouldn't get to see that face if they were to bang out the tension that thrummed between them.)
She shook herself from her thoughts. "We just said hi," she lied easily, thinking she saw the briefest spark of sadness in Killian's eyes, before it was smoothed away by forced frivolity. "Hadn't introduced ourselves yet."
"Well in that case, Emma Swan, meet Killian Jones. Killian, meet Emma." Killian held out his hand for her to shake, and if he felt that same spark that she did when she took it, his eyes gave nothing away.
***
Emma stopped dead at the sight of the foot of fresh snow that coated the ground when she yanked open the door. "Seriously?" she groaned in disgust. The weather forecast hadn't said anything about snow and it was unlikely that her poor bug would handle the cold.
She gingerly stepped outside, and was hit by the icy chill of the air even through her thick coat. She slipped and slid her way to the bug and was forced to set her bakery box on the top of her car - though not before she brushed the snow from it - to use both hands to wrench the frozen shut door open.
Why am I even bothering? This is never going to start. But still, she spent several minutes tugging with all her might before it gave way with an ominous crack. Her legs shot out from under her and she landed hard on her ass.
Fucking ow. "Like landing on a pillow" my ass, Kristoff. Him and Anna were toast and the rest of Frozen was Elsa's fever dream.
Still, the door was open, there was still hope that her luck was turning.
***
Emma was never really one for hope. That bear claw had clearly given her an unexpected optimism that slowly shrivelled up in the icy chill, pathetically shuddering before finally slinking off to a hole to die as the bug stubbornly refused to start.
There was nothing for it but to walk to work.
After that bear claw. She would need the extra fuel to help her keep warm on the long, arduous fifteen minute trek. Besides, the way her luck was going, she was sure to wind up face first in the thing within a few steps of the bug, best not to try her chances.
She ate quickly, lest she find herself frozen into the bug this time, and set off on her epic journey to work. Fifteen minutes became forty five as she carefully stepped - and, more often than not, skidded - along icy sidewalks, determined to somehow, some way, maintain her upright position.
She pushed her way through the doors of the station, shaking the snow from her coat as she went and bitterly regretting her choice not to detour to Granny’s for more sweet treats to keep her going through the day.
“Morning, Sheriff,” David singsonged to her as she burst into the room, dishevelled and cold. She whirled around to glare at him.
“What’s got you in such a chipper mood? Is your heart too pure to be touched by the cold?”
“You’ll see!”
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to will him to speak. (And not to consider what was wrong with her that she was so deeply suspicious of her good friend and trusted colleague being happy, of all things.)
She crept up on her office, her hand twitching as she struggled against her instincts to draw her gun. She reached for the door, then stopped to took one last calculating look over at David. Upon seeing the look of sheer amusement on his face at her antics, she straightened up and threw the door open.
Her jaw dropped at the sight before her.
There, on her desk, was what could only be described as a bouquet of poptarts, apollo bars and hot chocolate sachets. She stepped closer, looking to see if there was a card, and spotted another gift card bearing a simple swan.
Sweets for my sweet
She almost gasped at the message. Did that mean - could these be from - Killian?
She didn’t know what had possessed her to agree to help chaperone the high school winter dance, Mary Margaret was the teacher, that was her job. Emma was just her gullible friend.
Her gullible friend who was currently stuck in some kind of time warp, attending a 60’s themed dance. It was disconcerting at best, to watch 17 year olds do the mashed potato and the twist instead of, well, whatever normal teenagers did. Having never been to a prom before, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she was reasonably certain that it wasn’t this.
“Sweets for my sweet,” a voice sang into her ear.
The owner was lucky that he even sang with a British lilt, or she’d have had his arm twisted up behind his back in a heartbeat. Instead she rolled her eyes as she turned to look at him.
“Those lines may work in England, Killian, but here you need to put in a little more effort."
