Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.
I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.
I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)
Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.
Rated T I think
~2300 words
Read on Ao3
Read my Other Stuff
~~~~
Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head.
The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father.
In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested.
He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.
All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later.
And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????
Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image
Killian: What are you doing?
He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.
Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*
Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous.
Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!
Killian: That’s also where we live.
Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing.
Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother.
Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought.
Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips.
Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.
Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”
Killian: Attached: 1 Image
Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.
It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter.
Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video
Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again.
Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill.
Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese.
Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters.
Killian: I do.
Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????
Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent.
Killian: And for how that just sounded.
Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days.
Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex…
Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes.
~~~~
Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster.
Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child.
“Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose.
The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved.
“I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma.
“The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange.
She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”
“Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”
“Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them.
“It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”
Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited.
“I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his.
It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner.
Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her.
But then, she speaks.
“Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears.
“Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after.
“About the oarfish…”
He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”
“I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”
He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”
“Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”
His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly.
“If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”
Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs.
“I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times.
“I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”
“And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”
He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy.
“You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after.
“Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”
“Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”
To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family.
~~~~
I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you
Emma Swan spends years trying to find her parents, and when she finally does, she gets more than she bargains for
A Silver Hook AU for @the-darkdragonfly
hours of watching Wicked Tuna has ruined me and thus this AU was born. Sorry...
Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly, @donteattheappleshook, and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings
Rated M
Read on Ao3
Read my other stuff
~~~~
The sun pours through his blinds, assaulting the lids of her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Delicate fingers dance across the expanse of her bare stomach, making her giggle before she even has the wherewithal to stop herself. As sleep leaves her assuredly, she should feel irritated, but she feels nothing but comfort in her bedmates arms.
“It’s rude to wake people up,” she chastises, and his answering hum is deep and rumbling against the skin below her ear. “Shouldn’t you have learned your manners by now?”
“Are you making fun of my age?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers back, giggling as he pokes his tongue against her skin and then nips at it lightly.
“That’s good. Because one mustn’t disrespect one's elder.”
“And you are quite a bit older than me,” she points out in jest, rolling onto her right side to face him straight on, her smile beaming as the sun lights her golden hair. He distracts himself from their morning banter to run his fingers delicately over her temple, tracing over the shell of her ear as he tucks a wayward strand behind it.
“I seem to recall you being a bit more appreciative last night. What was it you said? Something about my extensive practice?”
Emma hums softly, nuzzling her face into the skin of his palm as she recalls their rather satisfying evening. “It’s true,” she tells him. “With great age comes great experience.”
Killian laughs, refusing to let his thoughts of being too old for her taunt him. “I can assure you, I’m not nearly as experienced as you may believe.”
With a small shrug, Emma wriggles under the thin sheet that covers them until she can sling her legs over his own. “You’ve got a good decade on me. And trust me, you know what you’re doing.”
Killian falters, holding her cheek with his palm again as he pushes away more thoughts of self doubt. He stops himself from correcting her- fourteen years, love- and chooses instead to lift his head high enough to meet her lips with his. In the six months that he’s known her, he’s been endlessly fascinated by her free spiritedness. And in the four months since she joined him in his bed, hardly giving him much of a choice to deny her of what she so desperately wanted, he’s been unable to go much more than an hour without thoughts of her plaguing his mind. Thoughts of her body and her mind and her most alluring personality.
He’s falling for her, of this he is completely certain.
She grins against him in response to the groan that escapes his throat, her tongue lightly tracing the lines of his collarbone and making it that much harder for him to consider getting out of bed. “I’ll surely have a mutiny on my hands if you don’t stop now, love.”
Humming in question, Emma sits up and gives him a look of disgruntled confusion. “Your crew is going to be mad that you’re getting laid?”
With a smirk, one that he tries to fight, he shakes his head and says, “my crew is going to be mad if I miss another day on the water.”
Rolling her eyes, she responds, “I suppose I can’t keep you from your livelihood forever,” in concession.
He rolls them easily, Emma much lighter in weight than his usual catches as he flips her onto her back and latches his mouth to her neck. “That’s very considerate of you, siren,” he says against her warm flesh.
“I told you, I’m not a damn mermaid,” she says, likely rolling her eyes before she lets out a soft sigh.
“Aye, but I find myself struggling to believe you as you continue to seduce me with your wicked ways.”
Snorting softly, she meets his mouth with her own, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth gently and tracing her tongue along the tip of his own. She lets her hands wander, careful not to get too explorative with the knowledge that he should be getting up soon as she scrapes her fingers down the taute skin of his back. Despite her jokes, she really doesn’t want to keep him from his vessel. She knows his crew relies on their captain to bring them out each day, especially as the season comes to a close and the pressure to catch becomes more and more. But the way he kisses her gives her other ideas all together.
“I think one day I’d like to go out with you,” she hums thoughtfully against his mouth, and he stills anxiously. When they first met upon her first coming to town, Killian was almost embarrassed to tell her what he does for a living for fear of her judgment. Her genuine grin as he explained the way his family has been fishing for generations quelled his nerves, but still it felt like his profession wouldn’t be good enough for the likes of her.
“It can be quite dangerous,” he tells her instead, wanting not to dwell on the twinge of embarrassment that sits in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her watching on as he battles each and every paycheck he earns.
“I’m sure you’ll keep me safe,” she flirts, tenderly stroking her long fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp and smiling softly up at him. The sun catches her eyes again, the emerald reminding him of the warm ocean water stirred up after a rough storm.
His smile is sad and awkward as he turns his face from hers, glancing out the window at the horizon. “I’m sure there are better ways for you to pass your time visiting our sleepy little town.”
“Killian,” she says more firmly, moving her hands to cup his cheeks and encourage him to look back down at her. “You know I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”
The look in his eyes when they finally meet hers cracks her hardened heart, his anticipation of rejection something she knows all too well. “No one would blame you for heading back to Boston, love.”
She shakes her head. “I came here to meet my parents. To get to know them. And while that’s still important to me… they're not the only reason I’m sticking around.”
He feels selfish, foolish, as he gazes into her deep, soulful eyes. Of course he knows that Emma has a reason to stay in town, but when she says that he’s a part of that, he becomes consumed with a sense of desperate want. A desire to become all of that for her. An insatiable craving to become everything to her.
Of course, he’s never had much of a way with words. Thoughts, that’s a different story. But getting those thoughts out of his mouth and into the air between them is almost impossible. So, rather than express himself to her in the way that any mature adult should be able to, he leans down and captures her lips with his in a kiss that he hopes tells her everything that she deserves to know.
“You're going to be late,” she murmurs against him. “And as much as it would be nice to meet your friends, I’d rather not do so while I’m naked in your bed. I have a feeling they’re going to come knocking down your door if you don’t get to the docks.”
“Aye,” he agrees. “Hopefully we get lucky today and I can come back in relatively early. Will sometimes loses the plot if we come in empty handed.”
She rolls her eyes, prepared to make fun of how painfully British he sounds as he crawls over her to the edge of the bed, giving her a rather distracting view of his ass. He may be quite a few years older than her, but the physical nature of his work, and his devotion to his crew leading to him doing as much work as they do, gives him a physique that she isn’t shy about ogling.
“Will you tell me when you get in?” she asks shyly, the two of them playing off of the others insecurities without meaning to. “I mean, you don’t have to. But I’d like to see you--”
He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, leaning over her so that the stubble on his chin scratches against hers. “Normally, if we catch something, we bring it to the harbormaster to have it dressed and weighed. Perhaps I can inform you when we’re there? And meet you afterwards?”
She smiles up at him, careful not to let his words stall her as she considers their content. Perhaps it should have been obvious by now, that a local fisherman should have to deal with the harbormaster on a fairly regular basis, but the topic has never come up and so it’s stayed far from the front of her mind. “Okay,” she finally chokes out nervously. She’s always been good at hiding the intricacies of how she’s feeling, but given the way his eyes narrow at her, she wonders if she’s losing her touch. “I look forward to it.”
“Very good. Perhaps you’d… that is… I wonder if you’d be amenable to--”
“Killian.”
He clears his throat, standing from the bed and stepping away from the mattress to grab one of his aged knit sweaters. He’s rather old school in his techniques, she’s found, and the old fisherman sweaters that he wears out on his small fishing vessel are no exception.
Watching as he wrestles a pair of jeans over his legs, she giggles and sits up, bringing his thin sheet with her to cover her breasts modestly. Finally, while he stands by the door and fascens his watch to his wrist, he asks, “I simply wondered if you’d perhaps be interested in joining me for… a meal.”
Emma sits stoically still under his sheets as he fiddles around the room anxiously, refusing to look her way out of embarrassment and fear of rejection. She knows the feeling well, so she sits and waits for his eyes to dart in her direction before she gives him a soft, encouraging smile. “Are you asking me out?” she finally asks, and she watches his throat bob up and down before he turns to face her.
Clearing his throat, he says, “ah, I suppose I am.”
Really, it’s about bloody time he asks. Each time they’ve been together-- each time they’ve been anywhere near each other-- it’s been with her making the first move. He should be grateful for her willingness to take the leap that they both want to take, but after four months, he figures he’d best put his fears aside and grow a pair already.
It’s not that he thinks she’ll say no, although rejection is painful enough. His worry is that she’ll say yes, and eventually realize how much better she could have it. He’s a forty-year-old fisherman, for goodness sake. At only just twenty-six, she could certainly land a man with a more respectable, more lucrative, less deadly job, and that fact isn’t lost on him. It hasn’t been since the moment he first saw her at The Rabbit Hole six months ago.
She hums happily, smiling up at him and nodding. “I guess this means you’ll have to come in tonight. Better catch a good one, Captain.”
~~~~
“Oi, he lives!” Will calls from the dock next to Killian’s small boat, grinning and shoveling a pile of ice into the compartment under the deck. “We were worried you’d forgotten about us.”
“No,” Killian replies simply, shaking his head and climbing aboard. He makes his way into the wheelhouse, dropping his bag and turning the engine over. “We’ll need to get fuel before we head out.”
“Something you forgot to do last night? Perhaps you were too busy?” Robin asks, winking at his captain.
He rolls his eyes rather than responding, turning the engine on and checking the gauges as he listens to his mates making assumptions about his whereabouts.
When they finally get out onto the water, they avoid the other boats in the fleet in favor of finding solitude. A lot of the other captains think that Killian has some secret knowledge about the best places to drop anchor, but really, he just listens to his gut and gets lucky most of the time.
“So,” Will starts once they’ve put their lines out and chummed the water. “The blonde?”
Killian glares at his deckhand and friend, unwilling to give him much information about what he gets up to when they’re not at sea. He knows they did a piss poor job of keeping things quiet when they started up… whatever it is that they’ve started up, what with Emma practically jumping him after a few too many flirty comments were exchanged between the two of them. Everyone in the Rabbit Hole saw them that night, Emma’s fingers tightly gripping the lapels of his jacket and his sliding under her shirt and into her hair. Everyone saw them leaving together, too. His desire to hide her away and ensure that no one ever finds out about them is wholly unreachable at this point. He only wishes that he could quell his own fears about the judgment that the townsfolk must be passing on them. Emma is young, Killian is decidedly not. Emma can do better, Killian is batting far out of his league. Emma is an energetic young lady with her whole life and an endless amount of opportunities in front of her, Killian is a mildly successful fisherman. He can’t ever hope to be good enough for her, and the whole town knows it.
“Aye, the blonde,” he finally mumbles, wishing he could dive into the waves and never be heard from again.
“She’s quite something.”
“Aye.”
“A few years younger than you, if I had to guess.”
He glares to his left as Will continues to reel in some herring to use for bait, catching five at once without even blinking. Their age difference isn’t a secret, and it isn’t difficult to pick up on by simply observing the two of them for a few moments. The wrinkles around Killian’s eyes and the gray peppered throughout his hair and concentrated at his temples makes his age quite obvious. Meanwhile, Emma’s flawless physique and supple skin gives way to her youth, although her maturity is observable as well. One couldn’t possibly guess her to be a day over twenty-eight, and even then, she may seem too young for him.
Finally, he agrees, “aye.”
