It’s been a while since I shared a snippet. I’ve been bouncing around between a bunch of barely-started wips lately in what little time I’ve had to write and been able to focus, and I haven’t gotten very far in any of them.
One of those WIPs is inspired by the lovely and talented @itsfabianadocarmo and one of her gorgeous and sexy Naughty November posts. I wrote over 1000 words in one morning after she posted it, which might not be a lot of words to some but it’s more than I’ve been able to manage at once in a long while so it’s important to me. ❤️
My plan is to reference all of the images in the art, and I’m currently at about 7/9, so hopefully I’ll get to finish it and share all of it soon. 😘❤️ For now, here’s a few more than six sentences, and we’ll see if I add a read-more from mobile correctly lol:
“Not so fast, little wench,” he warned, lowering her legs before grasping her arm and pulling her forward. “Come on.” Killian coaxed her to her feet and pinned her to the wall, crossing her wrists above her head and holding them there with his hand as he fixed her panties and rutted against her barely clothed center. Their foreheads almost touched as he ferally nipped at her lips, his tongue darting out to swipe across them, quick and taunting yet intoxicating nonetheless.
“Tell me what you want,” he commanded with a low, rumbling timbre in his voice.
His hot breath melted her as she shuddered and answered shakily, “I want your cock, Captain.”
“Do you?” Killian thrust between her legs, sliding his length along the sodden lace, giving her not nearly enough as she squirmed in his hold. “Do you want it like this, lass?”
“Nnnn,” Emma shook her head again. She eagerly rocked along his shaft, seeking any friction he’d grant her to soothe the throbbing ache she felt.
“How do you want my cock, darling?” The tip of his hook dug into her flesh as he steadied her hip, holding her still as he pressed his body fully against her.
“Please,” she practically whispered, her voice cracking, “I want your cock inside me, Captain.”
Summer of 1972, Venice Beach California. 17 Year old Emma Nolan lives to surf, and be with her friends and family. Her deepest secret is that she is secretly in love with her brothers best friend. 19 Year old Killian Jones is pining over his friend Dave Nolans little sister Emma, a party and some blue Kool-Aid changes everything. Enjoy!
This was totally inspired by @itsfabianadocarmo and her wonderful collages on Tumblr :) xo
Collage credit to @itsfabianadocarmo
Chapter 1 on AO3
The sun was hot on Emma's skin, she smelled the salty breeze of the waves crashing, the hot sun on her skin, the banana boat oil she was covered in, “Brandy” blaring out of Ruby’s radio sitting at the edge of her blanket. "Man, I can only imagine what Graham would be like between the sheets" Ruby purred as she peered over her white sunglasses at the guys in the water. Emma rolled her eyes, "Dude, just don’t check out my brother please for the love of god Rubes", Emma said exasperated.
"Hmm, Dave isn’t too bad either, rawrrr" she giggled. Emma sat up, "gross Ruby". She shielded her eyes from the sun, looking to the water watching her brother as he paddled back out in the cove, small waves rolling in. "You wanna go in Rubes? I'm boiling out here.” "Sure, boards, or no?" " Sure," Emma said and stood up, bending down to grab her board off the sand beside her.
"Well, that is quite a sight to behold" a lilting Irish voice said behind her. Emma rolled her eyes, ignoring that voice, it belonged to one of her brothers’ friends, Killian Jones. Irish bastard Emma thought to herself as she rolled her eyes, secretly pleased he was ogling her, but wouldn’t dignify his comment with a retort other than a middle finger. He chuckled as she waved it behind her not even looking his way. Ruby stood up, adjusting her red string bikini, grabbing her board too.
The girls walked towards the water, the surf cooling their feet after the hot sand burned beneath their soles. Emma looked to Ruby, "Ready?" Ruby nodded, and they waded in and began paddling out.
Killian Jones was sitting on the sand, warming himself up. Man, Emma Nolan was the ultimate California girl he thought to himself. Her sun-bleached curls hanging low down her back, her skin golden and dark from the sun, freckles sprinkled across her skin. He was particularly fond of the freckles on the soft inner skin of the most spectacular rack he had ever seen. Emma was thin, and athletic, a great ass, and she was a great surfer. She had a smart mouth that never seized to amaze him.
Their verbal foreplay over the years only got better the older they got. Dave Nolan had welcomed him pretty easily when his brother and him arrived to their neighborhood a few years back, the only warning was hands off his sister, and Killian respected that line his friend had drawn, hell if he had a sister that looked like Emma, he would probably say the same thing. The problem was, the more time that passed, the harder Killian was falling for her.
He sat a few more minutes, until he grabbed his board and headed out into the water to finish up their day. He sat atop his board in the shallows, waiting and watching, Jeff caught a decent wave, Dave and Graham waiting out for the bigger ones. Emma was atop her board beside her brother talking about something, while Graham was no doubt flirting with Ruby, leaning in towards the brunette laughing and smiling at her.
Killian felt a pang of jealousy, he had never had an issue finding a lass for an evening, but not the one he wanted. Too bad it would never happen, he looked over at him catching Emma's sparkling green eyes roving over him. His ears felt hot, she was staring at him trying terribly to hide it, but he had just caught her giving him a look he had only fantasized about a thousand times, and then she looked away, acting like it never happened.
Shit, he totally caught her looking, flushing red Emma spun her board and began paddling away from the group to sit in the lull. Emma tried her hardest never to appear interested or overly friendly towards Killian, she loved her brother but some of his stories about the brothers Jones and their way with the ladies hit a little too close to home for her and getting her heart broken was not something she wanted to experience.
Emma's deepest secret was that she had pined after Killian for three years, three long years. He only got hotter, and it never fucking helped. Aside from some flirtations, and a few drunken close encounters, he had never actually crossed a line. He was 19, she was 17, not too much of an age difference and she was just a few months shy of 18, but obviously he didn't see her as anything except his friend’s little sister.
Dammit, she said shaking herself out of it, focusing on the caps headed her way, she saw a wave rolling in, she got ready, "catch it Em" Dave yelled through his cupped hands. She nodded at him charging forward toward it and quickly stood up, she felt the familiar tilt in her balance. She spread out, and felt her board take off. She kept herself steady, railing the shoulder and locked in, riding it out with a giant smile on her face.
Killian duckdove and paddled towards the break to join the group. Emma was sitting atop her board facing them in the shallows, a smile on her face, and David clapped and hollered at his sister. She just waved her hand and called out pointing "party", the group spun and started charging hard, it was going to a fun one Killian thought. He could hear Ruby laughing as she got in position, "party time boys", and winked at him smiling. They were off, Ruby went first, followed by Graham and David, when they all rode it out Killian was the last to return to the shallows. "That was bitchin" Ruby said, Emma laughed and nodded.
Emma’s skin was wet and glistening in the sunlight, her yellow bikini practically see through, her nipples were puckered, and Killian could easily see those freckles on her breasts that drove him mad. Killian felt the blood rush to his groin and quickly spun his board heading back out, and away from the purest form of temptation. He caught a few more waves, and kept going until his muscles began protesting.
The group had reconvened on the beach on their blankets, and he made his way over to them. "Catch Jones", Emma called, and a sandwich hit him square in the chest. " Thanks Swan" and he winked at Emma. He had begun calling her that a few summers back, her long graceful neck reminded him of a swan and after a night of drinking he told her just that and she let it slide.
He sat beside Dave and tucked into the lunch the Nolan’s mom had sent for them. Dave and Emma had a great mom, Ruth Nolan was essentially the matriarch of their little rag tag group. Their mother, their rule enforcer, their caretaker. She watched over each of them, and as a single mom of two, she openly accepted each of them as if they were her own.
He watched Dave look at his watch, " It's 3 Em, work in an hour", she nodded and grabbed her bag. "Alright, catch you guys later" and she stood throwing her towel over her shoulder, not bothering to dress, and looked to Ruby. "I’ll catch a ride with Graham and Dave, head over around 8?" she said, and Emma nodded looking to Graham who also nodded at Emma.
Emma leaned forward and kissed Dave on the top of his head, he patted her hand. "Later". She bent again and grabbed her board, and Killian watched her head towards the lot where her sunshine yellow VW bus was parked, leaning her board against it. Killian made a snap decision, "hey I'm going to see if Em will drop me at the apartment before Liam gets off. Catch you guys later? I'll see if he wants to come." Dave nodded, "head over for dinner if you guys want, we won’t be here much longer", Killian nodded and grabbed his board hightailing it for the lot.
"Swan", came a shout. Emma looked up, "Hey" her heart fluttering in her chest. "Can you drop me on your way?" She nodded, "You working today? "Nah, I just want to try to catch Liam when he gets off, see if he wants to join us tonight", she nodded. "C'mon Jones, hop in" she said with a smile. Killian was assaulted with the scent of her in the small sun warmed space, she rolled down the window, and he followed suit.
The scent of her suntan oil, saltwater and sunshine was heaven. Her hair was like spun gold drying in wind swept ringlets, and his fingers itched to sink into it and pull her to him. Instead, he fiddled with the radio knobs until he found a station he liked.
Emma sang along with Don Mclean on the radio, sitting atop her beach towel in only her bikini still. Killian kept his eyes focused out the window until she pulled in front of his complex. He hopped out quickly, and slid the side door open to grab his board and towel, "see you later Swan?" "If you're lucky" she said. "Any time I'm graced with your presence, I'm lucky", and he instantly regretted the words that spilled out, unable to force them unspoken and back into his brain.