" My heart," he gasped clutching at his chest. "You Yanks are so cruel!" He raised a fist to the sky, shaking it dramatically. "A curse upon Love Actually for teaching me that all I needed to pull was a cute British accent."
Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of this. It made her want to laugh, in spite of herself, feeling certain that he was mocking himself instead of her, although it was hard to be sure. "It really took you five months to find that one out? Never struck out before?"
"Come on, love, you've seen me, with this devilishly handsome face I normally don't have to resort to pick up lines at all."
Emma did laugh that time. "Not sure if you're painting yourself in a very good light there. You're only able to charm a lady if you keep your mouth shut?"
Killian smirked at her, and leaned in closer, a move that tugged at her insides, leaving her chest feeling tight, tensed in eager anticipation as it so often did when he was around. "Oh, I assure you that I am quite the cunning linguist, when the lady's willing," he said with a wink.
She cursed herself and her hormones, because even his ridiculous words and pathetic half wink sent a flutter deep inside of her. The feeling spiked a familiar wave of panic coursing through her. She didn't do relationships and she certainly didn't do friends with benefits, which placed Killian firmly in look but don't touch territory.
"What a shame, I guess you'll have to find another 'willing lady'." She forced a bored lightness into her words, as she stepped back, trying to reestablish the boundaries of their relationship.
"As you wish," he said with an elaborate bow. He straightened and smiled at her, this time a smile of friendship, easily accepting her refusal with good grace. "It's not too much to ask you for a dance, though, is it Swan?"
His question was a genuine one, a true desire to understand what she needed of him.
"Oh, I don't know." His eyes dimmed a little in what seemed like disappointment, even as he gave her a smile and a nod that sent a surge of adrenaline spiking through her. "It's not that I don't want to, I just, um - I don't know - how to whatever that is."
The sparkle was back in his eyes, and with it, the flutter inside her. "Dance?" he chuckled.
She eyed the dancers spinning about dubiously. These kids had definitely been taking lessons, which was a level of effort she couldn't even imagine for a single high school dance. But then, she was always the outsider, perhaps this was just what all normal kids did, maybe she was the weird one.
She was pulled from her thoughts by his hand gently tugging on hers. She looked up to see him smiling at her patiently.
"There really is only one rule."
"And what's that?"
"Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."
Her scepticism must have been written all over her face, and yet she let him lead her towards the dance floor. "This isn't setting me up for a Carrie situation, is it?" she said, giving voice to the secret fears of the lost girl inside, even as she knew that Killian wouldn't do that to her.
"And why would I want to humiliate a dear friend? That would be the height of bad form." His words were light, but she was sure that she could feel the hurt behind them, and felt bad for letting her worst fears affect him.
She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so instead she aimed for distraction. "Why are you here anyway?" He arched a brow at her rudeness and she cringed at herself. "I thought you were a fancy college professor or something?"
"I'm a professor of linguistics -"
"For real? I thought you were just -" Emma's cheeks flamed at what she had thought Killian was referring to when he called himself a 'cunning linguist'.
He smirked. "Mind out of the gutter, Swan. As I said, linguistics is my specialism, I'm doing a study into the changing speech patterns of the youth of today, and the impact of technology on their communication styles. Storybrooke High School has allowed me to gather primary data for my research, in exchange for my assistance with advanced assignments and specialist lectures for those on track for Ivy League."
Emma liked listening to him talk, it was easy to get caught up in his excitement, even if she wouldn't normally care about academia or the study of linguistics. She loved his passion and that he didn't talk down to her, even though he knew she was a high school dropout.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you." He chuckled, and abruptly spun her out, before pulling her back in. "I realise I get carried away sometimes, thank you for indulging me."
"That's OK, you're cute when you're talking about you research."
"Oh really?" His left eyebrow danced up like it had a mind of its own. "So you are a fan of my cunning linguistics? Good to know." He laughed and ducked out of the way of her lazy smack to his arm. She didn't mind, she hadn't really intended to injure him, just warn him off that particular line of teasing. She felt like something had shifted between them in the course of one short dance, and it wasn't something that she had much care to examine right then - or, more likely, ever.