“Well, I think they make a lovely couple,” Robin supplies, poking his head out of the wheelhouse. “Sorry sod deserves a bit of happiness, finally.”
Rolling his eyes, Killian can’t help but agree with his friend’s sentiment. Despite the awkwardness and the assumptions of others, he can’t deny how happy he’s been since she rolled into town. And he definitely can’t deny how much happier he’s been in the last four months since she went home with him.
“I’m not sure she’ll be in town much longer,” Killian finally says after too much silence passes between the three of them, their lines quiet and the ocean seemingly empty below them.
“Didn’t she come searching for her parents?”
“Aye, she found them when she first arrived. But I can’t imagine her sticking around… I believe she simply wanted to get to know them a bit and then head back to Boston.”
Will and Robin must read the shift in his mood easily, the obvious disdain for the idea of her leaving Storybrooke and going back to the busy city where she could so easily meet someone worthy of her time. Perhaps he should let her go himself, be the one to make the difficult decision for them so as to not drag things out too long, but he’s a glutton for punishment and can’t possibly consider the idea of being separated from Emma Swan for a second longer than he absolutely has to be.
Rather than continuing the topic and torture Killian with thoughts of Emma inevitably leaving him, they change the subject to something equally as painful when Will jokes, “I’m sure her parents love you, aye? That age difference must have gone over well with dear-old-dad.”
Killian cringes and shakes his head. “I doubt they even know about me. I certainly don’t know much about them, aside from what she’s told me.”
“So she talks about that stuff with you?”
“Aye.” Will make a face, clearly surprised at his statement, and glances over at Robin suspiciously. “What?”
Robin shakes his head, casting another bait line, and says, “Nothing, we both just assumed it was just sex, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?” he asks curiously. It’s not because this is just sex to him, but because he’s curious about what they seem to think makes it not just sex for Emma.
Will laughs lightly, cheering when he brings in another line full of herring. “Mate, if she’s talking about her family, it’s not just sex.”
He hums thoughtfully, supposing that must be true. Emma wouldn’t confide in him about her upbringing— and her trauma, and her fears of abandonment— unless she was comfortable with him, would she? She wouldn’t have tried to process her feelings surrounding her adoption if she didn’t trust him, would she? She wouldn’t have agreed to a date with him tonight if some part of her didn’t like him, right?
“I love the look on his face when realization strikes,” Will jokes, bumping Killian with his elbow. He looks like he’s about to say more, perhaps another jest, perhaps something that will give Killian more insight into his companionship, but the radar starts marking fish and they each stand still and silent in anticipation.
The line starts clicking with the indication that something may be going for the bait, and when the reel begins screaming as the fish in question tries to escape, they jump into action. There’s shouting and running and fierce reeling, and it’s almost enough to get Killian’s mind off of Emma bloody Swan.
~~~~
Emma tries not to drag her feet as she makes her way down the main dock, the chilled ocean air sending a shiver down her spine despite her borrowing Mary Margaret’s windbreaker. With the season coming to close in a few weeks, the late fall weather sends a damp chill through her bones that she isn’t used to despite growing up in Minnesota.
It’s not as if she isn’t excited to see David this evening. She’s been spending time with him and Mary Margaret, and their son Leo as well, fairly regularly since she’s come to town. But things have been awkward to say the least.
She didn’t know about her brother when she arrived in Storybrooke. Finding out about him, finding out that he’s just turned eighteen, making them almost eight years apart, hurt a bit. Of course she understands that people change a lot in eight years. But the fact is, her parents had her and gave her away. They had her brother and raised him. It stings.
It stings. But it isn’t something any of them can change now. So she puts it behind her, just like Ingrid taught her.
If she wasn’t raised by such a soft, caring woman for most of her life, Emma’s certain she would be a different person from who she’s become. She had every chance to build walls as high as the eye can see, but Ingrid broke them down little by little from the day she welcomed Emma into her house when she was eight years old. After being given back by two families in a row, she was seen as broken, as damaged goods, as a stray no one could truly want. But Ingrid saw through her trauma and her bad behavior and welcomed her with open arms.
When she became sick, Ingrid gave Emma all of the information she was able to dig up on her parents. It wasn’t much to go on, and Emma initially refused to use any of it for fear of hurting her mother’s feelings. She didn’t want to make Ingrid feel like she was trying to replace her by finding her birth parents. But as Ingrid lay on her deathbed, the ovarian cancer too much for her frail frame to fight any longer, she begged Emma to seek her parents out, telling her that she deserves answers. That no matter the choice they made all those years ago, they deserve to know the beautiful woman they brought into this world.
She couldn’t exactly turn her down. So, traumatized and heartbroken, she put all that she had into expanding upon her mother’s research until finally, almost two years later, she found them.
David and Mary Margaret Nolan. She found them in a small fishing town off the coast of Maine, well known on the East Coast for their lucrative bluefin tuna fishing season.
It wasn’t exactly what she expected. And when she knocked on their door and a gangly teenager answered, she’ll admit to feeling slighted.
Okay, perhaps irrationally angry is more accurate. And if her method of coping was to go to the first bar she could find and get completely obliterated, so be it. The handsome man in the soft, cream colored sweater helping her to her room at Granny’s was an added bonus.
“Hey, Ems,” David calls from his makeshift desk where he does all of his accounting and paperwork. She’s sat here a few times before, but found herself bored out of her mind in a matter of minutes as she watched him work over his ledgers.
“Hi,” she greets back. She’s found that she doesn’t really call them anything. It doesn't feel right to call them mom or dad, because she had a mom. And while David may be her biological father, he isn’t really her dad. So instead, she doesn’t address them as anything.
“I’ve got a couple of boats coming in,” he informs her. “Season’s almost over, so the fish are big this time of year. You may get to see some record-breakers.”
“Cool,” she smiles, taking a seat on the folding table he sits at all day, cringing as it creaks under her weight.
“I think your… I think Mary Margaret is gonna come out tonight too. We were thinking of grabbing dinner. You know, celebrate the weekend, and all that.”
With a small grin coloring her features, her heart skips a beat at the thought of the sailor hopefully making his way to shore as they speak. She doesn’t doubt that he’s on his way, but she isn’t sure how happy he’ll be if he comes in empty handed and with an angry crew. “I actually have plans,” she tells him with a blush.
“Dinner plans?”
“Yep,” she answers with a nod. “A date.”
“A date,” David says, his brows drawing close together as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Who are you--”
He’s interrupted by his wife, her excited voice carrying across the length of the docks as she hurries towards them. “Emma!” she shouts as she gets closer. “Hi, honey!”
She tenses slightly at the title, still feeling uncomfortable when she hears words of affection coming from the woman who gave birth to her. She smiles anyway, waving softly and hopping off of the table, letting the woman embrace her briefly before pulling away. “Hi.”
“Did your father ask you to dinner? We figured we’d celebrate the weekend starting. Plus, it seems like the fleet did really well this week, doesn't it, David? The buyers are always more generous at the end of the season--”
“Emma has plans,” David cuts her off. “A date.”
“A date?”
“A date.”
“Do you guys mind?” she asks, only half joking. It’s been hard enough opening up to them and letting them into her heart and her personal life. She does try to not use humor as a way to keep them at a distance, really.
Mary Margaret clears her throat, smiling at Emma sweetly and only a bit awkwardly. “Who is your date with, sweetheart?”
“Well,” she starts turning to face David, “you might actually know him.”
“Oh, hold that thought for just a second, Ems. A boat’s coming in.”
She turns to face the water below them, noting the modestly sized vessel floating towards the loading dock. Two crewmen stand outside, grabbing for ropes as they pull themselves against the dock while the captain stands in the wheelhouse, diligently watching as he guides the boat. She smiles at the sight, taking in his ruffled appearance and the fact that he’s changed his sweater, wondering what happened out at sea to make the other one unwearable.
“Evening, Dave,” one of his mates calls, waving in their direction once the boat is secured to the dock. “We’ve got two big ones for ya.”
David praises him, watching as they open up a small hatch in the floor of the boat and reveal two massive fish. Emma’s never seen anything like it, the tunas taking up the entire space below the main deck. They must be almost twice as long as she is tall. “Think we’ve got a good thousand pounds here,” the other man calls as he wraps a rope around one of the tails. “Hope we can lift it.”
Killian trips and stumbles when he sees her, the blush on his cheeks spreading to his ears and down his neck and reminding her of how he looks when he’s about to finish inside her. The thought makes her blush as well as she grins down at him, giving him a small wave. He’s been quiet and shy for as long as she’s known him, but he’s also professional, and his silence and lack of greeting is almost concerning.
He climbs off the boat, hoisting himself easily onto the dock as the muscles under his sweater ripple with the effort. Clearing his throat, he finally makes eye contact with her, smiling awkwardly as his blush deepens. “Evening, Miss Swan,” he says sweetly, reminding her of when they met months ago. She’s not sure she likes it.
“Hi, Killian,” she responds with a smirk, making his blush deepen and heating him to an uncomfortable temperature in his dampened sweater. The first fish they caught was barely above the length requirement and relatively easy to hoist onto the deck, but the second has to be one of the largest they’ve ever gotten, and it put up one hell of a fight.
“You two know each other?” David asks, glancing between him and Emma, and it strikes Killian that she isn’t here waiting for him like he thought. She’s standing by the harbormaster, relatively close to his wife and child, and things start to fall into place in his mind.
They’ve talked about her parents briefly, about how they were young when they had her and made the decision to give her up at the persuasion of both of their parents. She told him about how they had a son a few years later and raised him. She just never told him that her father is the bloody harbormaster.
“Yeah,” she answers finally, giving David Nolan a smile that Killian recognizes. It’s the same one that David gives him when he catches a big fish; friendly and necessary but not entirely genuine. She doesn’t expand upon how they met, or how they know each other, or the nature of their relationship, and the harbormaster looks at Killian suspiciously as the machinery lifts his second fish onto the dock.
David evaluates each fish and offers him a hefty price for the both of them. The second one, the one that gave them such trouble, is over a thousand pounds, just like Will had guessed, so they make out very well after just one days work. Normally, their undeniable success would be enough to erase any negative thought floating around in Killian’s head, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s standing beside the father of the woman he’s sleeping with.
He tries to be an adult about it, ignoring the awkward air that has settled between them as David’s family watches on happily, but when Emma asks, “are you ready to go, Killian?” everyone’s eyes dart up immediately.
Thankfully, the check had already been cut and handed to Killian, because he’s almost certain that he wouldn’t have gotten his hands on it if Emma’s question had come any sooner. He watches as David’s eyes grow twice their normal size, his wife’s mouth falling agape as she turns to stare at Emma in complete shock.
“No,” David says immediately, shaking his head in denial and turning to face his daughter. “Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?” Emma asks, raising both brows in challenge and taking a step away from her mother and towards Killian. She sees his eyes widening and darting between the three of them nervously as the exchange becomes more and more tense.
The man, only slightly older than Killian, clears his throat and looks at his daughter again before saying, “please tell me you're not dating him.”
“How dare you,” she accuses immediately, stepping back once more until she stands beside Killian, his warmth radiating off of him and comforting her just slightly in the wake of her anger. She doesn’t even know why he would say something like that, what would make him feel the need to say that, but she’s quick to become defensive. She knows Killian is a good person, and she feels immediately as if this man has no right to dictate who she dates.
“Honey,” Mary Margaret starts, stepping closer to her and placing her hand on her elbow just as Emma pulls away. She looks in Killian’s direction awkwardly and tensely before trying again. “It’s just… he’s a bit older...”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she says angrily, and notices David stiffening beside his wife.
“Emma, please. He just catches fish for half a year. You’re too young to be thinking about settling down with someone who doesn’t have a stable career. Not to mention, he’s almost the same age as me and your mother.”
She senses him becoming rigid beside her, his shoulders rising slightly and his jaw clenching in tense discomfort at the accusation. They’ve had this conversation briefly several times, sometimes jokingly and sometimes out of his own insecurities. He’s always seen himself as too old for her-- too old, too common, not good enough-- and the confirmation from her father surely hurts him.