Her cheeks turned pink, the blush creeping down to her chest. "Maybe later?” and winked at him before she pulled away. He stood on the sidewalk awestruck, did she flirt back? Did that actually happen?
He watched her bus turn the corner, and shook his head, lost in thought up the three flights of steps to their flat. He hopped into the shower rinsing his suit off and hanging it up to dry on the towel bar and scrubbed down. Thoughts of Emma and her wet yellow bikini flooded his mind. Her laugh, the sparkle of her green eyes, the look she gave him earlier, watching her lean body out in the waves today, his cock was at full attention.
He took himself in hand, gripping hard, he imagined if he untied those thin straps of her swimsuit, her full tan breasts with rosy pink tips, he knew the outline of them to make this fantasy real enough, her scent still in his nose, he heard her sighs as he would kiss his way down her long slender neck, kissing over her collarbones, over each constellation of freckles he had begun identifying years ago, until he would suck each pink tip into his mouth.
Her fingers would slide into his hair, scraping his scalp, her small gasps escaping as he wound her up, he pumped himself harder, he imagined sliding her bottoms off and cupping her perfect ass in his hands pulling her against his hard cock, her tongue chasing his, and he felt his orgasm brewing like a storm. He pictured her dropping to her knees, and slipping those beautiful pink lips over his cock, taking him fall the way in to her throat, he gasped, his breath quickening, he could almost feel her small hands sliding over his cock as she pumped his licking over his slit, he pumped himself furiously, he felt a rush as he kept going, pushing through his orgasm, his seed shooting hard ropes against the cool tile he was braced against breathing heavily.
His forehead tipped forward and he leaned there, the hot water now running cool down his back. Fuck he said harshly, his blood humming, what the fuck was he going to do? He was so screwed. She had said maybe later, like a question. Did she want him to make a move on her? What the hell would Dave do if he did?
Emma was old enough, and he had seen her with a few guys over the last few years. But could it be possible she wanted him just as much as he wanted her? He barely registered getting dressed when he heard Liam walked in and came out of his room to see his brother collapsed on the couch.
“Rough day?” Killian asked his brother. “Long day, but possibly good? I don’t even know if that makes any sense little brother” and he mumbled into the pillow on their small couch. “Want a beer?” Killian offered, his brother just nodded, and Killian went to fetch one. “The Nolan’s invited us for dinner, you wanna come?” Liam nodded yes into the pillows where he remained face down. Killian just laughed sinking into a chair in the corner near their bookshelf.
“I need a shower Liam said, and got up, taking his beer with him into the bathroom, and started the shower. “The water is cold” he shouted, and Killian laughed. “It wasn’t very warm for me either” he said loudly, lying, and grateful his brother couldn’t see the shade of pink that his face was now covered in. Liam strode out a few moments later and pointed at him. “Is the bill paid?” “Aye” but we share a tank with the lads across the hall, so my guess is that we just weren’t fast enough to catch it”, Liam shook his head and said nothing.
Killian let Liam dress, and grabbed his skateboard. Liam grabbed his, and the two of them skated the few blocks over to the Nolan’s house, entering through the small garden gate. They shared a truck of their own, mainly for Liam to get to work down at the harbor, but it was just more enjoyable to ride their boards towards the Nolan’s.
David and Rob were sitting on the porch swing, robs girlfriend Regina sitting in a rocking chair leafing through a magazine. “Hey guys” she said sweetly. Regina was a year or two older than them and worked for a small local magazine as a writer, but her and Robin had been together since high school. She was a genuinely nice person, Rob worked a few odd jobs around town, lifeguard at the beach, swim coach at the YMCA, and was a hell of a surfer.
“You missed a party today Rob” Killian said, and Robin frowned, “Damn, who led?” he asked. “Ruby surprisingly. She is getting pretty good thanks to Hunt” and Dave barked out a laugh shaking his head.
Regina laughed too, “I was wondering when he would make his move on her, it took him long enough” she said. Killian smiled, they all knew the two of them were never as sneaky as they thought they were, but Ruby was happy and Graham was in love with her for years, so he was just happy it worked out.
“Gina, is Mary Margaret coming?” Dave asked. “Her and Emma are both working tonight, their shift ends at 9 I think”, still leafing through the magazine. “Here” she tossed the magazine into Robs lap, that was the competition I was talking about”. Robin leaned forward, reading it quickly, Killian and Liam looked at Dave who shrugged.
“Surfing competition is coming to the cove in two weeks, we should enter” Rob said. Groans from each of them spilled out. “What? We all love doing it, why not try to make some cash from it for once?” he said.
“If everyone agrees, and that’s Emma and Ruby included, I am in” Dave said. Killian nodded in agreement. “If Emma and Ruby agree to what?” came a voice from the screen door.
Ruth Nolan stepped out onto her porch; Dave immediately got up offering his mom his seat on the swing. She patted his cheek lovingly and did the same to each of them before taking her seat. “Liam you look too thin, I need to feed you better”, he rolled his eyes at her “Ruth I am a man, I feed myself just fine”, but smiled. “I’ll be the judge of that” she said with a warm smile.
“So, what will Emma and Ruby be agreeing to?” their matriarch asked. Regina piped in, “there’s a surfing competition, I think they should enter as a team, I think they could win it if they wanted to”. Ruth nodded, “wont they need a sponsor?” she asked.
“I might be able to get the magazine to sponsor but hitting up some of the surf shops would be a good place to ask around too” Regina said. Ruth looked at Dave, “If I had the money to spare, I would offer honey, but this one you’ll have to handle on your own”. Dave smiled, “no worries Ma, if they want to do it, we will figure it out together” and Ruth nodded.
“Speaking of which, Em still at work?” Ruth asked. “Til 9 I think” Regina said, my sister mentioned that her and Emma were working together tonight. Ruth nodded again. “Well let’s eat, I am famished, already set Emma’s aside so let’s go dig in, and all her little ducklings as she fondly referred to them as followed her into the house setting about in their tasks of setting the table, getting glasses, cutlery, napkins, and seated themselves in a circle as best as they could in the small room.
A few blocks over Emma was seated on a stool at the counter at Rae’s, a small local diner. Mary Margaret, one of her best friends was behind the counter making up a milkshake, which she poured and delivered, giving Emma the remains in the steel cup with a straw. Emma sucked it down, thinking about Killian. Why did he say that to her, why did she respond, and wink? Christ, she was an idiot.
“Penny for your thoughts Em?” the brunette asked sweetly. Emma eyed her, Mary Margaret knew Emma’s secret love for the Irishman, and she never blabbed about it.
“I drove him home and he said something today, and it confused me, and I flirted back and it made it even more confusing M”. “Honey, he has been in love with you for years, I noticed ages ago, but neither of you actually ever act on it, so I doubt that it complicated anything” she smiled at Emma.
Emma sucked the remains of the shake out of the cup sliding it back to her friend who dumped it in the bin below the counter. “What’s the plan after work?” she asked. “I think Ruby is heading up here in a bit, then we will go out, wanna come?” Mary Margaret flushed, “ok” was all she said.
“Its fine M, I know you like him, and he likes you, its fine, even though its my brother, its fine” and assessed her friend. Mary Margaret flushed, and just shook her head, “well we shall see, but I am not putting hope into anything”. Emma just nodded.
The bell over the door rang, and the two women looked to the door. Ruby walked in, Graham in tow and they waved setting up next to Emma at the counter. “You guys done already?” she asked Emma. “Nah, just my break”. Ruby nodded, “Well I am starving” she said, and Emma notices a very defined hickey on her neck near her collarbone.
Emma stood up and leaned into her ear, “it appears I know why Ruby Lucas”, and Ruby gave her a wolfish grin and winked at her with eyes sparkling. Graham groaned “Just leave it be Em, alright?”
“Sure, Hunt just don’t hurt her, or M will be calling me to help her hide a body” she said with a little snark. He barked out a laugh, “that’s what is the scariest part, she is the most lethal of you three” and they all laughed.
Dave got a call from Will who decided that he was throwing a party at his little beach shack, so they ate quickly and cleaned up dinner. Dave made his way to Emma’s room and grabbed a bag of clothes she had packed up off her bed.
“Ma, we are heading out to Wills”, Ruth nodded as she did her crossword puzzle, “Don’t” “forget to take Emma’s bag, I know I got it” and he raised it in his arm as proof. She nodded, “all of you be careful” and waved them out the front door.
Killian offered to head to Rae’s with Dave to pick Swan and Mary Margaret up, the rest of them headed towards Wills in Regina’s car. When Dave parked in an open spot, a flash of blonde hair whipped into view, balancing a tray on her arm as she roller skated towards a car parked a few over.
Killian took in her work uniform, Knee high socks, roller skates, long lean legs in short white cut off denim shorts, and a red tee shirt. Her hair was back in a ponytail and high on her head, the curls long and cascading down her back.
David headed towards the front door of the diner, and Killian caught Emma’s eye nodding in greeting. She shot him a huge smile, and then he watched her lean forward onto the patrons car. She was flirting with the guy driving, and for some reason it bothered him. She twirled her ponytail as he watched her blow a gum bubble listening and smiling at the driver.
By the time Killian entered in, and sat down next to Dave and Ruby, Mary Margaret had appeared with a strawberry milkshake for Ruby, and a vanilla one for Dave. “Oi, what am I? Chopped liver?” he asked in jest.