That dance had been a month and a half ago, surely there was no way that this was Killian finally pushing that boundary? Testing it out to see if there was any hope that maybe the time had finally come for her to reexamine it, to reconsider what they could be to each other? But if not him, who else could have sent this?
She chewed on her lip and wondered what this could all mean.
The phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. She could hear David answering a moment later, giving her leave to pick a pop tart from the bouquet, unwrap it, and take a bite.
“Emma?”
She grunted in reply, unable to speak around her mouthful of pop tart.
“Duty calls.”
***
It had been a hell of a day and it was only 2pm, far too late for her to only just be heading into the diner.
She leaned against the counter with a sigh, which thankfully caught Granny’s attention.
“Hey Emma,” said the eponymous diner owner, looking up at her, “just packing up your order, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, and closed her eyes.
“Rough day, love?”
Killian’s voice was like music to her ears, although the tune halted abruptly with a screeching record scratch as she remembered the gifts. She wasn’t absolutely certain that he was the sender, and that left her entirely unclear about what she should do. Just thinking about it was enough to set her heart racing, and not in the pleasantly fluttery way it usually did when he was around.
“Er - yeah - it’s been - well, you’ve seen the weather.” She gestured outside to the snow, feeling like a massive prick as she did it. She hated stating the obvious.
“Yeah, I can imagine that you’ve had a lot on.”
“Eh, I wasn’t expecting a great day anyway. Something about this time of year always gets to people.”
“Well, it is Blue Monday.”
“A catchy disco electro-rock song? Sure. Why not?”
Killian laughed. “How does it feel to treat me like you do?” he sang at her, and her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. Those words hit a little too close to home.
She quickly looked away. He always could see her, really see her, in a way no one else could, and his piercing eyes were just a little too much for her right now. “So, Blue Monday?”
“Aye. Most depressing day of the year.”
She couldn’t help it, she had to look at him now. “Says who?”
“Marketers, I think.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to answer her silent question. “It’s a big deal in Britain, someone allegedly calculated the most depressing day of the year, and every year the press brings it up again and of course, businesses take the chance to persuade every to spend their money to find some joy.”
“Yay capitalism,” Emma deadpanned. “I buy it though. Something about that last Monday in January before payday seems to send people crazy.”
Killian looked over to the menu, nodding thoughtfully. “Has anything happened to brighten your day though?” he asked. His words sounded casual, but Emma knew better, she could see how he scratched at that spot behind his ear, the way he always did when he was nervous.
She made him nervous. She felt the same, panicking over what was the right thing to say. Should she mention the gifts? What if it wasn’t him? He hadn’t actually said anything conclusive, just vaguely hinted. But, oh, what if it was? She wasn’t fit to actually be with someone, and surely there was no way to misconstrue his feelings towards her after that, how could she say thanks but no thanks to this man?
He looked over at her, a question in his eyes. Apparently, her internal freak out was taking every bit as long as she worried it was.
“Oh - oh, um, no.”
And she watched as hope died in Killian Jones’ beautiful blue eyes and felt every inch the asshole that she was.
***
“I thought you had a date tonight?” Killian said, too smooth for his jaw to drop, but nevertheless oozing surprise at finding Emma at his front door.
“Wow, is that how you greet all your friends?” she asked.”So, er, you going to let me in now?”
He gestured wordless for her to step inside and reached out to help her with her coat. His fingers brushed her shoulder, the barest of touches, and still she felt that twist of anticipation in her belly. Shaking herself she strode straight for the living room, flopped down on his sofa and kicked off her heels.
She didn’t move until she felt him settle down next to her, when she swung her legs across his. It perhaps wasn’t the most ladylike of gestures, what with her wearing a form-fitting mini dress, but he immediately took one of her feet in his hands and began to knead at the arches and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her body was simultaneously melting in relaxation and buzzing with arousal at the feeling. He continued to massage her in silence for several minutes, during which time Emma gave into the pure feeling of bliss his touch gave her and closed her eyes.