Of course, they’ve never talked much about who her parents are. They’ve had their share of conversations about her past and why she’s here, so he knows plenty about the things that she’s been through, but she never felt the need to tell him who they are. She never even put two and two together that he may know her father until this morning. And now she’s hurt him by keeping this from him.
With shock and anger, she answers too loudly. “Well, it’s not my fault you guys had me at 17, it is? And are you really judging him for his job? He works hard every day!”
“Emma,” Killian tries softly, placing his hand on her elbow, but she pulls away in the same way that she had with her mother.
“No! They have no right to judge you for what you do for a living. Or us for our age difference. This is completely ridiculous.”
“It’s alright, love,” he says, resigning to the fact that he’s likely going to lose her. Her parents are right; his job is seasonal and not always as lucrative as he would like, and he’s closer in age to her parents than he is to her. It was bound to end eventually, he tells himself sadly, as she deserves so much more than he’s able to give her. “I’ll go.”
“You’re not going anywhere unless you're bringing me with you,” she gripes angrily, grabbing his hand in her own and yanking him away from where her parents are standing. He lets her pull him along, looking back nervously at the harbormaster and his wife as they gape at the two of them.
~~~~
“How dare they,” she grumbles, slamming his front door harder than he thinks she means to. “I mean, they barely know me, never mind you.”
“Emma,” he tries, but she refuses to let him get a word in edgewise as she continues her venting.
“It would be one thing if they had actually raised me. If they instilled in me these values that they seem to think puts them on a pedestal. But they gave me away.”
He guides her gently through his small cottage, the weight of his hand on the small of her back serving as a reminder that he’s here for her.
“Emma,” he repeats once they’re sitting and she’s able to hear him. “You know I understand.”
She does know this. He told her one night, while their legs were entwined and their arms were around one another, about the way his father abandoned him and his brother when he was just a boy. “I know,” she confirms softly.
“And you also know that I hate the idea of getting in between you and your family. They’re the reason you’re here in the first place, love.”
She stares at him for a moment, taking in the meaning of his words and angering when she realizes that he thinks he’s the problem here.
“Stop,” she insists suddenly. “If you’re making me consider them my family, then I’m going to consider you my family, too.”
“Love--”
“I’ve known you the same amount of time as I have them. And you’ve never once judged me, or let me down, or made me feel… like I’m doing something wrong.”
His face drops slightly in response to her words as he saddens. It kills him to know that she’s been made to feel this way. “I appreciate hearing that, love. But at the same time… they have a point. I’m closer in age to your parents than I am to you.”
“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes and pushing his shoulders until he’s lying down and she’s lying across his chest. “You should hear about some of the other guys I’ve dated. You being old is nothing.”
He pinches her hip in response to her jest and says, “I dare not hear about them, or else I may leave here and start a fight with each of them.”
“You’re too old to fight.”
“Aye, that’s right.”
They lie in comfortable silence, Killian’s tired arms running up and down along her spine until her breathing evens out. It’s either an indication that she’s feeling less angry, or that she’s fallen asleep, but he knows it to be the former when she speaks up.
“Do you know that you smell really bad? Like… I mean really bad.”
“Thank you, darling.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, and he can hear the sly smile in her voice without needing to see her perfect face. “You know, I could probably help you with that.”
“Is that so?” he asks in falsified surprise.
“Yes,” she nods. “A nice hot shower is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Oh, are we playing doctor now, Swan?”
“Ugh, no, Jones. It isn’t 1950 anymore, old man. Kids don’t play doctor. Now come with me if you want me to soap you up.”
She yanks him from the couch, guiding him through his small space until they reach the shower. It’s a tight fit, squeezing the both of them inside, but she somehow manages to get on her knees before him and quell his anxieties that he’s not good enough for her. Her mouth is useful when it’s using words to comfort him, and it’s just as useful when she’s using it to worship him until he can finish in the back of her throat.
As she stands slowly and salaciously, the warm water trickles down her face and into her hair, dampening the flawless length of her body as she reaches behind him for the body wash. “Does this mean you aren’t going to leave me?” she asks softly as she squeezes some soap into her palm. He can barely stand straight, leaning against the wall of the shower as she begins to lather the soap over the coarse hair on his chest.
His thoughts finally return to him and he says, “please tell me you didn’t just give me the best blowjob of my life as a means to convince me.”
She snorts, wrapping her arms around his waist and running her hands up and down his back. He knows she’s trying to follow through on her promise to soap him up, but she grabs onto his rear and he isn’t sure if she’s cleansing him correctly. “No,” she responds, pressing her lips to his neck and licking along his racing pulse. “But... did it help persuade you?”
He hums, not trusting his own voice and nodding. “It did,” he breathes, then he rights himself and remembers how imperative it is that he get his point across. “Emma, I don't want to leave you. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy if you aren’t by my side. I just… I only want to do what’s best for you.”
“You are what’s best for me,” she says, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. She finally looks up, releasing her lips and tongue from his skin and meeting his eyes with hers. “I never… I mean, I didn't grow up with a family. I know how to get by without my parents. But it’s-- It’s different with you. Ingrid always said that I need to fight for my happiness. I finally understand what she meant now that I’ve met you. I can’t lose you.”
Her words are so soft, so small, that he could have missed them. If he wasn’t watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, he would have. The way that she’s able to perfectly express how she’s feeling, while also giving words to the way that he feels about her, makes his heart practically jump out of his chest.
“Love,” he breathes, his voice gruff and barely audible as he cups her cheek with his palm. “I can’t lose you either.”
“You just mean a lot to me,” she whispers.
“Aye. You mean more to me than I could put into words.”
“Then please don’t leave me,” she mouths. He knows she had the intention to say the words aloud, but it’s as if she isn’t able to.
He’s unable to form the words that he so desperately wants to, either, so he leans in close to her and captures her lips between his own, molding their mouths together as if they were made for each other. And she kisses him back in a way that conveys how she feels about him.
Her fingers slide through his chest hair, scratching along his skin as they glide up towards his neck. She grips the back of his hair with her fingers, grounding herself through the emotion of the entire evening. It was hard enough on her when she learned her parents disapproved of her lover. Harder still when she found out he was considering leaving her for what he assumed was her own good. Now, she can’t get enough of the soothing comfort that comes from being with him.
He reaches behind himself, easily shutting off the flow of the water so that the silence of the room consumes them. The only sounds between them are the weakened, aged fan and the sounds of their heavy breathing.
“I’m— I—.” She starts speaking, but cuts herself off in favor of kissing him again.
“Aye,” he agrees, and although he doesn’t know what she was going to say exactly, he has a hunch and hopes to any god who may be listening that he’s right.
“Take me to bed,” she asks against his mouth. “I need you.”
He doesn’t waste a moment; when Emma Swan tells him to take her to bed, he knows he’d better listen. Pushing the curtain aside, he holds it open for her and allows her to step out of the shower, holding onto her elbow in hopes that he’s offering her some semblance of support. It’s entirely unnecessary, though; Emma Swan is the strongest person he’s ever met. She gives him a soft smile in thanks, grabbing his towel off of the hook and using it to dry herself quickly before turning it towards him and tossing it into his hair. She scrubs the towel through the gray and black locks playfully, giggling when she lifts it over his eyes and smiling at him so brightly that he finds it impossible not to grin back. “Thank you,” he says softly, and she leans forward, holding the towel around his head and using it like a hood to pull him into a kiss.
What starts as chaste and gentle turns heated and passionate in second, her tongue sliding against his and her hands lighting a trail of fire as they scratch down his back. He picks her up easily, her slender frame much less heavy than the monsters he battled earlier, and carries her bridal style over the threshold of the bathroom and towards the bed they’ve been sharing. The bed in which he hopes to never sleep alone again.
He presses her down into the mattress, making her groan into his mouth and wrap her ankles around his hips. She’s desperate to pull him closer to her, to have him inside her until she’s seeing stars behind her eyelids. He never fails to bring her ecstasy, each time they’re together fighting for the title of ‘the best time’. When his fingers find her sensitive and soaked for him, he smirks against her lips and kisses her harder. When he slides into her, making her gasp with the welcome ache as he stretches her, they press their foreheads together and breathe each other in. He rocks into her slowly and gently, exactly as she needs him. He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly, stroking her above where their bodies join until she’s powerless to stop the desperate noises from filling the room.
She squeezes her entire body around him as they finish together, and she cries out his name in loving praise as he spills himself into her. He can’t get enough of her, the high of being with her is like a drug from which he will never be fully sated, and he will never stop trying to bring her pleasure and joy and contentment for as long as she allows him to stay by her side.
The hum that leaves her throat as they come down together relays exactly how he feels as well. They’re sated for now as they embrace each other, although he knows that his longing for her is only slightly extinguished, only to be fueled again with just the slightest encouragement from her.
“That was nice,” she breathes nonchalantly, making him smile softly through hooded eyes as he rolls onto his side to look at her longingly.
“That’s one word for it, I suppose,” he concedes, running his hand up and down along the length of her waist. Her eyes flutter shut at the tickling sensation and she leans close to him to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“Very excellent? As if I was being fucked by a savant? Is that better?”
“No,” he whispers, “I think you’re just making fun of my age again with that one.”
With a soft grin, she says, “you’re pretty slick for an old guy.”
“Hush.”
She snuggles into his chest, resting her head under his chin and kissing against his collarbone before uttering, “a quick nap, and then you’re taking me to dinner.”
“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”
~~~~
There’s an old wives tale, apparently, that tuna are more active during a storm. At least, that’s what Killian told Emma when he left that morning with the sky bright red. She was expecting him to heed the weather advisory and the warnings given by the coast guard that it isn’t safe for small crafts to be out during the oncoming storm, but of course, he’s as stubborn as she is and dedicated to his career and to his crew. They all want to go out and catch fish, so that’s what they do.
It’s not like she doesn’t trust his abilities as the captain, because of course she does. And it’s not like she’s naive enough to think that he’s never been out in bad weather before. But they’d just had a heart to heart a few nights ago, and if she loses him to a storm, she’s certain that she’ll lose what’s left of her sanity as well.
The fact is, she loves him. She knows she does, and she knows that she has since the moment she met him. She doesn’t care that he’s older than her, or that he works seasonally, or that he considers himself to be not good enough for her. What matters is that he’s the kindest person she’s ever met. He’s the most generous man who’s ever been in her life. She’s never met someone so gentle and caring and utterly perfect, and she feels physically sick at the thought of losing what she has with him.
He makes her want to be a better person. He makes her strive for patience and understanding, rather than impulsivity. He makes her rethink her tendency to shut people out before they can hurt her. She’s better for having met him, and she fears what she could become if she loses him to a crashing wave or a sinking ship.
After he leaves, after she watches as he sets off into the open ocean, she heads to Granny’s, the wind already strong enough to push her in that direction. She has a room rented out, but she hasn’t been in it in days in favor of staying with Killian, locking themselves away from the world and letting themselves be consumed with one another. She dreads the idea of going to her empty room, the one that isn’t hers and Killian’s, but she’s in need of a good facemask after neglecting her routine for days on end, and she could use a change of clothes that don’t belong to him.
After showering and, admittedly, taking an unexpected nap, she wakes ready for an order of grilled cheese and onion rings. The bell above the door chimes when she opens it, and Granny gives her a quick yet welcoming smile. “Afternoon,” she calls from behind the counter. “Want a seat with your folks?”
Emma groans internally as she turns and sees her parents and brother sitting in a booth, each of them giving her a kind smile. She returns it, although hers is much tighter than theirs seem to be, and says, “sure,” in a less-than-convincing tone.
“Hi, honey,” Mary Margaret says when Emma approaches them reluctantly, and she tries (and probably fails) to hide her cringe.
“Hey.”
David slides over towards the wall, offering her the only available seat beside him. “Been a few days, huh? How’s it going?”
“Fine,” she shrugs. “I’ve been staying with Killian.”
She watches as her parents stiffen, her brother obviously indifferent to her dating life. “That’s… nice,” Mary Margaret forces out, her discomfort so plainly written across her face that Emma has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t come here to start anything, and she didn’t sit with them because she wanted to argue, but it’s becoming more and more difficult.
“Yes, it is nice. Killian is nice. And polite, and compassionate, and perfect in every way. So yes, it’s been a very pleasant few days.”