Mary Margaret slid a metal cup towards him with a children’s curly straw, “a manly milkshake for a manly man” she joked back. He nodded, “this is more like it” as he began drinking the chocolate shake.
He had one eye on the door, waiting to see Emma, but she hadn’t come in yet. “She does it for the tips you know", Mary Margaret said slyly. He caught her eyes, “I don’t know what you mean” he stuttered.
“Sure, you don’t Jones, maybe you should make a move and see” M winked at him, making a hasty exit.
Feel free to be added or ask to be removed, share or whatnot. Just tagging those I hope might like it! @itsfabianadocarmo @onceuponatime @thesschesthair @the-captains-ayebrows @the-lady-of-misthaven @wefoundloveunderthelight @timeless-love-story @xhookswenchx @purplehawkcaptain @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @killiansprincss @captainswanouat @captainswoon @captain-swan-coffee @killianslefthook @timeless-love-story @tnlph @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @elizabeethan
Takes place in the It’s About Bloody Time universe
Snuggling up in cozy pajamas
Killian Jones loves Christmas. Emma has made many an effort to ensure that her daughter never dreads Christmas as Emma herself had as a child, and although she’s only about six months old, it would appear that little Corrine will want for nothing this year. Emma has gone absolutely mad buying gifts and decorations and treats for the lass, and when Killian comes home from the store, it appears as though one of those funny looking elves came to visit early.
Corrine is bouncing happily in her jumper off to the side as Emma hums softly along to the Christmas music playing on the television. She’s started a fire, made more of those infernal cookies, and is sipping joyously from her mug of hot chocolate as she wraps gifts on the floor.
She gasps as he shuts the door to the townhouse, turning to Corrine and grinning. “Dada’s home!” She exclaims excitedly over the music. She shouts back at her mother in response.
“Hello, my loves,” Killian says, dropping his coat and phone by the door. “What are we up to?”
“Just finishing up some last minute wrapping for tomorrow,” she answers as she stretches up toward him for a kiss.
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve (apparently this holiday is celebrated twice in a row), and they’ve recently decided to spend it together, just the three of them while Henry is with his father, and then spend the morning with Emma’s parents. Last year, they each opened their gifts for one another on Christmas Eve, and it’s suddenly become a tradition that they intend to follow. He can’t wait for her to open her gift from him, although he doubts she’ll cry as she had last year.
“I got us matching pajamas, and I’m sorry, but you have to wear them.”
He laughs lightly as he scoops the babe up from her jumper and plants a kiss to her cheek. She grabs his own face in her hands and stares at him, drawing his smile even bigger. “Are we going to cuddle in matching pajamas, love?” He asks her, and she coos.
Later that evening, after Killian asks Emma how the big fat man is supposed to get in through the chimney as she described if the fire is going and earns a slap to his chest, they sit on the couch, curled up and watching some manner of child-friendly Christmas movie about a green monster who steals from the townsfolk. Emma curls herself under his free arm as Corrine sits in her crescent-shaped pillow between them, happily dancing to the strange foreign song. Everything is as it should be, and he can’t wait to celebrate the holidays with his family as he lives out his days.
A/N: I still have a way to go, but it’s coming along. Thanks so much to @itsfabianadocarmo for creating the wonderful graphic above and for letting me use it for this post! You can thank her for me getting this sneak peek out because the graphic inspired me to work on this chapter some more.
Chapter 15
After a few blissful moments of gazing at her son in silence, hot tears stinging her eyes—happy tears—Liam stirs in his cradle and begins to cry. Her motherly instincts overcome her, and she wants to push herself up and hurry to her baby, but her body is groaning in protest; she’s still aching and experiencing cramps, which her midwife has informed her is normal after delivery.
“Don’t even think about getting up, my love.”
Killian’s voice startles her, and she turns her head to see her sultan getting up from the divan, his hair disheveled, eyes glazed over with tiredness. He had stayed in her chamber while she and Liam had slept. He hurries over and carefully picks up the infant, cradling him against his chest with a hand splayed on his son’s little back and dropping a kiss on his head. Liam’s wails grow in volume and intensity, and it breaks Emma’s heart as she watches his features all scrunched up in distress.
A low chuckle escapes Killian’s throat as he strides over to Emma’s bedside, rocking their newborn gently in his arms. “I believe Prince Liam is hungry again.” He strokes his son’s hair, whispering, “No worries, little lad, your mum is right here,” before transferring Liam into his mother’s arms. Killian climbs up on the bed, careful not to disturb his son as Liam eagerly awaits his meal.
Pushing the top of her gown out of the way, she places Liam at her breast, and he easily latches onto her nipple and suckles greedily. After she had held Liam to her breast for his first feeding fresh from the womb, he instinctively latched on, something she and Killian had joked about as she’d fumbled to hold him.
Killian lies beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple.
Emma laughs as she watches her son in wonderment. “You were right, My Sultan, he was hungry.”
“And you, my love, were right about our baby being a boy.”
Emma nods. “Yes, but it matters not. He is perfect and healthy and I could not be happier.”
“Good, I am glad, my Queen,” he beams, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I could not be happier either.”
When Emma lifts her gaze, her heart flutters as she sees the enchanting look in Killian’s eyes from watching his wife feed their son. They exchange doe-eyed looks and warm smiles as they listen to their baby suckling happily.
There’s a knock on the door, and Emma permits the visitor into the chamber. It’s Elsa, who gives a look of apology when she sees that Killian is with her.
“My apologies, my lady, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I could hear the prince crying and wanted to ensure you were awake.”
“Thank you, Elsa,” Emma says, lifting her head to look at her. “I awoke just before he did.”
“Okay. May I get you anything?”
Emma shakes her head. “No, I am fine.”
She looks at Killian, asking him the same.
Killian shakes his head as he gazes at his wife and son. “No, I have everything I need right here with me.”
Elsa smiles and blushes. “Of course, Your Majesty.” With that, she bows and backs out of the chamber, closing the doors behind her.
After Elsa is gone, Emma slides her attention back to Liam. “It will never cease to amaze me how beautiful and perfect he is.” Her eyes are focused on her son, but she can sense her husband’s big, toothy grin, she can hear it when he speaks.
“Ah, so you can understand how I feel whenever I look at you, my love.”
Thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for being so patient with me! This story, at this chapter, clocks in at 10k which is the longest thing I’ve ever written and there’s still one chapter to go! Your gift, my sweet, will continue on into 2020 as work and Christmas and other commitments have kept me from it :( I’m sorry for keeping you waiting but hope you continue to enjoy where this is going ♥ It’s been a pleasure to write for you!
Another big thanks to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this fantastic event! You ROCK!
And, last but not least, we ALL owe a round of applause to @thisonesatellite for 1) putting up with me, 2) calling me out when things don’t make sense and 3) being an unwavering pillar of support through this whole process. THANKS LOVE!
Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.
He does, and things will never be the same again.
Part 1 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠
Emma waits for him.
She waits and waits, dismissing any rational thought that tells her to stop. Four months is a long time but, despite the fallen leaves turning to mulch on beaten passageways in the town, she waits. Sweet ale in her tankard. The memory of a kiss on her lips.
She sneaks out of the palace nearly every night, dressed in plain skirts. The ones that now had her fading into the background, not to be noticed other than by those that looked too closely.
Ruby tries her best to bring the smile back to Emma’s eyes. Sometimes it works; dragging her up to dance and sing, around the people she’d come so close to, unlikely friends among the dirt, slamming tankards together in cheers and living in the moment. Those moments helped, patching up the longing in her heart, however temporarily.
The docks die down in the cold, the revelries of summer no longer calling forth traders and night markets, performers and tourists, or pirates. Emma still visits, hoping to see The Jolly Roger moored up, the crewmen she’d grown familiar with greeting her with fond smiles and the Captain she loves wrapping her in his warm arms, fighting off the ache in her chest that had settled when he left.
It hurts to see it empty.
After such time apart, their summer together seems like a dream. If it weren’t for the chain at her neck, she’d wonder if it happened at all.
She’ll know soon enough. Solstice is tomorrow.
The preparations spread throughout the palace with the first frost; wreaths and garlands adorning the entire place in swaths of green, red and gold, fireplaces eternally lit in an attempt to warm the cold stone floors to no avail. On the rare nights Emma didn’t venture down to the tavern by the shore, burrowed into soft blankets and furs smelling of woodsmoke and frost, she wishes that she wasn’t alone.
A giant spruce, felled recently, lays in the courtyard, a smattering of snow covering its evergreen foliage.
Emma uses it as cover, walking behind it’s thickest part to obscure herself from the prying eyes of servants whose whispers would inevitably make their way back to the ears of her mother. She hasn’t been caught yet, in her months of running away to the docks at the fall of night and crawling back home in the early mornings, but she dreads what would happen if she did.
She dips past the thick shrub along the palace wall that hides a long forgotten passage up, up and up until it reaches just shy of her chambers. In the past, they’d probably been used for more important things – escaping assassinations, fleeing coups but those days were long gone. Misthaven was at peace; her father made sure of that.
She climbs the staircase in the dark. It takes minutes to get to the tapestry-covered exit but, in the pitch black, it stretches seemingly into hours. The sensory deprivation is all-consuming, but she continues on. Exhaustion tugs at Emma’s limbs, causing her to almost lose her footing a couple of times, grabbing the cool stone walls for balance. How long has it been since she slept? Two days? Three? Between fulfilling royal duties and drowning the dull ache in her chest, there isn’t a lot of time for sleep.