“So, no date then?”
She opened her eyes to see that he was still studying her foot intently, but he was poised in anticipation of her reply.
“You think I put this dress on just to lie on your sofa?”
“A man can dream.” That look on sincerity was back on Killian’s face, she’d been seeing it more and more since that stupid dance. He meant his flirting, he was hers for the taking if she wanted him, or at least, she thought so, but she’d been wrong about these things before and it was just easier to not push and be rejected and -
She moaned as he found a particularly tight knot and began to rub out the tension, sending ripples of relaxation through her.
Oh God if he’s this good with your feet, you have to let him handle o-
Stop it.
And she was back to arguing with herself internally.
“Everything alright?” Killian had stopped her movements and was looking up at her with worry written across his face.
“What? Yeah, it’s fine. Great actually, that bit just really hurts and yeah, it felt nice.”
He resumed massaging the knot, far more gently than he had before. “Only you’ve gone a bit tense. If it’s not the massage, dare I presume it was the date?”
“Urgh, the date. Next time Mary Margaret tries to persuade me to go on a blind date, please remind me not to be fooled by her cute pixie face, she is one feisty bitch and can absolutely handle the disappointment when I tell her to fuck off.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“The guy bought me a rose -”
“What a monster!”
“ - let me finish, a red rose covered bear. It looked like the calling card a serial killer would leave at the scene of the crime.”
“But a real rose would have been ok?”
Emma shrugged. “I guess? They’re just a bit cliched though, aren’t they?”
“A red rose maybe, although they do have a long-standing tradition that dates back as far as the Greek goddess of love.”
“Exactly. Cliche.”
Killian laughed. “That it is indeed. Perhaps you would prefer another colour? Red is chosen because indicates passion and desire, but there are other colours.”
“What about yellow? That’s my favourite colour.”
“Ah, the symbol of friendship.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Indeed, what true partnership can you have with a lover who is not also a friend?”
There was a bit too much meaning in those words, that possibility of more between them, ready for Emma to just reach out and take it. If only she could be brave enough.
***
"No Leroy, I can't arrest your brother for falling asleep during a row," Emma said into the phone rubbing at her temples with her free hand in exasperation. "It hardly seems fair to call him rude, he has narcolepsy. Yes, I do imagine it is annoying, but being irritating without due care and attention isn't a criminal offence." Luckily for you, she thought to herself. "I'm sorry, I cannot help you, and if you call again, I will have to arrest you for wasting police time, goodbye"
Emma put the phone down on Leroy even as he started on a new tirade about her.
"Miss Swan?" Emma looked up, to see Moe French lingering in her doorway.
"How can I help you, Mr French?" she asked with a tired smile
"I've got a delivery for you." As he spoke the florist produced a simple bouquet from behind his back of yellow roses mixed with buttercups and daisies. "Sorry it's late in the day, the weather's delayed my deliveries."
He handed it out to her and Emma immediately looked for a tag with a swan on as she reached for it, wondering at the choice of flowers. They had to be from Killian, but what did this mean?
"Can you sign for them?"
"Oh, sure," she said and fumbled awkwardly with the flowers to scribble her name. Once alone, she looked again for a card - and again found a simple swan tag.
To brighten your day
Killian
There was no denying it now: the gifts were from Killian, and he expected nothing in return. Yellow roses for friendship, buttercups for The Princess Bride. “As you wish,” he said just like Wesley, his way of saying “I love you”. He would follow her wishes, it was up to her whether that love was to remain purely platonic. What did she wish for?
She thought of Killian. Of how he smiled just for her, of how he made her feel, of the sadness he felt at not being able to bring a little joy into her day. She felt that familiar tingle inside of her at the thought of him. The anxiety that always reared up in response to her happiness twisted that feeling into something dark and unpleasant.