“I’m glad you’ve… I'm glad that you’re happy,” Mary Margaret chokes out.
“I am.”
They’re silent. Emma’s lunch is delivered to the table and they eat quietly, the only sounds between the four of them the bustle of the diner and the appreciative hum that David gives with each bite of soup. The wind whips outside, rattling the windows violently and blowing over a table on Granny’s patio. Many of the patrons stand, David and Leo included, and hurry outside to right the fallen piece of furniture, and Emma begins to gnaw at the short nail on her left thumb.
“It’s bad out there,” she remarks obviously, her leg bouncing up and down in quick, anxious succession. “I hope--”
She notes the way Mary Margaret looks out the window with wide eyes, realization setting in as the source of her daughter’s fear becomes obvious. “Emma, is he out there? In this weather?”
Emma looks at her mother and, for the first time since they’ve met, finds comfort in her eyes rather than a reason for distrust. “Yes,” she chokes out in a whisper, sucking her lips between her teeth. “He said he’d be fine, but…”
Mary Margaret nods in understanding. “It’s kind of bad out there.” Emma nods, too. “I can see why you’re so worried.”
“His boat is pretty small,” she explains, her voice shaking. “But he said it’s the best time to catch the fish.”
“That’s what your father always says, too,” Mary Margaret responds, reaching across the table and giving Emma’s hand a squeeze. For the first time since she’s met her mother, she doesn't pull away. “I’m sure he’ll be alright. He’s a knowledgeable captain.”
“He has been doing this a while,” Emma reasons, mostly with herself.
Mary Margaret sighs, giving Emma’s hand one final squeeze before letting go and leaning forward towards her daughter. “Sweetheart,” she starts, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. “I-- I’d like to apologize for the way your father and I reacted the other night. It wasn’t fair of us to judge your… relationship.”
Emma looks up into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to her, the woman who gave her away, and sees truth behind them. “It wasn’t,” she agrees.
“I can tell now that you truly care for him.”
“I do,” she nods. “Very much.”
“It’s just that,” she starts slowly, noticing her husband and son reentering the diner. “Well, you’re our little girl. It was surprising to find out that you’ve been seeing someone, never mind someone so much older than you. We just want what’s best for you.”
David sits beside Emma again and Leo takes his seat next to his mother, both of them looking as though they realize that they’ve walked into a pretty serious conversation. Emma thinks about holding back with their arrival, especially considering the presence of her brother, but she simply can’t.
“No offense or anything, but… I'm not your little girl. I never was. I never got the chance to be. And Killian’s age means nothing to me because he’s the best person I’ve ever known. No one else I’ve dated has ever treated me nearly as well as he has; no one listens to me or cares for me or loves me the way he does. And as terrifying as it is, because my dating history has seriously sucked, I know he loves me without even hearing him say it. And I… I love him too. And I’m really going insane right now not knowing if he’s alright out there, and you judging me for being with him isn’t helping how crazy I feel.”
The table is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Emma chooses to go back to eating her onion rings and nervously bouncing her feet against the floor. Mary Margaret gulps, David’s wide eyes look between Emma and his wife, and Leo awkwardly eats his fries in the same way that Emma does. It’s the most painful silence she thinks she’s ever sat through.
“I’m sorry,” David finally says softly, turning his entire body so that he can face Emma. “It startled and surprised us when we found out, but you’re right. It isn’t fair for us to judge you. We’re clinging to the hope that you’d be, well, our little girl. But it’s time we realize that isn’t realistic and celebrate the time that we do get to spend with you. No matter who you choose to spend your time with.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles. She appreciates the sentiment, truly, but she gets the feeling there’s a but coming.
“I just hope that he feels as strongly for you as you clearly do for him.”
She tries her hardest to ensure that the look she gives him from the corner of her eye is not a glare, and she nods. “He does.”
“Alright, then,” David says casually, folding up his napkin and placing it on his plate before grabbing for his wallet. “Let's head to the docks and check the radar, then, shall we?”
Her eyes widen with anticipation and relief as she asks, “can you do that?”
“I’m the harbormaster. I can do whatever I want,” he says with a smirk and a wink shot in her direction. She follows him out of the booth with more enthusiasm than she’s felt all day, practically skipping out of the diner behind her father.
~~~~
“I can hear all of the long-range radio communications on here,” he explains once they arrive at his makeshift office. He pulls out his chair for her and lets her sit while he adjusts the receiver. “You’ll just have to listen out for him. So far, no distress signals or anything, though.”
“Good,” she agrees. She jumps in excitement when she hears a message coming through, and even though it isn’t from Killian, she knows he’s out there with this other captain.
She listens in silence for a while, David leaning against the table beside her and Mary Margaret and Leo standing off to the side and talking quietly. She hears many messages come in, many captains talking back and forth about the storm and the choppy waters and the dangerous conditions. A few of them have caught some fish, so she supposes it was worth it to them, but she hasn’t heard anything from Killian.
Eventually, after what feels like far too much time has passed, she hears someone ask for him. Emma desperately wishes there was a transmitter that would allow her to speak to him, but all she can do now is sit by and listen.
“Jolly, you still on?” the man asks, and David translates to let Emma know that they're wondering if Killian is still reeling in a tuna.
There isn’t a response, though. David explains that each captain should let the others in the fleet know when they’ve caught something, and Killian’s lack of response probably means that he and his crew are still wrestling with the giant beast. At least, that’s what she tells herself.
“Jolly Roger, come in. You guys still on?”
“Guess that means yes,” another captain responds after a moment. “‘Less he went overboard.”
Emma pales, putting her hand over her mouth and biting her lip until David places his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “He’s joking,” he tells her. “They’re all like that. A bunch of ball-busters.”
She nods and gulps, listening on as the fleet’s captains joke with each other as if there isn’t a nor'easter threatening to capsize each and every one of them. As if it isn’t possible that it’s already taken the man she loves away from her. She hears one of them saying that they’re on their way back to the docks, having caught a fish big enough to justify ending their trip, and she silently begs anyone who might be listening that Killian is finishing up catching something big and will do the same.
Eventually, after far too long, someone speaks up and says, “I’m going in, too. Anyone hear from Jones?”
“No,” another answers. “He was fighting something big; hopefully they catch it soon. Gettin’ bad out here.”
Emma knows she can’t wait at the docks for him forever. It’s unrealistic, and she’s going to freeze to death. It’s nearly winter, and the mixture of snow and rain and heavy wind that assaults her in the scarcely covered dock is starting to soak down to her bones. But she can’t leave. She still hasn’t heard Killian’s voice over the radio-- it’s been pretty silent for the last hour-- and she can’t get herself to leave before she knows that he’s alright.
Mary Margaret apologizes as she leaves, bringing Leo with her to get warm. She says she’ll have a mug of cocoa waiting for Emma at Granny’s, but she isn’t sure when she’ll make it over there. Despite how cold and wet she is, she can’t leave here until he gets back. She can’t even think of the alternative to him coming back.
David waits with her for another hour. They’re fairly quiet, hardly any words exchanged between the two of them, but after some time passes, he starts to open up to her in a way she never expected. He tells her how grateful he is that she found them. He tells her how impossible it was for him and Mary Margaret to give her up, and that both of their parents essentially forced their hands due to their young age. He tells her how painful it was, finding out about Mary Margaret’s unplanned pregnancy and being faced with the reality that they could keep this child and they couldn’t keep her. He tells her how badly he wanted to try to find her, considering breaking the terms of the closed adoption that fell through for years. He had no idea that the family who adopted her initially had sent her back because once they agreed to place her for adoption, they gave up their right to know anything about her.
Tears spring into his eyes when he talks of wanting to give her her best chance. When he admits to her that giving her away was a mistake-- “the biggest I’ve ever made.”
When she was young, this is what she’d hoped for. She dreamt of her tortured parents, broken because of their decision to give her away. She’d hoped that they realized their mistake and regretted it every day. But now, seeing the way that the decision they made 25 years ago hurts her father, she wishes she could take his pain away. They didn’t have much of a choice at 17, what with having no income and no support from their families. They thought they were doing what was best for her; they can’t help that it didn’t work out that way.
“It’s alright, dad,” she finally says after some silence passes between them. She notes the way he looks up at her hopefully, his eyes still glassed over, and she realizes why. She’s never called him that before, never thought she ever would. But in this moment, with the support and honesty and love he’s shown her, she can’t think of him as anyone other than her father. Her dad.
She sniffles as she steps towards him, her eyes beginning to match his own, and she embraces him. It feels exactly how she’d hoped hugging her father would feel. It feels true, and loving, and she’s at peace here with him.
“I love you,” he says into her hair, his hand cupping the back of his head. “I always have, since the moment I found out about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.”
She doesn’t even think before she says, “I love you, too.”
A boat comes in and David buys their fish. When asked about the Jolly Roger, the captain shrugs and says he hasn’t heard from Killian since he got a tuna on his line, but that was hours ago. “Sometimes it takes a whole day to get them on the deck,” David tells her after the captain leaves. “With the weather, I'm sure they’re being challenged out there. But we would’ve heard a distress call if anything was wrong.”
She tells herself that he’s right, and that he would know, and sits back down at the table. She can’t torture herself standing by the entrance of the warehouse, getting soaked and becoming even more frozen as she stares out at the horizon. She distracts herself with her phone, trying to keep busy as she waits, wishing he would call or text her to let her know that he’s alright.
It’s nearly dark when David calls her over, and when she looks up, she sees a small vessel backing up towards the dock, Will and Robin tossing some rope around the post to keep the boat from floating out to sea. She stands with such force and hope that she sends the chair crashing to the ground, but she hardly notices as she starts running towards the stairs. It’s still windy and cold, but the snow and rain has slowed, making it just a bit safer as she sprints down the wooden stairs and across the dock where he’s landed.
“Killian!” she calls as she gets closer, and she sees him poking his head out from the small cabin at the sound of her voice, shutting off the engine and hurrying towards the edge of the deck. She doesn’t let him disembark, choosing instead to jump onto the deck and nearly shoving Will to the ground as she fights her way towards him, crashing into his sturdy arms.
“Bloody hell,” he whispers into her hair as he holds her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her and warming her in a way that nothing else possibly could. His sweater is damp, and she’s soaked to the bone, but neither of them care. She can finally breathe again with her nose against his neck and her arms around his waist, squeezing him close to her.
“Are you okay?” she finally asks against his skin. She pulls away so that she can look at him, holding his head in her hands and bringing his lips to hers in a relieved kiss. “Fuck,” she breathes when she pulls away. “I thought… I was so worried about you.”
“I’m sorry--” he says against her mouth when she kisses him again. He chuckles softly and tries again, “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to worry you.” His hand leaves her hip and brushes her wet hair out of her face, his fingers returning to trace gently over her cheek.
“We listened to the radio, but we never heard from you. I thought something was wrong, or--” she cuts herself off, biting her bottom lip and staring into his eyes, as deep and blue as the ocean.
“The radio went out with some lightning. If I’d known you were listening… bloody hell. I’m so sorry, Emma.”
She tries to kiss him again, their lips touching for just a single, unsatisfying second before they're interrupted by Will. “Oi, you’re standing right over the fish, mate. You lot can canoodle after we get the check, aye?”
They caught three giant fish, the maximum they’re allowed to have on their boat at one time. She supposes he was right about a storm being the best time to go fishing, but she doesn’t think she’d survive if he went out in this weather again. She wonders in the back of her mind if the hefty paycheck David gives them for their catch is influenced by her in any way, but she tries not to dwell on it. Afterall, it could be worse. At least her father somewhat approves of him now, or at the very least, tolerates the fact that they're together.
When they're done, he hands the keys to his mates and squeezes her hand. “I promise I’m not going out there in this weather again, love; not if it’s going to worry you. It isn’t worth putting you through that again.”
“Good man,” David says softly, nodding to himself as he packs up his supplies. “Ems, I’ll meet you at Granny’s? We should probably dry off.”
“Sure,” she responds with a nod and a smile. “Tell-- tell mom I’ll be there soon.”
David blushes and nods back at her, giving her a shy smile. “Will do, kiddo.”