When he returns. That’s when she’ll sleep.
Before she can reach to pull the tapestry aside, it’s already gone.
In its place, the Queen.
She’s cast entirely in shadow, light from the corridor outlining her in an ethereal glow but Emma would know that silhouette anywhere.
Fuck.
“If you don’t want your Father to chain you up, I would suggest using the south entrance to sneak in, far less prying eyes this time of year. People are getting wise to your ways.”
Her mother, cinched into an opulent gown that makes Emma’s threadbare and frayed skirts look like rags, fixes her with a questioning look. Despite her age, Queen Snow has always been beautiful, once holding the title of fairest in all the realm for both her rule and her appearance. As her daughter, Emma held a biased opinion, of course, but now, with one groomed eyebrow hiked up, she cultivates the seed of anxiety in Emma’s stomach until its vines wind around her limbs, rooting her in place.
“Mother, I–”
Snow’s expression softens, a cheeky knowing smile replacing any animosity Emma could’ve sworn had been there not seconds earlier. It knocks her back like an unexpected wave.
“Hush, Emma.” She steps to the side, allowing space for Emma to emerge into the empty corridor. Hesitantly, she takes it. The light, albeit dim, is still enough to be blinding after the total void in the passageway. “I too was young once. Come along now.”
“I think the circumstances were slightly different then,” They fall into step together, heading in the direction of Emma’s chambers. Nerves still tingle in the pit of her stomach, sharper and heavier than the crown her mother wears. She hadn’t expected such a… non-issue. If her father found her, she’d be having an entirely different conversation right now. “You were running from a power-hungry sorceress who tried to turn the kingdom against you. I, on the other hand, am under no such duress.”
“My stepmother was– yes. I suppose you’re right.” She muses, looking off into the middle distance as Emma pushes against the dark wood of her bedroom door.
The whole room is immaculately kept, further evidence that it had not been slept in for some time, but the hearth is lit, embers glowing, warmth only spreading as far as the dressing table and doing nothing to bite off the bone-deep chill that settled in Emma’s bones from the walk. On the bed, atop furs and throws and soft pillows, is a dress.
“I assume Father expects me to wear that.” She sighs, picking up the offending article between two fingers. It’s softer to the touch than she expected, pleated silk and silver beads, with elaborate lace sleeves that flare at the wrists.
“You assume correctly.” Her mother nods, taking a seat by the fire and swiping an apple from the fruit basket on her way. “Johanna prepared you a bath so you can make yourself a little more presentable for later.”
“Later?”
“Yes, your Father has requested our presence in one of his meetings this morning, which is why I was so anxious for you to arrive,” Emma rolls her eyes and starts towards the bath, peeling off her outer shirts and leaving a trail of clothes on the floor, leaving her undergarments until she’s safely behind the screen separating the clawfoot tub from the rest of the room. Snow tuts at the mess. “but enough about all that, I do believe I am owed an explanation.”
The water is just a touch cooler than scalding when she steps in, but her mother’s words send a spike of fear down her spine. The girl that exists there, at the docks and taverns, she has no place in this palace. Emma tries her best to shove her down, letting only the Princess remain.
“In order to rule the people, one must know the people.”
“Oh, how diplomatic! We’ll make a Queen of you yet.” Snow calls back, voice laden with sarcasm. “Now, the truth, if you will.”
Emma pauses, letting the heat from the bath sink deeper into her bones. How does she even begin to explain?
Oh yes, Mother. I spend most of my nights at the docks staring at the horizon, waiting for a Pirate, who I seem to have fallen in love with, to return from a voyage I regret refusing to join him on and when it all gets a bit too much, I find solace in drink and frantically attempt to sober myself up on the walk back to the palace at sunrise because I fear you and Father finding out the truth of my whereabouts.
“That is the truth, partly.” Letting her head sink under the water’s embrace, she sighs. The bubbles rise and pop, words she wishes she could say. She trusts her mother implicitly.
She doesn’t, however, trust her father, who would see Killian’s head on a spike if he ever found out.
Her lungs burn when she comes up for air.
“I’m suffocating here.” Emma can’t stop herself, words spilling forth like a burst dam. “My duties are limited to appearances and dinners, where all anyone wants to talk about is who I’m going to marry. I’m the fucking Princess, adored by all and all that rubbish, but I’ve never felt more alone than when I wear that tiara. I’m nowhere near ready to rule. I don’t know the first thing about defending my country and that scares me, but when I’m down there with the people– our people, I can be someone else, even if it’s just for a night.”
For a second, the only sound in the room is the gentle splash of bathwater and the faint crackle of embers.
“Emma–” There’s a creak of furniture followed by the soft clack of heels on the stone floor. Her mother pauses and Emma can see her shadow against the screen.
“Please, Mother.” She pleads, voice unbroken. “Don’t take this from me.”
Snow emerges from behind the screen, an apologetic look casting her face in a sad smile, and reaches for one of the perfumed soaps that had been laid out for Emma to bathe with. Unperturbed by Emma’s nudity, she comes to kneel behind her daughter’s head.
“I spent so much of my youth fighting to get into a palace that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be trapped inside one.” Her fingers, small and dexterous as they are, massage the soap into Emma’s scalp, forming a liberal lather. Tension leaks out of Emma’s shoulders with each touch and, before long, she’s completely lax. They don’t speak, but Killian’s name sticks in her throat, a lump she can’t shift. In another life, were she not a Princess, perhaps she would have the courage to speak it.
Her mother and father have so many tales, stretched across years of rebellion and revolt; of the Evil Queen, of the dwarves sworn to fight by her side, of banditry and betrayals and true love– that’s what Emma had been searching for each night, between dirt and flame and ale. A story, an adventure, something for people to talk about in hushed whispers, of the Swan that fell for the sea.
They don’t have to know that the Swan is their Princess.
Not yet.
Her fingers are pruning in the lukewarm water, body lulled half to sleep, by the time her hair is washed and towel-dried. Her mother sighs, knees creaking as she stands – age has been kind to both her parents but it creeps in slowly, in the silver gracing their temples hidden by golden crowns. It comes for everyone eventually.
“I’ll ask Graham to scale back patrols on the south gate and Johanna to fetch you a better cloak than that which you’ve taken to using,” She starts, placing a fresh towel by the bath side. The satin skirt of her gown is darkened with damp spots from the water, but she pays them no mind, pressing a kiss to the centre of Emma’s forehead. “and please remember that I am always here for you, Emma. I mean it.”
There’s sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and love— so much love, more than Emma can even begin to comprehend, but she trusts it. In the list of moments she would pause for an eternity, this is one of them.
“Mother.”
“Yes, dear?”
Her voice catches, a soft hopeful smile making its way to her lips. “I love you.”
“And I you.” Snow nods, making her way behind the screen, leaving Emma to dress alone. “Meet us in the great hall in an hour.”
When the door shuts softly, confirming her mother’s exit, she emerges from the water.
--
Cold stone walls, cast-iron chandeliers with tall flickering candles, fires in every hearth, stained glass effigies of past kings and queens lit with the late morning sun, eaves decorated with garlands of holly and ivy, and, raised on marble steps, three golden thrones. The great hall really is just that. Great.
Emma grew up here, excited to be involved at first, to wear the tiara her father said she was born to wear.
As time moved on, so did she.
“Emma!” A voice rings out, echoing against stone.
Her father, the King.
Seeing him smiling, lines of age forming around his eyes and mouth, has her own smile falling into place as he walks across the great hall to embrace her, posture never slipping.
As much as she may not enjoy the formalities of her role within the court or the isolation that it’s afforded her, she holds nothing but love and respect for her father. Love and respect and a sliver of fear.
“I was wondering where you managed to run off to.” Emma leans into his embrace, letting herself be wrapped up in his arms. One hand cradles the base of her skull, the way it always does when her father holds her. He pulls back to adjust the silver circlet woven into her curls. “I take it you like the dress, then?”
He takes a step back, admiring the fabric with its delicate drapery and flowing skirts, letting Emma twirl for him to better view the garment. Killian’s ring, tucked between what cleavage her bodice creates, threatens to come free, the weight of it tugging as she turns at her Father’s request. It longs to be free. “I do, Father. Thank you.”
“Excellent.” He nods, holding his arm out for her to take, and she does. “There’s only one audience today so this should be short but I wanted you here as a witness.”
Arm in arm, they walk the carpet running the centre of the room, ascending the marble steps to where their thrones, forged by the finest smiths in Agrabah, stand tall and proud. Emma slides into hers, the metal cold against her legs. It’s the first time in weeks she’s had to be present for an audience, usually boring affairs, with very little involvement on her own part and more just an excuse for David to assure the people of their strong and unified family. It’s true, for the most part.
“I must apologise, Emma,” Kneeling by her feet, David starts. Like this, she can see just how much age has crept into his features, how it lingers in his eyes and in the recede of his hairline and the grey and white peppered throughout his dark blond. “I feel like I’ve been lax on preparing you for what will inevitably be yours.”
“Father–”
He takes her hand in both of his, squeezing reassuringly as Emma’s face changes from confusion to acceptance.
“The crown will be yours, Emma, and I won’t be here to guide you forever. I should’ve done this sooner. From now on, I want you to shadow me in all audiences, all council meetings, everything. If I’m there, I want you by my side. I want you to speak up, to learn, to build your own opinions. I hope I can save you the struggle of finding your feet so, when the crown does come, you’ll hit the ground running.”