But he’ll -
No, she told herself, not today.
Men aren’t to be trusted. The anxiety tried again, her inner horcrux whispering to her. What makes you think he’ll be different? Just stay friends, that’s -
“No!” she shouted out loud, “That’s not enough for me!”
And so with her mind made up, she ran.
***
She was panting, her lungs screaming with the effort, when she finally skidded to a halt in front of Killian’s door. Her cheeks were red, she was sweaty and barely able to speak, but she didn’t care, just hammered on the door.
“Swan!” Killian said with a smile as he threw open the door. She watched him, waiting for her breath to return to something like normal before speaking, seeing how his eyes darted from the flowers clasped tight to her chest, to her smile, to her eyes. “Is everything OK?”
“Do you mean it?” she said, searching his face for the answer she was so desperate to hear.
His mouth turned up in a cheeky half smile and she just knew he was going to say something ridiculous. “Yes, I do want to know if everything is OK.”
“No,” she frowned, shaking her head and holding out the bouquet. “Do you mean it? Can we - can we be - more?” She tripped over her words, feeling foolish before him.
She didn’t feel foolish for long.
A dazzling smile spread over his face as he understood, looking simply awestruck at her stumbling question. His eyes never left hers as he nodded slowly. “As you wish,” was his reply.
She grabbed him, pushing him back into his apartment, dropping the bouquet and letting the door slam shut behind them as she seized his mouth with hers. That delightful feeling of something immense exploded in her chest, her anxiety was finally quelled, there was nothing but her and him and the start of so much more.
Thanks to @csjanuaryjoy for creating this event! Rated M for Mature, it’s mostly just kinky PWP, but with a New Year’s Eve theme :)
I hope you all enjoy! I wish you all the best for the upcoming new year!
The Rabbit Hole was crowded on New Year’s Eve. Loud music blasted from the speakers and gold balloons covered the ceiling. People drank and danced, prepared to welcome in the new year.
Killian grumbled as he finished his fifth drink. Emma was supposed to be here, but she was late. Twenty minutes late, actually. He spent time playing pool with Robin and his merry men, but he was getting increasingly frustrated. He took out his phone, prepared to text her again, when he spotted her entering the bar.
His heart skipped a beat. She wore a little black dress that came down to mid-thigh. Her stiletto heels pierced the ground as she walked, drawing attention from onlookers. She had her golden hair curled in tight waves across her shoulders. Killian was completely speechless and he didn’t know how to react. He was certainly glad that she was here now.
“Hey babe,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sorry for being late. I stayed late at the station today and then I had to get ready and all - ”
“It’s alright, Swan,” he grinned, putting an arm around her waist and drawing her closer. “You look stunning. Let’s get you a drink and I’ll get a booth in the back for us.”
She nodded and waited as he ordered two glasses of rum. They walked to a booth in the back, pleased that the crowds were leaving now. There was a celebration in the town square at midnight and people were flocking there quickly to get a good seat. The two sat down and took their drinks.
“What are we drinking to?” she asked, lifting her glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said with a smirk. “And to a great night.”
They clinked their glasses and drank. Emma sighed and relaxed against his chest, “You wanna know why I wore this?”
“No, but I can guess,” he said with a wink.
She laughed, “Ok, I just wanted to see your reaction. That face you made is worth it, honestly.”
“Can you blame me? You look so hot and all I want to do right now is tear that dress off your body,” he whispered with a growl.
“And then what?” she asked, growing wetter with his promise. Her man really had a way with words and his sexy accent only made it hotter.
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said, turning around and leaning in closer. With her low neckline, he got a perfect view of her cleavage. Killian looked even more aroused as he continued speaking.
“After I’ve stripped you, I’ll run a finger through your quim to make sure you’re wet. And then I’ll grab those handcuffs and chain you to the bed frame. Once you’re ready, I’ll spank your ass until you’re really wet and ready for me.”