They walk away hand in hand, both of them damp and freezing and in desperate need of the embrace of the other.
“‘Mom’?” he asks her when they're out of earshot, trekking towards the small cottage that’s been in his family for generations. She can hear the smile in his voice over the whipping winds, and can’t help but to smile as well.
“I had a very interesting day,” she explains casually, looking up at him and smiling before looking back down, careful as she navigates over the bumpy stone path that leads to his front door. It’s a very short walk; his house beside the lighthouse is prime real estate in the small fishing town. “Little heart to heart with my parents.”
“That’s wonderful, love,” he encourages, squeezing her hand as he fiddles with the lock with his other. When they finally get inside, out of the storm and into the warmth of his small living room, he says, “I’m happy for you.”
She hums and smiles softly, turning to him and wrapping her fingers around the neck of his rain and ocean soaked sweater. “You should start a fire,” she suggests in a whisper. “And get out of these clothes.”
“Aye, same could be said for you, angel. How long were you by the docks waiting?” he asks, running the tip of his finger along her temple and down her cheek.
“I don't know, it felt like hours.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize you were waiting. I would've tried calling, but there was spotty reception.”
“It’s alright,” she whispers back, pushing her forehead against his and cupping the back of his head with her hands. “I’m just glad you're alright.”
“Aye.”
“And there's… there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
It doesn't matter that they're both nearly dripping on the floor of his entryway, or that her hair resembles a birds nest, or that he smells like fish. None of the imperfections matter because when they're together, they disappear. Everything that could make their moment together feel amiss fades into the background when she smiles and whispers, “I love you.”
His heart stops beating. He wonders if he’s old enough to have a heart attack. It doesn't matter, because Emma admitting her love for him will surely keep him alive if he is. He chokes slightly, swallowing and taking a deep breath and then laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. Emma Swan loves him.
She giggles, too, her nose brushing against his as she asks, “are you in there?” and taps her fingers on his temple.
“Aye, I’m just… bloody hell. I love you.”
“You do?” she asks happily, her smile nearly blinding.
“Yes,” he responds. “Unequivocally. More than I ever thought it was possible to love a person. My life was so mundane and futile until you came into it, but Emma, you’ve given me so much hope. You’ve made my life… worth it.”
She breathes out a laugh and sniffles, scratching her fingers along his scalp and shaking her head. “You old sap,” she chastises playfully, making him laugh too. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Their kiss is perfect. They don’t need the heat of the fire to warm them up because the energy between them is enough. He doesn’t feel the need to strip off his clothes because of how soaked through they are; moreso because of how badly he needs to touch her. All he can think about is her body on his and the cursed amount of layers he’s adorning. He feels slightly less suffocated when she strips him of his thick sweater, but only slightly.
She moans as she pulls at his trousers, popping open the button and sliding the zip as far down as it’ll go. Reaching inside, she palms at the contours of his hardened length over his underwear. She giggles, the sound ringing through his ears joyously, when she tucks her fingers under his long underwear and is met with even more fabric. “You really layered up, huh, Captain?”
He nearly chokes at her use of his title, never liking it falling from anyone else’s lips as much as he does hers, and nods. “A winter storm requires prep-- preparation,” he stutters.
His eyes grow about twice their size and his breathing completely stops as she sinks to her knees before him, making her smirk as she looks up at him through her lashes in a way that she knows drives him mad. She’s practically buzzing as she looks up at his bare chest, the veins in his arms popping out tantalizingly as she runs her nose along the soft fabric of his long underwear.
The sounds he makes are unintelligible, and she’s found that that is exactly what she seeks when she gets on her knees before him: to have him in such ecstasy that he can hardly make sense of his words. She bites at the fabric so that she can pull it down, his cock springing free so that she can lightly scratch her fingers through the hair at the base. She loves the way he’s peppered with white all over, and she knows he likes her appreciation for it. The fact is, she can’t get enough of his perfectly sculpted body, the spatterings of silver and black making her heart skip a beat each time she thinks about him.
She can tell when she’s about to take it too far based on the way he struggles to keep his hips still, so she slows her movements and releases him with a pop, licking her lips as she looks up at him seductively.
“Do you want me?” she asks in a low, growling whisper that’s only just audible over the sounds of the wind picking up just outside the door.
“If I ever don't immediately say yes to that question, please smother me with a pillow. It means my age has caught up to me.”
“Impossible,” she chastises, standing slowly and removing her own sweater. “You may be old, but I know you’re young at heart.”
He shakes his head at her, moving quickly to scoop her into his arms until her ankles are locked around his waist. “What did we say about respecting your elders?” he growls into her ear, biting at the lobe as he walks them towards the bed.
With a hum, she asks, “are you going to punish me, Captain?” and he tosses her gracefully onto the mattress in response.
“Perhaps I'll simply make you beg.”
“Oh, I'm not above begging. I happen to know you’re quite the catch, so it'll be worth it.”
“Are you making fishing jokes while I’m trying to seduce you?”
The smirk she gives him is telling as he pulls her leggings over her hips and bites into her flesh, making her jump slightly. “Oh! I thought I was supposed to nibble on your rod?”
“Emma,” he laughs breathlessly.
She breathes out a laugh as well as he drags his tongue along her folds, not quite touching her where she needs him. “You really know how to lure me in, what can I say.” He bites the inside of her thigh silently, making her laugh aloud and then stutter as his tongue finds her clit. He keeps it there only momentarily, moving away in favor of peppering soft kisses around her thighs and over her hips. “Stop teasing,” she whines with her eyes squeezed shut, and he can see her smile growing before she says, “or should I say… baiting.”
He growls playfully as he hurries up the length of her body, decidedly punishing her by refusing to put his mouth on her center, although he doesn't think she minds as his lips collide with hers and his fingers plunge into her entrance. “You’re quite funny,” he says against her mouth as he expertly curls his fingers up against the sensitive spot inside her.
“Tha-- thank you,” she says, struggling to get the words out around her gasps and moans. “W-will you-- mmm, Killian.”
“Yes, my love?” he whispers as he sucks a bruise into her neck.
“Fuck me.”
He hums thoughtfully, slowing his fingers and pulling away from her so that he can purse his lips in pensivity. “No, I don’t think I will,” he tells her, his tone serious but the sparkle in his eyes anything but.
“Killian,” she whines, giving him a pout and gasping as he flicks his fingers over her clit.
She’s about to go mad, both with need and with absolute irritation at him, before he places his lips at the shell of her ear, lining his hardened cock up to her entrance, and whispers, “I’d much rather make love to you,” as he thrusts inside.
Emma doesn’t even have time, never mind the wherewithal, to berate him for his jest. She clings her fingertips into the backs of his strong shoulders, weathered by the sun and battered with the exhaustion of his livelihood. Their mouths fuse together tightly, neither of them willing to be any further from the other than they absolutely have to.
She whimpers against his lips as he strokes his fingers against her expertly, touching her exactly as she needs him to. He pulls slightly from her kiss, his mouth hovering over hers, and she knows he’s going to ask if she’s alright without him needing to.
Rather than wait for the question, she says, “I love you,” into the barely open space between them.
Killian doubles down on his efforts, driving into her with passion and love, the likes of which she’s never felt before. He breathes his love for her into every inch of her skin, his movements echoing his words until she gives him one last warning whimper and they fall apart in each other’s arms.
“I love you,” he whispers against her skin. “You mean everything to me.”
She gives him a soft smile, running her fingers soothingly into his hair as he collapses against her chest, his own heaving with each breath. “I certainly got more than I bargained for when I came here.”
“Aye.”
“Before I came,” she whispers, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Before I met you, it was like I was sinking. Like I could barely stay above water and I was one big wave away from capsizing.”
He smirks against her skin, chuffed at her nautical references despite his teasing earlier, and says, “I believe I know what you mean, angel.”
“And then I met you, and it was like I jumped overboard.” Turning his head so that he can look up at her, he raises a brow. “I was clinging to this dinky little boat that was sinking, you know? I was clinging to this idea of how my life couldn’t have gone. But I met you and you showed me that it’s okay when things don’t go the way we hope they will. You helped me see that it’s okay to let go, because…” she shrugs, busying her fingers in his hair. “Well, I guess because there was a life raft waiting for me. You.”
With a deep blush, he shakes his head in disbelief of the woman before him, pressing a kiss to her chest before pressing up onto his elbows and finding her lips with his. “I love you,” he whispers. “You’ve changed my life for the better, you know. I was quite the half-drunken recluse before you came to town.”
“I know,” she whispers with a satisfied smile. “We make quite the pair.”
“That we do.”
They lie in comfortable silence for a few more moments, Killian’s arms wrapped around Emma and his head on her chest as her fingers continue their ministrations through his hair. Eventually and reluctantly, they remember that they’re meant to meet her parents at Granny’s for dinner, and peel themselves off of one another just long enough to make it to the shower. They clean each other, after dirtying themselves once more under the water, and resign themselves to the difficulty they have keeping their hands off of one another.
Once at dinner, they tame themselves as much as they can, but neither of them miss the narrow-eyed looks being shot their way by David and Mary Margaret. Killian can’t help himself, though. She makes him feel alive; like a teenager in love for the first time. At the end of the night, after his confession that he plans to never sail through a storm again if it will ease his love’s worries, David shakes his hand and claps his shoulder wordlessly.
Three months later, after they’ve moved the rest of Emma’s things into his small cottage, she walks into the kitchen and catches him laughing elatedly with her mother before being pulled in for a tight hug. She wants to ask what they’re so excited about, but stops herself to take in the sight of the two of them finally getting along. It means so much more than her mom liking her boyfriend.
Their life together is perfection-- everything they could have hoped for and more-- and he can’t wait to ask her to spend the rest of it by his side.
The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.
Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.
A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.
For @the-darkdragonfly for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.
Rated M
Catch up Here
Read my other stuff
Get on my tag list
Read on Ao3
~~~~
There are too many people on this bloody boat.
Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person.
Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog.
The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.
Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.
Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier.
At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.
It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse.
Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat.
The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing.
Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard.
It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is.
He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff.
“It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”
“The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”
She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again.
It’ll be a long season.
~~~~
He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented.
Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy.
“Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”
She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”
“You’re a brilliant cook.”
“Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”
“Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.”
“That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.”
He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes.
They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair.
“It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”
“Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?”
“Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”
“Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”
“You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?”
He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”
~~~~
Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks.
Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high.
Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away.
He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result.
Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened.
Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves.
They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes.
They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much.
He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard.
“Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”
She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free.
She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off.
“Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten.
“Are you--”
“The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”
A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright.
“She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”
“Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”
He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”
“Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified.
“No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”
“Killian!”
He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”
She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?”
“Is it hurting you?”
She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.”
They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks.
He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”
“No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”
When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.”
He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”
She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere.
“I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.
“Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.”
“I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.”
In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking.
She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her.
She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded.
Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want.
His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”
“I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions.
“Take me. Take what you need, please.”
Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter.
“I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him.
He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut.
The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.
“Emma, fuck.”
“Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”
So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds.
She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache.
He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another.
Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said.
“You’re okay?” he asks in clarification.
“I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.”
“I’m always here.”
“Then I’m always okay.”
He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”
“I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.”
With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.”
“Only because I love you very, very much.”
“I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”
She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.”
“You’re quite something.”
“Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”
“It’s only four thirty.”
She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers.
“Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.”
He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.”
She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?”
He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.”
“When did you get so deep?”
“The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.”
He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else.
She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.”
He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…”
“I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”
Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was.
“I know,” he concedes.
“And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”
He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know.
“It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.”
There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish.
“They’ve been doubting you all this time?”
With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.”
“Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head.
“They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.”
“I know, I just--”
“And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.”
He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?”
With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”
“It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.”
Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him.
“You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.”
“Aye, I know.”
“And you love me more.”
He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.”
“And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly.
“Emma--”
“I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”
All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent.
Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things.
“Your life as a child who was, well--”
“An orphan,” she tells him firmly.
“An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”
With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug.
His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.”
She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs.
“We are.”
“Are you sure?”
With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.”
She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”
“I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her.
“I love you more than everything.”
“Cheeky scoundrel, you are.”