The thought of ruling is terrifying.
The thought of ruling without her father’s guidance? Even more so.
If she agrees—
She will never be Swan again.
She looks down at him, a smile, soft as the fur around his neck, meets her there.
“I’d like that.” She nods, wondering if he’s convinced by the lie that comes so naturally.
“Wonderful!” Her father beams, pulling her in for a hug. It’s an awkward angle but it doesn’t last for long. “We’ll start proper preparations after Solstice.”
Soon, David is standing, smoothing the wrinkles from his slacks and shirt before righting the fur edged robe around his shoulders. He’s a picture of opulence and authority. If Emma hadn’t seen him wear his royal garb over a thousand times already, she’d be in awe of it. Privileges of royal life, such as fancy silks and furs, didn’t draw her as they once had. She craved leather and linen and simplicity.
Summer had changed her.
“Who is it that’s requested an audience then?” Tracing the indentations in the arm of her throne, she probed, noting that her father had not divulged that particular information.
“Ah, yes.” He starts, lips pulling into a tight line as he paces before his throne. “I hired some external support on retrieving an item of extreme value from the edge of our kingdom. Upon my wake this morning, I received word that they’d returned and had requested to meet. That’s why I wanted you here today, Emma. To show you that, sometimes, even Kings have to convene with miscreants.” His voice drips with venom on the tail end of his sentence, as if the words burn as they leave his mouth.
She stays silent, the admission, dying on her tongue, that sometimes Princesses convene with miscreants too.
“Your mother will be here soon,” Taking his own seat, her father continues, picking invisible traces of lint from the flowing fur of his robe. “She’s just overseeing Graham’s security detail for the festival, you know how it is.”
That is not, in fact, what her mother is discussing with Graham but it doesn’t seem appropriate to mention it now.
They make idle conversation, discussing alliances and trade deals and all the politics that Emma is expected to learn when she takes her father’s throne. Most of it, she knows from the tutors of her youth but there are intricacies she’s not privy to that David is keen for her to learn. Agrabah will trade wine and jewels for grain when the harsh summers perish their harvests, Arendelle will trade furs, silks and meats when the arctic winters perish theirs. They will reach out in times of bountiful harvest too, offering to send what exotic fruit and spices will survive the voyage. Neverland rarely makes trade requests, their young ruler too stubborn to accept the aid of those his senior.
“Is it true his court is filled with children? I imagine that’s difficult come nap time.” Emma jokes, curiosity sparked by the mention of their most mysterious neighbour.
“Emma!” David scoffs, trying to stifle the laugh that breaks free. Like this, unconcealed laughter causing him to squint, crows feet deep and apparent at the corners, he’s no longer the King. He’s the man that wrapped her up in his furs after she’d fallen through the frozen lake as a child, who smudged cake on her nose every birthday until she was old enough to evade it, who would do anything to see her safe, no matter the consequences. “Wherever did you hear such a thing?”
Killian had told her. They’d been looking through his maps, his shirt covering her modesty and his arms circled around her waist. They hadn’t even made it to the tavern that night, need too prevalent, and after, when they were fully sated, she’d explored his cabin. He let her, watching from the bed as she went from shelf to shelf, admiring his treasures. He’d joined her by the time she reached his desk, never a fan of the distance between them. The maps outlined each realm, annotated with notes in Killian’s own cursive script.
“Neverland,” He’d said, pressing a kiss to her bare neck. “Would be far less treacherous if it wasn’t governed by children.”
She’d raised an eyebrow at him, reluctant to believe, the silent How? written all over her face. He shrugged in response, a smug smirk peering back at her.
“Magic, love.” He’d punctuated the words with a wink and they’d fallen together again, maps forgotten beneath them.
Emma can’t help her own laugh, partially at the memory but mostly at her father. It joins with his, ringing out in the echo of the hall. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to laugh with her father. It feels good.
Her mother appears, hurrying along the carpeted walkway with a determined look on her face. Their laughter dies down as Emma and her father both take her in. She’s flustered, taking the marble steps two at a time before sitting back in her spot on the King’s right. Emma gives her a questioning look at the same time David does. She smooths down flyaways at her temples and adjusts her dress to sit better against the throne before looking up at her family and nodding.
“He’s here.”
As if summoned, there’s a loud knock against the grand wooden doors directly ahead of them, at the foot of the great hall. It echoes against the stone walls, causing the chandeliers to shift slightly with the power of it.
The King straightens up, matching his posture to that of his title, and bellows in response.
“ENTER!”
Emma can feel the creak of the door in her bones as it screeches from the protesting hinges, it swings open slowly, only enough to let through one man before shutting with a slam. The man does not flinch; instead, he begins his walk towards their thrones. He’s familiar in a way that has her on the edge of her seat but his head is hung, thick dark hair touched with grey and white and the angle of her position obscuring his face.
With each step he takes, her heart stutters, he looks like– no, it can’t be. She’d been at the docks the night prior, The Jolly Roger nowhere among its moorings. She’d asked countless merchants and fishermen over the months for news of its return but none could provide any more than Killian had provided her on his departure.
I’ll be back when solstice comes.
Yet, this man, with his battered leather overcoat and dark embroidered waistcoat, strikes a pang of similarity in her she’s never quite felt. If it weren’t for the hook in place of his left hand, she’d have been entirely convinced that the man before them is, in fact–
When at the foot of the marble steps, he raises his head.
David tuts. “Captain Jones. You’re late.”
Emma’s breath catches.
It is him. Killian.
Her Killian.
Here.
She fights– oh, she fights – to keep her face void of emotion, praying the well of tears that threatens to spill at the sight of her love to lay dormant. He’s here. he’s here he’sherehe’sherehe’sherehe’s–
He’s here?
Joy turns to terror in her blood, clawing away until it’s consumed her entirely. He hasn’t yet noticed her or, if he has, he shows no indication of it. His eyes, as tempestuous as the day they met, are rage and fury and fixed only on her father.
Why is he here?
“Apologies, your Majesty.” He bites out, voice clipped and sarcastic. She has to bite the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling. “I’ve had to adjust to captaining a ship with one hand as the bloody dragon you neglected to warn me of seemed to enjoy slicing off my other one.”
He holds up his left arm, from under the wind-battered leather sleeve of his overcoat, the awkward brace of the prosthetic sits, a vicious curved hook attached to its end.
Emma gasps. The Swan he loves writhes beneath the surface of her skin, itching to be free.
“You knew the risks, Captain.” Her father adds, flippantly. “Treasure troves often acquire pests.”
Killian’s stare is fire and daggers, meant for no one but the King. It fills her veins with ice in a way she never knew he was capable of. In their time together, this was a side of him he’d never had to reveal. Emma wants nothing more than to go to him but she’s stuck on her throne, it’s golden embrace holding her tight as she watches steel form in her lover’s eyes.
“I have cleared you of all outstanding sentences, bounties and warrants held against you and your men and there’s five hundred gold ready to be transported to your ship,” David continues, motioning to the same doors Killian had entered through. His tone is terse, sharp as a blade’s edge. “I have upheld my end of our agreement.”
Killian scoffs, his eyes glance at her for less than a second and Emma’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on who she is, refocusing his sights on the King.
She’s not sure what would hurt more, for him to know she lied or for him to not recognise her at all.
“I lost four men and a hand. Aye, we knew the risks, but the situation was not as you’d explained. We walked in unprepared and were almost destroyed because of it.”
“I trusted you with the information from my scouts, Captain. I hid nothing from you. Your lack of preparation is through no fault of mine.”
“Had I known the truth, I would not have lead my crew like lambs to the slaughter!” He shouts, looking for somewhere, anywhere to plant the seed of his own mistake. Beneath it all, Emma knows he’s in pain. She can hear it. She longs to soothe it. She cannot.
The King matches his shout, standing in the process. “That was your decision to make!”
A low growl rumbles between them and Emma doesn’t need to see it to know it’s Killian’s. The sound of it has imprinted itself in her mind, from when times were much simpler. He takes a step forward, but before his boot can even make contact with the polished marble step, David reacts.
Time slows to a halt with the familiar sing of unsheathed metal as her Father trains his sword on the approaching threat, poised to strike at a seconds notice. The breath leaves Emma’s lungs, stolen by the deadly sheen of steel forged in the belly of a long-dead beast. She wants to scream, to put herself between her lover and her father, she wants to but her feet are lead and her tongue is ash and all she can do is watch as Killian stares down the length of the King’s blade.
Killian’s eyes widen momentarily, fixed to the point mere inches from his face. It reaches almost to his throat, barely a step separating the tip of the blade from its target. Her father, the King, is power and justice with calculating eyes and, in that moment, Emma is afraid.
“One more step, Pirate.” The King spits, blade unwavering in his palm.
Emma’s heart stops, or maybe it’s racing, anxiety permeating every pump as it speeds faster and faster, fight or flight response triggered by the furrow forming in Killian’s brow. He does not step back and his eyes do not leave David’s.
“Don’t think the presence of my wife or daughter will impede me.”
“Father.” Her voice catches before she can even think to stop it, more forceful than she anticipates. David turns to her in complete silence, his gaze smouldering anger and his sword still trained mere inches from Killian’s throat. He’s met with her own powerful stare. One day, he expects her to rule this kingdom. One day, she will. It’s frightening and her stomach churns as the urge to bend to her father’s– no, the King’s will stirs within her.
Emma ignores it.
“Be rational, there’s been too much blood spilt already.”