Emma sighed as a shiver ran through her body. She really enjoyed being tied up and spanked. It took them awhile to figure it out, but she sometimes enjoyed being submissive in bed. Killian was more than happy to fulfill any of her desires and kinks.
“And then?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out,” he replied cheekily, finishing his drink. “Come on, let’s go back to your place.”
She nodded, finding it difficult to stand up with the growing wetness between her legs. “Yeah, let’s go.”
The ride back was frustrating, but worthwhile. Killian kept touching her bare thigh as they drove home, teasing her mercilessly. Emma groaned, glad that there were few cars on the road today. In her distracted state, she could’ve caused a serious accident.
Once they entered her apartment, Killian wasted no time and drew her into a passionate kiss. Emma locked her legs around his waist and allowed him to carry her to their bedroom. When they reached their room, he deposited her on the bed.
“What about your promise?” she asked with a laugh.
“Of course, how could I forget?” Killian said, chuckling. With careful hands, he deftly removed her stilettos and unzipped her dress. Emma stood up as he took off her clothes. She wore a lacy black bra and tight panties to match.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, staring at her.
“Like what you see?” she asked in a sultry voice, pushing her hair over her shoulder.
In response, he growled and pushed her back onto the bed. She giggled and complied, letting him press her against the pillows. He grabbed her hands with his hook and put them against the headboard.
“Remember what I said, Swan,” he said in a serious tone. “Are you sure you want this?”
Emma nodded gratefully, biting her bottom lip. Killian procured a set of handcuffs from the drawer and shackled her hands to the bed. She tested them a couple times, but it was clear that she would be able to escape.
He sat on the bed between her legs, running a finger through her wet heat. Emma moaned as he pushed two fingers into her and wasn’t surprised to find just how wet she was. It must have been from their heated kiss or his promises. He tasted her sweetness on his lips and let out a moan. Killian lifted his fingers to her mouth and had her taste her own juices. He adored the way she sucked on his fingers, her eyes dancing with lust.
She giggled and it quickly turned into a surprised gasp of pain when he gave her a fierce spank. Her arse reddened immediately and he loved the sight of it.
“What did you say?” he whispered darkly into her ear.
“One,” she replied innocently. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Good girl,” he grinned, swatting both ass cheeks at once.
“Two, thank you,” she said quietly.
On and on his spanks went. She could feel her arousal nearly dripping down her legs and desperately wanted an orgasm already. He normally gave her ten hits, but this time, he continued. Her squeals of pain and begs for mercy grew until he finished with twenty spanks and she collapsed into his arms, hastily wiping away the tears of pain that ran down her cheeks.
Her arse felt raw and it stung when he touched it. He noticed however, and pulled her up so that her face was level with his. Pressing soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks, he looked nervous and a little uncertain.
“Did I go too far, Emma?”
“Of course not. Use me, please,” she whispered, desperation evident in her tone. “I need to come.”
“As you wish,” he said with a cheeky grin.
Killian was already rock hard from spanking her and she looked so hot when she begged him for release. He poised himself and finally entered with a satisfying groan. She scrambled to accommodate him, but found that she was so wet that she could take his large cock without any more preparation. Emma gasped as he thrusted deeply and fully, intending to bring her to orgasm as quickly as possible. He pressed her legs to her chest, so he could have better access to her wetness. Killian groaned passionately, rubbing her clit fiercely until she was right at the edge.
Finally, she came. Pleasure racked her whole body and her vision went black. Once that was over, he entered her with two fingers, pumping her until she orgasmed once more. It felt like a never ending dose of adrenaline, one she enjoyed immensely.
Once they came down from their high, he uncuffed her from the bed and pressed a kiss to her wrists. Killian put the handcuffs on the nightstand and pulled her closer to him.
“Did you enjoy that, love?” he asked, as she leaned in and pressed her head on his chest.
“Yeah,” she yawned. Outside, the fireworks in the town square started and their dark room lit up with red and green light. “Happy new year, Killian.”