“For you, babe.”
“When did you start calling me babe?”
She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here.
He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family.
~~~~
Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel.
When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was.
Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”
Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.”
Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”
David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”
The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?”
“My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?”
“No,” Leo laughs.
Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?”
“Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!”
“Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!”
“I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.”
“I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface.
“Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.”
Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”
David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.”
In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”
He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer.
“Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?
Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”
David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.”
“We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.”
She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back.
David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.”
Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.”
“I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”
“We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down.
“We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.”
There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing.
“We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.”
It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him.
“I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.”
She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”
~~~~
The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it.
“Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose.
“Hi babe.”
The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”
“And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple.
“You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”
“Those are my options?”
“Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”
His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.”
“Just like I told you.”
“Aye.”
“You should listen to your wife, Jones.”
“I suppose you’re right, Swan.”
“It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater.
“My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.
They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves.
“Aye, are you? Are you cold?”
“No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?”
With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.”
“And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice.
“Well, no one messed up my boat.”
She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.”
He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.
“I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.”
She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”
“Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.”
“Yeah.”
More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.
“I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would.
“I love you, too, babe. More than anything.”
He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers.
She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat.
She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves.
Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard.
Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.”
He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.”
She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.”
He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”
“Agreed.”
Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect.
This is purely gratuitous fluff for @the-darkdragonfly because she deserves it
Rated T
~1500 words
Read on Ao3
Read the Rest
Read my Other Stuff
~~~~
There are few things that can make Killian Jones feel as alive as the sea does. The whipping wind that tousles his hair, the crashing waves that spray him with ocean mist and rock his boat from side to side, forcing him to counterbalance himself so as to not topple over. Very few things in this world make Killian feel as free as the sea does.
Among the few things that bring him to life are his boat. It’s something he spent years working towards, his title of captain a badge that he wears proudly each day. It’s a reminder that tragedy and hardship could not defeat him.
And then there’s the thrill that comes with catching monstrous Bluefin Tuna. It's a battle he’s won countless times, but he’s lost countless times as well, and each time he pulls one onto his deck, the pride that swells in his chest is almost painful.
Although there is a short list of things that bring him to life, nothing can compare to the way he feels when he’s with-- when he even thinks about-- his wife.
“There’s a special surprise waiting for you when you get home,” she tells him in a low, sultry voice when she calls him that day. It’s a strong reminder that it’s their first wedding anniversary, and the tone of her delivery sends impure thoughts through his mind and makes his cock do impure things while he’s at work.
“What is it?” he asks uselessly, knowing she won’t cooperate.
With the very giggle he expected, she answers, “I can’t tell you that.”
“Will I like the surprise?” he asks, voice matching hers.
“I think so.”
His wife is fire. She’s heat and passion and infallibility all rolled into one flawless, beautiful package. He maintains easily that he’s the luckiest man alive, the luckiest man to ever live again, because he has been given the privilege of marrying Emma Swan. There is nothing that will ever make him feel the way it feels to be with her-- not his boat, not catching a monster tuna, not the sea.
He’s almost tempted to call it a day, turn towards the docks and leave his mates high and dry and without much of a paycheck, but he knows he can’t do that. All he can do is think back to nearly a week ago, just before he’d left for this trip, when she reminded him very cleverly and very salaciously that their special day was up-and-coming by making him come in her mouth and smirking in satisfaction when she succeeded.
All he can do is consider what color his special surprise could be, how it will look contrasting against her creamy skin, how it will feel in his fingers when he peels it off of her.
~~~~
She’s not at the docks like she usually likes to be when he arrives home. She uses it as an excuse to visit with her father, and she also likes to tell Killian that her presence when his catch is weighed and appraised for quality is good luck. But today, she isn’t here.
He takes his check and helps his mates clean the boat, but they can tell that his mind is elsewhere. Will practically chastises him, claiming that he’s too horny for his own good and insisting that he go home to his fit bird of a wife, earning himself a slap upside his head.
The house is mysteriously quiet when he gets home, creeping through the front door and excitedly looking around every corner as he walks through. It becomes obvious that she isn’t inside when he gets to the kitchen in the back of the small cottage they share, and when he looks out the swinging porch door, he sees her.
She’s fully clothed, but she still looks beautifully irresistible, so he steps outside with a growing smirk. He isn’t sure what she could be doing in the backyard at nearly dusk, and he becomes even more confused when he watches her squat down on her knees and hold her arms out, excitedly cooing and cheering at something around the corner that he can’t see yet.
“Come on, baby!” she calls happily, grin bright and beaming in the setting sun. “Come on!”
“Emma?” he asks through his confusion, making her look up and greet him with stunning beauty. “What are you…?”
It becomes clear so quickly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place suddenly when he hears the jingle. A small, clumsy creature flops its way across the yard that they share, nearly tripping over its too-large feet. She calls for it once more, shrieking and laughing when it bounds into her arms, knocking her onto her back.
A smile grows across Killian’s face almost instantly. He couldn’t even hope to fight it, Emma’s joy far too evident and far too impossible not to match.
“Happy anniversary,” she greets.
“Aye, happy anniversary, my love… What is this?” he asks, squatting beside her and delivering her a smile that she matches effortlessly.
“This is your surprise,” she explains.
“You got us… a dog?”
“A puppy! Isn’t she precious?” she asks, rubbing the pup’s belly and giggling as she rolls onto her back. “Her name is Ripple.”
He scrunches up his eyebrows in confusion, moving to sit all the way in order to save his old knees. “Ripple?”
“Don’t give me that look,” she chastises. “I think it suits her. One little doggy can impact our lives in many ways; like the ripple effect.”
“Aye,” he agrees, because he’ll agree with everything she says if only to see the look on her face when he does. “And how did Ripple find her way into our yard?”
The small, and admittedly adorable, puppy gives him a look that tugs at his heartstrings. Truthfully, if there was one breed of dog he could see Emma adopting, it would be a Rottweiler. Their Ripple is only a baby, small and soft, but he can tell that she’ll grow to be as fierce as Emma one day. Her big brown eyes stare into his and he knows with certainty that he’s made a companion.
“I adopted her, as a special surprise for you,” she tells him with a smirk, likely knowing that her explanation doesn’t exactly work in her favor. It’s not as if he ever had a desire to adopt a dog. Emma, on the other hand, has been wanting one for months. “She was wandering the streets, so I picked her up. I looked and looked for her owner, but she didn’t have a collar or a microchip, and no one came forward. I filled out some paperwork with the vet, and now she’s ours!”
He can’t help but to fall beside her, lying at her side and planting a brief yet deep kiss to her temple. Ripple wriggles between them, her bark small and high pitched but likely to become much more threatening in the next few weeks. “You’ve a very pure soul, Swan.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, making him bark out a laugh that’s met with one of Ripple’s. “She needs a home,” she says more seriously, rolling on her side to face him in the soft grass, her hand wandering from the neck of his t-shirt down to his waist.
“She does,” he agrees. He leans forward, awkwardly at this angle, to finally catch her lips with his. He can’t deny her of this. She grew up needing a home, and the least he can do now is support her in giving a home to another lost soul in need.
“So, can we keep her?”
“That’s funny,” he laughs, and she screws up her brows and cocks her head to the side. “It’s as if you’re under the impression that I could ever say no to you.”
He watches the smile grow across her face, reaching her eyes so easily as they catch the glimmering light of the fading sun. “Really?”
“Aye, of course, my love. Although, I will admit, this isn’t exactly the surprise I had in mind based on your phone call.”
Her giggle is contagious, and he thinks it must be in response both to what he had said, and the fact that Ripple has decided to clumsily sprint across the yard to chase her long tail. She pushes against his chest to stand-- he feels almost envious at her youthful ability to lift herself from the ground so easily-- and takes his hand in hers, hoisting him up as well. “I’ve been working on crate training her,” she explains once they’re standing side by side. She calls for the pup and she comes running, earning praise from her new, and apparently talented-at-behavioral-training, mother.
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm.” She guides them both inside, pulling his hand and holding her other one out to Ripple, offering a treat once they walk through the door. “And I plan on doing some crate training now, while I show you what other surprises I have for you under this dress. It’s good for her to practice.”
Their new companion is very well behaved, they’ve discovered. She listens to commands, snuggles with her parents at every opportunity afforded to her, and acts as a very talented deckhand on Killian’s ship, announcing the presence of a tuna on their line each time they hook up.
If one thing is for certain, it’s that Killian Jones’ wife knows exactly how to make him happy.
~~~~
~~~~
There’s a dog in Wicked Tuna named Ripple, and I’m addicted to The Ripple Effect, so Emma and Killian got a dog named Ripple. Hehehe
For @the-darkdragonfly because it’s her birthday!!!!!!!
What started as a fluffy little addition to Overboard, one of my more popular fics that Kay loves, became something… angsty as heck. But not to worry, there’s more where this came from.
There are brief mentions of miscarriage in this piece. Please take care of yourself and remember you’re always welcome to message me with questions.
Thank you endlessly to @donteattheappleshook for beta-ing this
Rated E
~8600 words
Read on Ao3
Read my Other Stuff
~~~~
Emma pulls the cable knit sweater over her head and smoothes it over her hips, noting the way it falls perfectly just above her ass in her tight jeans and smirking at her reflection in the mirror. Killian loves when she wears his clothes, and she can’t wait to drive him mad in front of his crew for the entire day.
“ Bloody hell ,” he breathes as he walks into their bedroom, stopping short with his hand on the door handle. She smirks again, turning to face him with a smile.
“Like my outfit?”
“You stole my sweater,” he accuses, although she can see the way the corner of his lips tick up with a small smile he tries to fight off.
“The cream color matches so well with these black jeans. Don’t you think?”
Stepping towards her, he shakes his head as he eyes her up and down. “I must say, I agree.”
“Hmm,” she hums with false pensivity, pouting her lip. “You don’t look very happy.”
Wrapping his hands over her waist, he pulls her close to himself until his hips press against hers and she can feel that he is, in fact, quite happy. “Perhaps that’s because my beautiful wife is trying to make me late for work.”
She giggles as their lips collide, his hands sliding up the back of her sweater so that she can feel the cold metal of his new wedding band chilling her skin. Her giggling subsides when his tongue slides against her, the sweet, bitter taste of his morning coffee waking her senses and making her fingers tighten around the hair at the nape of his neck.
She grinds her hips against his hardening length, causing him to groan as his grip on her tightens, bringing her even closer to him and making her want to shed the cozy sweater she borrowed and toss him onto the bed they share. “Killian,” she breathes into his mouth desperately, scratching her fingers down into the black and silver hair on his chest.
He bites on her bottom lip before pulling away, effectively making her head spin at the loss of contact between them. “You can’t trick me again, temptress. It’s time to leave.”
“ Trick you?! When have I ever tricked you?”
Pointing a finger at her, he eyes her down suspiciously and says, “A lady as tantalizing and mysterious as you must certainly be some manner of siren, or vixen, or--”
She cuts him off with a kiss, pulling at the collar of his sweater with her greedy fingers. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a bloody mermaid. I love you. ”
She feels him sigh, his breath washing over her face in a soothing warmth, and he nods. “Aye. I suppose I sometimes just can’t wrap my head around how lucky I am to be married to the most beautiful woman in the world.”
With another hum, she closes her eyes and presses a final, soft kiss to his lips. “Well, get used to it, buddy. You’re never getting rid of me.”
“Good.”
“Now, hurry up. You’ve made us late.”
~~~~
“Good morning, wife,” Will greets cheerfully, dropping a chaste kiss to Emma’s cheek and shooting Killian a smirk and waggling brows. “I sure am excited to have you on board with us.”
“Me too,” Emma smiles. “I think I’ll be your good luck charm. How many are we catching?”
“If we don’t catch three, you may not be invited back,” Robin jokes.
With a scoff and a roll to her eyes, she says, “Please. As if you have any say. My husband can’t say no to me.”
“Can’t blame him,” Will agrees.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Killian mumbles as he drops the bag they brought into his quarters. “There’d better be bait on this deck.”
“Aye, Captain. Caught it meself this morning while you and the wife were--“
Killian laughs when he realizes what’s happened; when he sees the small heron flopping across the deck upon Emma throwing it at Will, successfully shutting him up.