The King’s fury softens, but doesn’t disappear completely. She half expects a reprimand for her outburst or at least a look to convey his disapproval but it never comes. He turns back to Killian, allowing Emma to do the same.
If he had been ignorant of her identity before, there’s no way to hide it now.
She can see the cogs turning in Killian’s mind as he takes her in; the top of her head and the circlet glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows, her face and the sad eyes he’ll find there, her neck and his own thick chain tucked beneath lace. He goes no further. At the sight of his own ring, something breaks within him. Emma can almost hear the shatter from where she sits. He is here but he’s never been further away and it’s killing her.
So many things she should’ve said cross her mind all at once, screaming inside her skull, begging to be freed.
Despair and disbelief flash across his features–
And then it’s gone.
He faces David once again, the fire and fury he once held now calm and cold.
“I apologise for my manners, your Majesty,” He begins, his voice is controlled and a vision of decorum. Not Killian. Not her Killian. “I am not myself. Those men, they were brothers to me. It’s– It’s my fault. I could not protect them.” Taking two steps back, he bows, low and deliberate. David lowers his sword but doesn’t sheath it.
“My daughter thinks you’re deserving of mercy.” He muses, waving a hand towards her that Killian’s eyes don’t follow. It hurts a little. “I suggest you take your gold and leave before I ask my wife what she thinks.”
The Queen, sitting silently throughout the whole exchange, raises a single brow at Killian.
He nods, opening his mouth as if to speak before thinking better of it and turning away, coat billowing behind him, footsteps muffled by the carpeted walkway.
“I thought you a better man than most, Captain, agreeing to undertake such a perilous task for the chance to pardon your crew, give them clean slates. I admired you for it.” David shouts after him, returning his sword to its place at his hip. Killian stops in his tracks, turning only slightly to look upon the King’s face. For a second, there’s grief in his eyes, genuine hurt that Emma knows she put there. He blinks it away without acknowledging it ever existed.
“I am truly sorry for your loss.” David continues, all traces of anger gone from his voice. “But, disrespect me again and I’ll have you hanged.”
The slam of the door shatters the paralysis she’d fallen under, lips parted and eyes wide, watching the space where Killian had been not seconds before. The weight of David’s words hang in the silence.
Hi there everyone!!! Please help me welcome @itsfabianadocarmo to CSSNS20!!!
Tumblr Name
@itsfabianadocarmo
How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?
Since the very beginning
When did you start shipping Captain Swan?
I think it was season two or somewhere along
What drew you to this event?
I’ve been intrigued to participate in the past but I was way too shy to do so. Now, this will be my second time taking part in an event. Also, the supernatural interests me.
What inspired your topic?
Nothing in particular.
If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.
I would like to keep it a secret until I post it
What kind of art do you like to do? Picsets, painting, digital, etc? Feel free to give as much info as you like.
Definitely pic sets.
What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?
I’m looking forward to seeing all the amazing things participants have come up with.
Fabiana will open the event this year with original art dropping on June 1!!!! She is INCREDIBLY talented and I have swooned every time I’ve seen a new picset from her!!! Everyone go say hi and welcome her to the event!!!
Question: what is Gabriel’s Inferno about???? I’m intrigued...
Hehe well, it is a series of four books - though until this year it was a trilogy - and it’s about the love between Julia and Professor Emerson. Gabriel is her first love, but he does not remember her, but he’s fascinated, even if he acts like an asshole until he realizes who she is and what she meanst to him - can’t say more for spoilers.
It’s a good book, based a very much romanticized version of the obsession Dante had for Beatrice - in fact, they think of themselves as a modern Dante and Beatrice, but to be honest, the whole Divine Comedy is a bit of a self-insertion fic to complain about unrequieted love, since Dante only ever saw Beatrice twice. At the time, though, just a glance was enough to inspire deep feelings or illusions of them, but we are not here to discuss Dante and Beatrice.
This is the page of the series on goodreads, if you want to give it a look. Personally, the first two books are very good, whilst the third and fourth are a bit jumpy - and the fourth unnecessary, especially if there won’t be a sequel, but oh well.
Anyway, Passionflix is producing the trilogy and they cast an Italian actor I’ve followed since I was very young lol and that allowed me to discover Passionflix (even though I’d already watched one of their movies, but I didn’t know that) and this is gonna be amazing.
To @itsfabianadocarmo ♥ It is me, your Secret Santa!
You've been the most lovely giftee and gave me LOADS of free reign on this one and, as a result, you're receiving one of the longest works I've ever written! I went off your love of Captain Duckling and Silver Fox!Killian, wove in some Christmas elements and a sweet epilogue and sprinkled in some ~drama~ and here we are! You're a fantastic part of this fandom, my love ♥ Here’s to a wonderful Christmas and I hope that 2020 brings you love and joy and lots of good times! also, this monster is the reason I haven't got around to posting the drabble prompt you requested yet ;)
Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this event! You’re a star and have brought so many people joy! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ♥
And, finally, a HUGE thanks to @thisonesatellite for whipping me into shape and helping me mould the idea of this into a story. I owe you a million hugs and a bottle of something nice. ‘Tis the season, after all!
Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.
He does, and things will never be the same again.
Part 2 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠
Emma had never wanted for much in her life.
A sunny day, here and there, perhaps. A brief reprieve from the mundanities of her duties, now and again.
Here, now, there is nothing she wants more than for time to stop.
It’s selfish, to want one moment to last an eternity, not to mention impossible. At many points in her twenty-one summers, she’d been told falling in love was an impossibility too.
Yet, here she is.
The far off crash of the waves and the gentle ebbing of the ship had awoken her far earlier than anticipated. Sleep still grips at her lids, her wrists, her ankles, and though its draw is ever so tempting, to bathe in the ignorant bliss of it all, she wills away its tendrils and lets the familiarity of worn sheets keep her company. Through the cabin window, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and the stars still stand prominent between scattered clouds, the collection he’d named for her glinting softly. A reminder.
He hadn’t named it after her, he’d named her after it.
Cygnus.
Swan.
She’s already forgotten the moniker she’d used before that. Her true name, she remembers, and, more than anything, she longs to tell him. Just once, she wants to hear him say it, to hear it fall from his mouth in the throes of passion, to hear it whispered in her ear when there’s no one else around, to hear it spoken proudly in front of an audience at their wedding.
But there’s no time; no time for questions, no time for confessions. There’s only time for this.
Killian holds her tighter, his arm tight around her bare waist as his solid chest presses to her back in the same way they’d spent all previous nights that summer, with the scruff of his beard catching at her temple along with the brief softness of his lips. It’s sweet, reverent, and it takes everything in her power not to meet him in a fierce kiss and resume their activities from the evening before and somehow sear his touch into her flesh so she’ll never truly be without him.
He’s leaving in the morning.
She cannot stand to see him go.
--
It had been early summer when The Jolly Roger had first made port in Misthaven. The solstice celebrations had come and gone, but the cool ocean breeze and promise of excitement coaxed Emma to the docks each night, visiting taverns in tattered skirts, drinking from bottles of cheap wine and cheaper ale, dancing barefoot in the streets around glowing embers of what were once fires and just being in a way that was so foreign and yet so familiar that existing among it made Emma’s heart swell. By beggar and thief, soldier and sailor, wench and widow, she’d found a place for herself.
That’s where they met.
Ruby, her friend, barmaid of the tavern closest to the shorefront, and always dressed in shades of red, had brought it to her attention first.
“It seems you have an admirer.” She noted, toothy smile parting her red-stained lips while slamming an overflowing tankard on the table beside where Emma sat, tucked into the corner just enough to avoid unwanted attention while still being able to see the commotions of the crowded inn unfold. “This is from him.”
“Ruby–”
“Trust me on this.” Flashing the five gold she’d taken as payment, Ruby smirked. Five gold. To most people, five gold would fund an entire week of celebration with a few silver to spare. But not Emma. She flashed her friend a smile, bringing the tankard up in thanks before taking a sip. She let the flavours dance on her tongue before swallowing. Wiping the foam that had escaped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, she looked in the direction of her admirer.
Candlelight painted him in a warm glow, catching on his worn leather overcoat, embroidered crimson waistcoat, and the chain around his neck that lay nestled in the dark hair of his chest. Dragging her eyes up, she caught sight of his face. He was older, significantly so, but he still held a youthful essence in the strength of his jaw and the quirk of his brow, it caught her off guard in a way she hadn’t expected. Grey and white teased at his temples and in the stubble of his beard but despite it all, he was captivating. In fact, it enhanced his appeal.
In his eyes, blue as the summer sea, a brewing storm.
With a knowing smile, he raised his tankard and took a deep gulp, mirroring her as he wiped the moisture from his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. Her eyes followed the movement intently, transfixed on the brass buttons and definitely not on the softness of his lips. She didn’t even realise she was staring until he winked and she abruptly turned to focus on her own drink.
Surrounded on all sides by crowds of drunkards, cowards and fools, the only sound in the room was the beat of Emma’s heart and the rush of blood in her ears. The tingle of a smile creeping to her lips.
She’d avoided looking his way again that night, knowing that she’d find him looking right back, with eyes dark and dangerous. It didn’t stop her thinking about what his lips would taste like.
The next few nights were more of the same. She’d dance in the late evening with the children out way past their bedtime, sing with the sailors sat atop empty barrels, drink and laugh inside the tavern on that same little table tucked away in the corner, but he never came over. He sat a fair distance away, sending her a tankard of the sweetest ale each night along with smiles, winks, stolen glances and nothing more.
His friends each had a woman in their lap most nights, sometimes two, but he never did.
It was five days before she even learned his name.
“Captain Jones.” Ruby yawned, on a rare break from her duties, sipping a cup of something with a sweet and spiced scent. “Story says he’s moored here all summer but one of his men let slip that he’s waiting on an important contract from the palace.”
“So they’re sellswords?” Hiding her surprise, Emma finished off the dregs of her brew. It’s not likely that anyone in the palace would stoop to such levels. They had armies, navies, dedicated men who would lay their life on the line for the crown. They had no use for pirates. That’s not how they do things in Misthaven.
Two tankards thunked to the table, catching both women by surprise.
“Pirates, actually.”
It’s an accent she couldn’t quite place but there’s no mistaking who it belonged to. Her stomach dropped as he took a seat beside her, not imposing on her personal space but still close enough that the scent of the sea air rolled off him, enveloping her in its comforting embrace. “It seems our favourite maid is taking a reprieve, so I took it upon myself to bring this over in person. I gathered it’s well past due that I make your acquaintance.”
Up close, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes were unmissable, but they didn’t distract from the intensity of his gaze. His whole look had an ageless and yet ancient quality to it, like somebody who’d seen too much and yet still longed for more. Emma searched his face for any sign of threat, ill will or nefarious intent but found none, only met with a soft smile and eyes she could drown in. She wanted to.
“I do believe you have my name already.” Honey. It’s what was in the beer, and what coated his voice, thick and deep and teased with a sharp edge. Her name sat on her tongue, heavy as lead, and she reluctantly swallowed it back. Here, Emma did not exist. Here, she was someone else.
She allowed herself to smile, or really, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. There was something about him, something intriguing that drew her in deeper each time their eyes met. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know him and, more worryingly, she wanted him to know her. Lifting up the drink he’d provided in thanks, Emma responded.
“Leia.”
His focus shifted from her eyes to her lips and, instinctively, she darted her tongue out to wet them. Averting his gaze with a smile, he shook his head, dismissive.
“No, that’s not it,” Emma’s kept her face blank, fighting the urge to react to his observation. How had he seen through her so easily? How had he been able to hear one word from her mouth and know, instantly, that it was a lie? His eyes still held no trace of malice, a softness coming over them in a familiar understanding and she wanted to trust him. “but your secrets can be yours.”
He didn’t push further and Emma didn’t offer an invitation to, but the conversation flowed comfortably, well into the night, until the shimmer of dawn lightened the horizon as they walked along the empty beach and he, Captain Jones, pointed up to the barely visible stars, reciting long forgotten stories of men that lost themselves in the sun and their lovers who mourned them.
“Swan.” He said, with an outstretched finger pressed to her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Had it been any lower, she’d have given him a playful smack but, as it was, the contact made her smile, warmth emanating from his touch. The smile he wore in return was free and open, with straight white teeth and lips pink as middlemist petals. How he managed to captivate her, with the threat of sunrise rapidly approaching, was beyond her comprehension, her alcohol-addled mind thinking far too deeply into things better left unsaid.
“Pardon?” She started, looking up from his finger into his eyes, dark in the predawn haze but kind in ways she didn’t then understand.
“That’s what I’ll call you.” His eyes lingered for a second too long on her lips, something he’d been doing a lot, not that Emma minded.
She found herself doing the same thing.
“Why?” She hummed, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. She could’ve danced to it, a waltz at a masquerade ball, with full skirts and sharp suits and masks slowly slipping. A memory of another life.
“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The words reverberated through his chest beneath her fingers and, more than anything else, she wanted to kiss him. The alcohol was probably to blame, and the rush that comes with welcome attention from a handsome stranger but, above all else, it was the ease of their conversations that night, how no matter what subjects or topics they veered down, they were there together, unravelling each other in a much more intimate way than ever expected.
She wanted to be Emma with him. Just Emma.
Maybe one day she’d allow herself that privilege.
She wanted to kiss him, drunk on ale and good conversation and something else.
So she did.
Rum and salt. A calloused hand holding her cheek. Stubble teasing at her chin. Soft hair beneath her palms. Heart hammering against her chest.
It was gentle, a press of lips before the rising sun bathed them in an angelic glow. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers to catch his breath, eyes closed and still smiling, but Emma leaned in for more, catching his lips again in something deeper, only satisfied when his other hand found its way to the small of her back and he pulled her close until not an inch of space was between them. She was on fire, from the tips of her fingers, one with a fist full of hair and the other still over his heart, right down to her toes, where the ocean lapped at her bare feet, shoes forgotten in the sand.
The next night was a similar evening spent enjoying the summer festivities, and when she found him at Ruby’s tavern, he greeted her with a slow kiss. She leaned into it, deepening it with a press of her tongue against his lips until her breath was short and his hands made their way to her hair. Before he could take control, she pulled away, catching the end of a quiet curse under his breath. His men cheered on and the Captain threw some colourful expletives their way, all the while following Emma to her corner table. They spent the night there, drinking and talking and laughing and existing until need got the better of her and she pulled Killian by the sleeve of his coat out of the tavern and towards The Jolly Roger.
She held onto him the whole way, fearing that losing his touch would cause her newfound courage to dissipate into the sea. She wanted this, this spark of elation that had overcome her so suddenly, and the anticipation of what it could bring, no matter how temporary. Emma knew that summer romances weren’t meant to last – she’d heard as much from the hushed voices of maids and servants when no one thought she was listening, stories of hope and desire, falling with the umber leaves come the first touch of chill – but she couldn’t not chase this feeling.
It was something new, dangerous and it left her soaring, light as a feather, released from all the burdens of the life she’d have to return to in the morning. It was escape in its basest form. She had not felt anything as intoxicating in her life.
She had not known him long, less than a day, really, but her mind was made up.
He tasted of laughter and smiles and the sweetness of summer wine when she kissed him on the deck. The moon their only audience.
“Swan,” He sighed, her name a whisper on his lips, as Emma let the cloak around her shoulders drop to the wood below and reached to unlace her bodice, urgency coursing through her, a fire in her veins. Her dress was simple, only slightly nicer than what she would’ve usually worn, with fewer tatters at the hem and tighter lacing that enhanced her chest. It was a world away from what she would have worn at home but then again that’s exactly where she was. A world away.
He caught her hand in one of his own, untangling her fingers from the leather ties as he brought them to his lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t truly want to. I don’t want you to think I expect this from you.”
Confused, she searched his face, finding a conflicted frown there. Did her inexperience show that badly? Yes, the nerves were there, simmering within her as he kissed the pad of each finger but, at that moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to be one with him. She’d waited a long time to feel that way about anyone. No pressure, no expectations, nothing guiding her other than her own agency.
Reaching for him, she let her thumb trail his jaw and trace his lips. He smiled, focused on the path of her thumb as she stepped into his space.
“I do want to, Captain–” His eyes snapped up to hers and she almost lost herself in them, their depth threatening to swallow her whole. If it was his intention to devour her with one look alone, he’d succeeded.
“Killian. Please call me Killian.”
Below deck, two pairs of hands worked at Emma’s bodice.
His and hers.
Naked together, exploring each other, she felt part of herself slip away, finding its home in the gaps between his ribs, in the scars of his back, in the hair below his navel. She felt a part of him too, in the hollow of her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine.
It was slow, exhilarating in a way that had the hairs of her arms standing on end, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs as Killian caressed her in all the places she’d craved to be touched. He built her up to a precipice she’d only ever reached by her own hand and encouraged her over the edge with his tongue. Her legs trembled as she fell, clenching around his ears, orgasm overtaking every atom of her being with a rush of energy emanating from her core. If she screamed out, it was lost to the crash of the waves and, later, Killian’s greedy kisses stealing her breath.
“You’re divine, my Swan.” He whispered the words against her mouth, lips slick with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tang. It took her a second, world slowly becoming clearer through the haze of her orgasm, to realise that the unfamiliar taste was her own.
When he finally came to enter her, she was beyond ready, begging for his touch with nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders from sheer want alone. Gasps of please fell from her parted lips as he pressed kisses into her skin, some delicate as butterfly wings, others fierce and sharp that she hoped would leave bruises, some kind of token that the pleasure she gained at his touch was real.
He built a rhythm, gentle at first, easing her through the discomfort with words of encouragement and languid kisses. Emma felt as the uncomfortable stretch of him faded away with each slow entrance of him, replaced only by her own urgency to reach her peak. When her hips bucked up to meet him, unsatisfied each time he wasn’t fully seated inside, he knew she was ready.
One finger trailed over her breast, circling her peaked nipple and teasing the pebbled flesh there, and in his eyes was pure lust. The touch of it enveloped them both in a fog that had her reaching out for him, a single whine falling between them as the angle of them shifted and he met her in a kiss that ignited fire beneath her flesh. He rocked deeper, faster and soon they were both clinging to each other, awaiting release on each thrust, gasping with the sensation of it.
They fell apart together, with Killian using two fingers to stroke at the apex of her thighs as his rhythm became quick and uneven, and Emma not able to hold back the moans that tore their way out of her throat, rough and broken but oh, so good. It was blinding. Emma couldn’t help but arch against him, hair frayed from its usual braid and eyes squeezed shut as the entire world flashed white behind her eyelids.
She awoke in the dark, sore, sated and happy, not quite remembering how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, only knowing that she didn’t want to leave.