The sun shines brightly against her skin, causing her cheeks to pink as she lounges on the bow, giving him a distracting view as he tries to navigate through the sea of weekend fishermen to his favorite secluded spot. Sure, she’s still fully dressed, but something about seeing her in his sweater makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his jeans feel tight.
“No funny business while we’re on board, aye Captain?”
Killian grumbles inaudibly in Will’s direction, rolling his eyes, and demands, “All the lines had best be out, Scarlet.”
“Aye, all but the ones on the bow. Don’t want to disturb the beauty.”
“Stop looking at my bloody wife,” he grumbles, earning a smirk from his deckhand.
He meets her later, when Will and Robin have completed their tasks and find themselves lounging on the deck waiting for a bite. His heart flutters when he watches her turn towards him, a beaming smile decorating her face and the color of her eyes catching the sun. He smiles back, crawling across the small, slightly slippery expanse of the deck. “You look nice and warm.”
“You look nice.”
He chuckles softly at her blatant flirting as he moves to lie beside her on the deck. “May I join you?”
“Please do.”
She’s quick to move beside him, the towel she brought to lounge on scrunching between them as she curls up to his side. She smells of sea and sunscreen and something that’s so painfully her that his arms move involuntarily to wrap around her, his lips pressing a firm and longing kiss to her temple. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible to even himself over the sound of the crashing waves.
“Me too,” she agrees. “It’s nice. Your job doesn’t seem too hard.”
“Oh, aye?” he laughs, rolling her so that she’s on her back beneath him, cognizant not to throw them overboard. He knows she’s joking; she knows how difficult and dangerous his work can be. But her playfulness is impossible to ignore. “About as easy as being the Sheriff, I’m sure.”
She giggles under the weight of him, her grin beaming in the sun until he consumes it with his own lips. He slides his tongue along her bottom lip, suddenly taken by the comfort that being with her brings him. The gentle touch of her wandering hands sliding up his back, pushing his sweater away, sends a shiver down his spine. The cold weight of the white gold rings on her finger reminds him of how far they’ve come. She’s his wife .
“You know,” she growls against his mouth, “The waves will probably have a very interesting effect when we do it later.”
He bites down on her bottom lip, just a bit harder than he means to and drawing from her a whine and giggle all at once. “And what have you done to deserve that?”
“I’m your good luck charm,” she says confidently against the shell of his ear, one hand sliding from his rear to the front of his trousers and squeezing until he breathlessly ruts against her palm. He’s always awestruck by her, but the way she can make him behave like this despite knowing that his mates are just on the other deck makes him feel like a teenager again. “You’re gonna catch big today, baby. I can feel it.”
“Aye, you’ll feel it alright.”
Her laughter rings through his ears again, but the blissful sound is interrupted by the raucous shouts of his mates announcing the small blips on their radar. They’re marking fish, several tuna swimming beneath his boat, and it kills him to pull away from her in favor of checking the bait and praying for a hookup.
“We’re on!” Will screams excitedly, and he can hear the scream of the reel being pulled out by a sea monster.
Emma scurries from beneath him, hastily hurrying towards the starboard side so that she can head back towards the deck. She’s always excited to see him work, to see what goes into his livelihood, and she’s made him promise to let her reel at least once.
Will jumps on the reel while Robin pulls in the others, careful not to allow the lines to tangle, and Emma stands beside the wheel while Killian steers. He needs to stay on top of the fish so that they don’t run out of line, he explains, and she watches his careful and diligent movements, his sweater dampened by the ocean spray and clinging to the muscles in his shoulders. She can’t help but bite her lip.
He asks her to take the wheel and she’s nervous, worried that her screwup could mean their loss. But he directs her perfectly, telling her when to put the boat into neutral and when to reverse, where to steer and when. Eventually, Robin shouts that he can see the fish, and her eyes bug out of her head at the sheer size of it. She’s seen plenty of tuna at the docks, many of them several feet longer than she is tall, but to see one in the water is stunning.
Killian takes the harpoon in his grip, lining it up and setting his jaw tightly in concentration. His brows draw close together, his empty arm lifting in front of him so that he can visualize the course to his target, and in a move that’s almost too quick to comprehend, he draws his chest and shoulder back and launches the harpoon into the water, grunting deeply as he strikes.
Her cheeks go red.
Her husband is so damn hot.
They work together to hoist the beast onto the deck, it’s sheer size and weight overpowering and breathtaking. They measure its length, and Robin calls out that the fish is 112 inches, a record for the Jolly Roger .
“You are lucky,” Killian laughs, pointing at her playfully as he stands. He bounds towards her, scooping her up and spinning her carefully as Will and Robin groan quietly. She giggles as he kisses her everywhere, his lips landing on her cheeks, her nose, her lips… she can’t get enough of the love he has for her.
They catch one more fish while she’s sunbathing, their joyous, celebratory shouting music to her ears as she listens to the sounds of her husband’s success. Neither of them have very conventional jobs, but she couldn’t be prouder of him, of them , for making a life together that they can both take pride in.
He worried when she took the job as sheriff, the last one being killed in the line of duty not settling his nerves one bit. It was the fuel for one of their first fights as a couple, a few months before their intimate beach wedding. And although the argument was difficult, she never once doubted that they would work through it.
They’ve worked through plenty of things, hardly any of them actual disagreements. The one thing she worried may have caused turmoil between them turned out to be nothing at all. Her shy confession that she’s never desired to have children was met with unconditional understanding and kindness, his words nearly drawing tears to her eyes each time she thinks back on them.
“ I planned on spending the remainder of my life alone. I never really had an opinion either way. I’ll be the happiest man alive if I just get to spend the rest of my days with you.”
They married mere months later, her parents and brother on her side and his mates on his. She would’ve been happy enough to have it just be them and them alone, but he reminded her of what being there would mean for her family. Calling them that still sits strangely with her to this day, but ever since she and her father opened up to one another, her relationship with her parents has been much improved.
All she ever wanted was love and understanding. She has that, and so much more, with her husband, and there’s really nothing more she could ask for.
~~~~
The sun’s nearly set by the time they make it to the docks, Emma’s father waiting for them and giving a friendly wave when he sees them approaching. Her arms slink around his middle while he steers them towards the dock, head resting on the sore space between his shoulder blades. She pushes a firm kiss there, then another, her fingers clinging to his sweater as he shuts off the engine.
He lets out a soft, gentle chuckle when she kisses his neck just below his ear, knowing she must be on her toes and just barely able to reach. She isn’t especially short, not much shorter than he is, but the way he can envelope her in his arms sends happy warmth through his veins. She kisses the space between his shoulder blades and scratches against his stomach as he navigates next to the dock and waits for Will to tie them off.
“Got two big ones for ya, Dave!” Will shouts when they arrive, and Emma kisses his back once more before pulling away to greet her father. Standing at the wheel, they aren't in David’s direct line of sight, and for that, Killian’s grateful. He can’t ever get enough of his wife’s touch, but he also doesn’t love the idea of her father watching them. “112 incher! Gotta be a thousand pounder!”
“Let’s see,” he returns as Emma steps onto the dock, taking her father’s hand for support.
“Hey,” she says as she leans in for a hug. It’s taken her a while, but she’s known her parents for over a year now, and she’s finally starting to become more comfortable with them. It was difficult at first, knowing that she was given up and replaced by her younger brother a few years later. But she and her parents have had a series of eye-opening conversations, and she’s found herself more and more willing to accept the love that they want to give her with each passing day.
She’s grown increasingly closer to her father over the last few months, finding that his unconditional acceptance of her warms her heart in ways that she never expected. Truthfully, despite being raised by a mother who loved her endlessly, having her father in her life changed everything. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Good day?” he asks when he releases her.
“Very good. I’m good luck.”
“Of course you are,” he chuckles, turning on the crane so that they can lift the massive fish out of the boat. Once it’s dressed, it weighs in at just over 800 pounds, Will and Robin shouting and high fiving each other and Killian gently resting his chin on her shoulder from behind to press a kiss to her cheek in quiet celebration. She doesn’t miss his grin, the one that carves deep lines into his cheeks and the sides of his eyes, and all she wants to do is turn around and hold him tight, never content to let him go.
They’re offered a hefty price tag for their catch, the smaller of the two weighing almost 500 pounds, and each of them celebrate with more high fives and hugs. Once the boat is cleaned, Killian sends Robin and Will home early for their hard work. She finds her place behind him again as he drives the boat through the harbor, navigating expertly through other boats and docks until he finds his place at the dock just outside of the home they share.
“We have to go to dinner tonight,” she remarks when the engine stops and a calm silence settles over them both. “My mom is cooking.”
“Aye, love,” he agrees softly, turning to face her and placing both hands on her hips. She lets her fingers trail along his jaw, combing gently through the hair spread across his face that’s getting too long to be considered stubble.
“I like this,” she whispers.
“You don’t think it makes me look like an old man? I haven't shaved in days.”
With a coy smile, she says, “I didn't say it doesn't make you look like an old man, I just happen to like my silver fox of a husband.”
He hums doubtfully, rolling his eyes and giving her a shy smirk that makes it impossible for her to stop herself from pressing onto her toes and kissing him. His beard scratches against her chin when they deepen it simultaneously, the burn delicious and enough for her to crave his mouth everywhere , but they don’t have time. He has to finish putting the boat away and she has to head to her parent’s house to help with dinner. The knowledge that the honeymoon is truly over sets in, and she pouts when they break apart.
“I love you,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath washing over tingling lips.
He can never fail to make her heart race in her chest, beating so forcefully against her ribs that she’s relying on the strength of his arms to hold her up. “I love you, too,” she whispers back, letting her eyes flutter shut against the wind whipping against their hair and in response to the sudden and palpable tension between them. It’s begging to be broken, each of them craving the touch of the other, needing to express their love for each other however they can, but there’s no time. “How long will it take you to clean up here?”
“No more than an hour.”
“We don’t have to stay at my parents’ long,” she murmurs, her lips nearly touching his with each word. All she wants is to be with him. It isn’t just a sexaul desire that she has for him; she needs to be with him. She needs to be touching him. She can’t stand to be apart from him, or to sit in a room with him and not be touching him.
“It’s alright, my love,” he whispers. “Being with your family is important. Despite how desperately I crave you, I'm willing to wait.”
“You might be, but I'm certainly not.”
He laughs loudly, the sound of his glee cutting through the noisy waves and making her heart soar and her grin grow painfully. “I’ll meet you there. I won’t be long; I promise to make quick work of the old girl.”
She nods, kissing him chastely despite her desires and humming in agreement. “As long as you promise not to make quick work of your decidedly much younger girl.”
“You make me sound like a predator,” he laughs.
“No, I told you: you’re my sexy silver fox husband and I'm your young, gorgeous trophy wife.”
“Of course, my love. Whatever you say.”
She lets out a giggle, a sound that would have been so unlike her a year ago, kisses him once more, and regretfully pulls away from him. “I love you,” she says again. “I’ll see you in an hour. I’ll be the one looking devastatingly beautiful.”
“As usual.”
~~~~
“Your dad called,” Mary Margaret announced once they had gotten settled, each of them standing side by side preparing dinner. Emma has been put on chopping duty, and she’s decidedly avoiding the onions. “He said Killian made out very well today. That’s great.”
“Yeah, they did really well. Two fish were over a thousand pounds.”
“Wow,” she smiles, stirring the pasta after pouring it into the boiling water. “That’s impressive. You guys will have a nice nest egg soon enough.”
Emma purses her lips as she finishes chopping a carrot, nodding slowly and unsurely. “I guess. I mean, we both have savings.”
“Oh, I know,” her mother says, taking the chopped carrot and tossing it into a skillet as Emma starts working on the cursed onion. “I meant more for… extra expenses,” she clarifies unhelpfully, giving Emma a presumptuous smile.
She stays quiet for a few moments, trying to consider her mother’s words but letting confusion take over as she tosses the onion into the skillet and Mary Margaret adds olive oil. Moving to the sink to wash her hands, she says, “I mean, we’re happy at the cottage. Maybe Killian would want a new boat soon.”