“Cygnus.” With a kiss pressed just below her ear, Killian started, his voice deep and husky. The roughness of his beard tickled her skin and sent promising shivers down her spine, her body already anticipating where his touch might lead her.
“Cygnus?” Emma prompted, turning in his arms so she could look upon his face, see the satisfied smile and unruly hair and know that it was all her doing. Her own smile followed and she pushed herself up from his chest to greet him with a kiss, languid and warm. He tasted of her and his hand fit just right against her lower back, stroking soothing patterns with his fingers. Two unlikely puzzle pieces slotting together so perfectly. The Pirate and the–
“It’s a group of stars above this realm. You can see it so clearly in these parts.” He nodded towards the far side of the room where the window was and the stars beyond it. “There, can you see?” Through the wind-beaten cabin window, a cluster of lights shone back at her, a stark contrast to the canvas of black. She knew nothing of the stars but he told her anyway of the stories that predate the histories of all realms, the love and the loss and the pain they’ve suffered and yet, through it all, how they still manage to shine. He told her how it was his favourite, with heavy lids and a slow smile. How, whenever he saw it, he felt a little more at peace.
Emma let herself fall again into his arms, dragging him with her by the chain around his neck for a kiss that sent heat to all her most intimate parts. A boldness the had taken root in her, the nerves from earlier were nowhere to be found, and she revelled in it, taking advantage of the feeling while power still fizzled in the tips of her fingers. Killian let her roll him onto his back, sat astride his hips as she kissed him with a passion she’d always craved to possess. She only came up again for air, softly gasping as his smile against her lips sent her heart fluttering, pace as erratic as a rabbit escaping a fox.
“In the common tongue,” He said, quiet as a whisper, free hand making its way to pull out the braid in her hair, letting the blonde fall from its restraints and unfurl in a curtain around them. “Cygnus means Swan.”
She kissed him again.
And again.
Until the stars were no longer their witness and Emma left his bed with a soft smile, reluctant to leave but dreading the consequences if she stayed, as she laced herself back into her dress and made her way through the back streets, trailing in the dim morning shadows until she reached her home.
The Palace.
--
In the months between then and now, something changed. Whatever tied her to this earth before; her father, her mother, her people, her responsibilities, none of that matters now. She’s never felt more whole, more at home, than she does with him.
And that worries her.
He doesn’t even know who she is, not really. He knows her, body and soul, he knows his Swan with her love for seashells and the acquired taste of sweet rum, he knows she carries more secrets than she lets on and more than she could ever tell, but he doesn’t know Emma.
Princess Emma, sole heir to the Misthaven throne.
Future Queen.
No one does.
Between song and dance and kiss and touch, Emma had convinced herself that she was only Swan; that she was born of normal birth and had no ties to the crown, that the money lining her purse was from adventure and gambit rather than allowance, that the dresses cinched to her form were her best and not stolen from the maid’s quarters. In his arms, surrounded by a brand of adoration and care she’d never known before, she believed it too.
She can’t lie to him forever.
He shifts behind her and she turns to face him, to take him in, perhaps for the last time. His beard is longer, what once was trim to his face now developed into a thicker scruff streaked with grey and ginger, and his face glows with the kiss of summer sun, but it’s more than just that.
He’d shown her more of herself than she ever thought she could know.
He’d taught her to seek freedom and rebellion and excitement and love in all its many forms. He accepted her in rage and fury at the truth kept locked behind the prison of her teeth, bitten off before she can reveal it. He never pushed for her history, or how she knew so much about what occurred behind the palace walls, or how occasionally she’d hide behind his form when the King’s soldiers drank themself stupid on the shorefront, with kisses to her knuckles and a wisened smile saying only “when you’re ready, my Swan, I’m here.”.
She fell for him somewhere between their first kiss and now, slowly coming to the terrifying realisation that, her life would be bleaker without him in it. The docks would become the dirty, sullen place they were before his time here, the taverns sapped of their joy, the beach a place of driftwood and windburn.
And she would be alone.
No matter her company, loyal subject or bar rat alike, without him, there is an emptiness, unlike anything she’s ever felt. It’s overwhelming how she’s let herself become so dependent on the presence of another person in her life in such a short amount of time that, without them, she is destitute.
No.
She can, and will, survive his absence. She will come through it stronger and when he returns she will tell him her name.
Because now, with his sleeping face mere inches from her own, she is a child in a glass house preparing to throw a rock, willing the glass to not shatter and for her heart to not break. The confession is stone, jagged and true, and in her hand, it draws blood.
There are tear stains on her cheek when he opens his eyes. She pretends they’re not there, letting a smile fall into place while she’s greeted with the sleep-darkened blue that she’s come to look forward to every morning. She’ll miss them the most.
He smiles sadly at her, bringing a calloused thumb to wipe the wetness from her cheek with such reverence she could swear he was savouring it.
“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper, carried on the borrowed breath between them but it hits Emma like a punch to the gut.
If she were anyone else, if she were just ‘Swan’ or ‘Leia’ or any of the countless personas she’d curated, there would be no doubt about her answer. His eyes are hopeful and honest and open and it breaks her heart to see how much he wants her to accept.
She can’t look at him directly, choosing instead to bury her face in his chest, the soft hair caressing her cheek, listening out for the comforting beat that lulled her to sleep many a time before. Tears come but they do not escape.
She has to be strong for this.
“I can’t.”
Quiet falls, as if not even the sea wants to disturb them, and Emma counts the seconds before he responds, his arms winding their way around her back and holding her there. She’d come to associate his embrace with good things, safety and protection and warmth and peace, and she wants to melt into it, forget about her responsibilities and agree to his request, setting sail by his side.
But she can’t.
Fifteen.
Fifteen seconds of silence.
“Swan–”
“Killian,” She pleads, unable to stop her voice from breaking. It’s too much. It’s all too much. “Please don’t, I won’t be able to say no again.”
The weight of the crown sits heavy on her head; a chain she can’t break, a burden that only she can carry.
Killian lets his fingers tangle in her hair, the same way he does before drifting off to sleep only now he’s wide awake and tense in a way that Emma wishes she could smooth out. She wants to kiss him and feel as the tension bleeds out of him with the pressure of her tongue.
But it’s too late for that now.
“I don’t know what keeps you here, lass,” He hums. She can’t see his face but she can hear his frown – a mix of concern, frustration and something else, something more. His lips press to her crown and her stomach flips at the feeling. “I wish I did. I don’t trust half the bastards in this kingdom.”
Emma leans up until she can meet his eyes, wearing a matching frown. “I can take care of myself.”
“And I don’t doubt that.” He laughs, and Emma wishes she could trap it in a conch shell and listen to it forever, light and carefree and hers. He kisses the crease from her brow and she lets him, leaning into it before pressing their foreheads together.
He loves her.
He loves her and she can see it in his eyes, how they’re creased with a smile but still fogged by sadness at the thought of distance between them.
“I think what I’m really trying to say is… I don’t want to be apart from you.” His lips are so close, slightly parted, his warm breath ghosting her own.
“And I you.”
The kiss itself is smouldering and inevitable, fire and passion and so much more. It burns away every modicum of doubt in her mind, everything that had tried to convince her against this man who held her as if she was someone to be cherished and celebrated.
She pushes everything she can into it, a goodbye passed between their tongues in a language no one else can speak.
Time passes as it does, each grain of sand in the hourglass bearing the weight of a thousand things left unsaid.
“My Swan,” He sighs, pulling away to bury his face in her hair, inhaling as if to commit her scent to memory. Emma does the same, breathing him in. “I will show you the world one day. That is a promise.”
“You’ll come back for me?” She asks, softly, shifting so she can see his face.
“Aye, Always.”
Emma has always been able to decipher lies, being such a compulsive liar herself, but there’s nothing short of the truth in his voice. Her heart hurts all over again.
“I’ll be back when solstice comes.” Her blood turns to ice at his words. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Four months away.
If he comes during solstice, there will be no hiding. He’ll see her paraded through town, the prized jewel of the kingdom, and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that.
“When I see you again,” Her voice begs to crack under the weight of her promise. She does not let it. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Now, that’s one way to guarantee a man’s return.” The chuckle catches her off guard, it’s short-lived as he brushes the stray hairs that managed to fall in front of her face so gently she barely feels it.
“And what’s the other?”
“I do believe we’re already quite familiar with that particular activity.”
She bats at his chest, only causing him to laugh more before he pulls her close again, any distance between them proving too much. “You really are a dirty old man.”
“I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” Raising an eyebrow in his typical fashion, he takes a sniff of his own underarm. She can’t help but laugh as he does so, peels of laughter cutting through the silence of the night.
It’s this that she’ll miss. The effortlessness of their relationship. There’s a piece of her in Killian Jones, it snuck beneath his skin while she wasn’t looking and now it lives there, staring back at her from his eyes, wearing his smile.
“I’ll miss you.” It’s out before she can stop it.
She watches the smirk die on his lips, replaced with only a sad smile. This is the oldest she’s seen him, ocean eyes dark and misty and filled with so much love she feels her own tears spring from where they lay dormant.
He shushes her sobs, in the safety of his arms.
“And I you, my Swan.”
There’s a shallow clink of metal before an unfamiliar weight falls to her chest. His chain, it’s pendant the thick iron ring that once belonged, as Killian put it, to a far better man than him, rests heavy between her breasts. In the starlight, it glints, the robust scarlet gem reflecting dull pink facets on her skin.