With a soft giggle as she tosses the vegetables together, Marg Margaret adds a can of tomatoes, causing a raucous sizzle. “Honey, I was referring to… I mean… maybe a baby is in our future? I can’t wait to be a grandma!”
Emma chokes on her own breath, reaching for her glass of wine and taking a generous swig. “Well, grandma, we’ll have to ask Leo to hurry up.”
“Leo,” she laughs, shaking her head. “He’s too young. You, on the other hand, are happily married and at prime child bearing age.”
“Mom…” Emma starts, laughing awkwardly. “I’m not having kids.”
The horror with which she drops her spatula into the skillet, as if what Emma just said is the most unbelievable piece of information she’s ever heard, sends a wave of anger through her veins. The complete shock in her mother’s face at her desire not to bring a child into this world makes Emma’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
Mary Margaret had a baby and gave her away. How could she expect her daughter, the very one who was left abandoned for years, to have a child herself?
Emma’s never wanted kids. She’s always felt this way, like if she had a baby and something happened to her, they would grow up exactly like she did. How could she bring a baby into the world and risk putting them through what she went through?
How could her own mother not understand that?
“You’re not?”
“No,” she answers definitively, the set of her jaw almost painful.
“Oh,” she says with a soft nod. She adds beef to her bolognese in silence, a thick tension settling in the room.
The quiet is awkward, and the longer it lasts, the angrier Emma feels. It’s because she knows what Mary Margaret is thinking. She knows that she’s hurt by Emma’s announcement that she doesn’t plan on having children with her husband. She’s having trouble believing it; she’s struggling to see why Emma wouldn’t want to experience the joys of motherhood.
It’s annoying, and it’s making Emma angry, but nothing compares to the rage that waves through her when Mary Margaret speaks again.
“Does Killian know?”
Her eyes bug out of her head, the glass she was holding dropping onto the countertop too loudly. “ What?”
“I just… I wondered if he agreed…”
“We’re married, ” she answers immediately. Her voice is low, almost a growl in her throat as she tries to stay calm.
“I know, I just…”
“You just thought that maybe I tricked him into marrying me? Maybe I didn’t tell him my foolish idea to stay childless until after we’d tied the knot? You thought that my desire to spend the rest of my life with my husband and with the freedom of not having kids comes second to a man wanting an heir?”
“ Emma, I never--”
“You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to say a thing. Did you really think we wouldn’t discuss something like this before we even got engaged?”
With a sigh, she says, “Sweetheart, of course. I misspoke. I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”
“Surprised?” she asks, trying to calm her voice.
“I mean… I just figured you two would want that. It seems like a natural next step.” Emma’s quiet for a moment, making herself even out her breath and preparing to respond calmly before her mother speaks again. “And I’ve seen how happy Killian seems to be around little Alexandra.”
She feels her heart rate picking up again, and she forces herself to take a moment, having a sip of wine before responding. “So, you’re saying he couldn’t possibly be happy unless I pop out a few kids?”
“Oh, honey… that’s not--”
Her answer is too slow. She can’t defend herself immediately or easily, and that’s all Emma needed to know.
“Okay, I get it,” she says quietly just as David opens the door followed closely by Leo.
“Everything okay?” her father asks
“Great,” she grumbles sarcastically. “Enjoy dinner.”
“Emma!”
She doesn’t turn back, grabbing her wallet and moving past her brother without so much as a word, ignoring her mother’s pleas for her to stay with them. With her family. She can’t.
~~~~
It had only been forty minutes by the time he finished, proud of himself for making such quick work of cleaning his vessel. The image of his stunning wife sitting across from him at the dinner table, surrounded by the family she never thought she’d have, was enough motivation for him to hurry up and meet her.
At least, he thought that was his plan, until he hears angry footsteps stalking against his dock and he knows there’s no other person they can belong to other than his fiery wife. She has a penchant for heated anger, and the sounds she’s making are unmistakable. He only pities whomever put her in such a state, and prays that it wasn’t him.
She reaches the edge of the dock, hands in fists on her hips and jaw set tensely as she stares down at him. “What’s wrong, my love?” he asks, hearing her barely-audible growl in response.
She stalks onto the boat, jumping the few feet onto the deck, and approaches him quickly. Before he knows what hits him, her lips are on his, tackling him against the wheel of the boat and making him thankful that the engine is off.
Her fingers find the hem of his sweater, easily tugging it over his head and exposing his bare arms to the chilly harbor air. He lets out a surprised grunt when her hands land on his stomach under his shirt, scratching through the smattering of hair lower and lower until she grasps his belt and pulls his hips against hers. “Love,” he grumbles against her mouth, and as he opens his lips to speak, her tongue finds his.
She deftly undoes his buckle, humming into his mouth and pushing him until his back is against the exterior wall of the cabin, her hands moving from his belt up to his chest beneath his shirt. A groan escapes her throat through their tangled lips as she lets her palms explore, moving from his chest around to his back and sliding down until she can tug his shirt off, too. He shivers, partially against the cold but mostly in response to her.
“Emma,” he tries again as she drops lower, her tongue swirling against his nipple as her fingers undo the button and zipper of his jeans. “Baby--”
She bites him, making him hiss and surely leaving a mark. “I need you,” she says once she’s looking up at him, her eyes dark and desperate. “Now.”
“Bloody hell,” he breathes as she drops to her knees, lifting her own shirt off and exposing her hardened nipples to the bite of the evening air. She pulls his jeans down effortlessly, his cock springing to attention responsively despite her surprise attack, and he feels his pulse quickening as she bites her lip at the sight of him.
“Fuck,” she says before licking a long strip up to the tip, sucking it into the heat of her mouth. He shudders, his hands finding her hair and tangling into it, trying hard not to take control. She whimpers when he hits the back of her throat, her eyes meeting his in the dim moonlight.
His head falls back against the window when he sees her stirring on her knees, tucking a hand into her leggings and swirling it over her clit. He’s suddenly consumed with a need for her, a need to taste her, to hear her sing for him. He pulls on her hair and she moans around him, making him pant and tug once more before she releases him with a smirk on her swollen lips. “What is it?” she asks, her voice rough in her throat.
Breathless, he shakes his head minutely, intent to find out what’s gotten into her eventually, but also just as intent to be the thing that’s gotten into her and suddenly not feeling very patient about it. He releases his grip on her hair and moves his palms to her cheeks, brushing them with his thumbs before encouraging her to stand again. “Off with these,” he insists in a growl, pulling on the elastic waistband of her leggings as she stands and letting it snap against the small of her back. She yelps playfully, finally smiling and letting out the soft giggle that he always craves, pushing her obvious anger to the side for a moment.
“Aye aye, Captain,” she murmurs, catching his lips with hers again and swirling her tongue against his just as she had done against the tip of his cock. It makes a shiver run up his spine.
He hums, the sound rumbling through his chest, and says, “Ah, so it’s the Captain you want?” as his fingers find her sopping core.
“I need you,” she returns desperately. Her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as he spins her, pushing her back against the wall he was leaning on and dropping quickly to his knees before her. He couldn’t even begin to consider not giving in to her. He needs her more than he needs to breathe, ready to drop anything at a moment's notice to pleasure her if only to be rewarded with the sinful, intoxicating sound of her moaning his name.
Her fingers cling to his hair, her hips bucking forward towards him as soon as his mouth latches onto her swollen clit, and he says exactly what he knows will make her squirm. Pushing her hips back, he chastises, “Behave, love.”
He’s met with a breathless, desperate whimper, Emma dropping her head back against the window behind her as he swirls his tongue over her. Her hips continue to dance over his mouth as if it’s impossible for her to remain still, and she pulls his hair particularly hard when he hums against her sensitive flesh. “Don’t stop,” she begs, one hand in his hair and the other bracing herself against the wheel tower. When he curls a finger into her, dragging it out against her tight walls and then thrusting back in, she lets out a shout and bucks her hips again.
He bites the flesh of her inner thigh as punishment and moves his mouth back to her core before mumbling, “Be good for me, that’s it,” and earning another moan and shudder. He feels her tightening around his finger and takes it as a cue to add another, making her cry out his name.
With a few more thrusts and strokes of his tongue, he feels her tense, her legs quivering under her own weight as she lets out a high pitched, nearly silent scream, her brows woven tightly together and her jaw dropped. She’s so stunning like this, his wife, and he has to slow his ministrations over her clit so that he can get a good look at her falling apart above him.
There’s nowhere he’d rather be.
“There’s a good girl,” he says into her sensitive flesh, earning a full-body shiver and another soft, needy hum. “Alright?”
Her chest is heaving, her breasts glowing in the moonlight under a sheen of sweat, and she shakes her head. “I need you,” she says again, dragging him up to her and falling back against the wall when he stands against her. His lips find hers easily when she drags him to her, and she hums against his mouth as her tongue explores against his.
“You’re very needy,” he agrees into her mouth, earning a nod. “And I perish the thought of not delivering.”
“Good,” she mumbles. The gasp that escapes her lips when he picks her up doesn’t stop her from locking her ankles around his hips. She groans when he slides into her, and it feels like coming home. They fit so flawlessly together, he can’t help but to groan as well and drop his head to the window she’s pressed against, his lips pressing to the top of her shoulder. “ Fuck. Don’t stop.”
This is never an easy position to be in, especially with his age and with the waves of the harbor making him unsteady on his feet. Needing to support the weight of the both of them is difficult, but the way she clenched around him makes it infinitely worth it. He’s still rather fit for his age, exercising daily through his job, and he’s always glad for it when he can elicit these sounds from his wife.
She claws at his back desperately, begging to get closer to him despite it being impossible. With each thrust, she bites onto his shoulder or sucks on the lobe of his ear or kisses his neck, a moan that must be too loud meeting each drive of his hips. He pivots his hips just slightly so that he’s certain he’s supporting her weight, then moves one hand from the back of her thigh and presses his fingers to where he knows she needs him. The action earns another clench of her muscles and a cry of pleasure, his name ringing in his ear as she calls for him and tells him she’s close.
“Harder,” she begs, and it’s a clear indication that something’s happened to upset her. She doesn’t want it like this unless she’s bothered by something. Unless she’s hurt by something. He obliges, content to let her use him for the comfort that she needs as he drives into her harder, making the boat rock and creak against the dock. He’s only glad that it’s his own private property, lest the whole town hear them.
“Killian, I’m--” her words catch in her throat as the circles he draws quicken.
“Come on, angel, come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he says into her ear, knowing that his words and the whispering breath on her skin will bring her to the edge.
She bites his shoulder, most definitely leaving a mark but successfully stifling her cry as she shudders around him. He feels her muscles tensing with her orgasm and he continues his ministrations on her clit for as long as he can, reveling in the jerking movements that her release is eliciting before he can’t hold on any longer. He spills into her, cursing as he does, at the feeling of her taking everything he has to offer and clinging to him as if seeking more.
They stay still for a while, longer than he can keep track of, until his legs begin to shake under the weight of the both of them and he has to release her thigh from his grip. She drops down to the deck but doesn’t let him go, continuing to hug him close to her and nestling her head into the crook of his neck. He lifts his hand to cradle her gently against him.
“I love you,” he reminds her pointlessly. She already knows.
She hums, nodding against his neck and pressing a soft kiss there, one that drastically contrasted the way she was touching him moments ago. “Sorry for jumping you. I love you, too.”
“Aye,” he laughs, scratching his fingers over her scalp in the way he knows she loves. He feels her shudder against him, either because of the sensation or because of the evening breeze blowing over her bare skin. “Is that something you’re ready to talk about?”
He feels her shaking her head immediately, before he even finishes his question, and he fights off the urge to sigh, choosing instead to hold her closer to himself and press a kiss to the top of her head. He knows if he waits long enough, she’ll sigh and give in, but at this second, she isn’t ready to talk. He’ll wait for her.
After a few moments of calming silence, the only sound between them the gentle waves lapping against the boat and the wind swirling around them, she lets out a frustrated groan and lifts her head. She stares into his eyes, the emerald jewels difficult to read. “You’re too emotionally mature for me,” she finally says as she walks into the cabin in search of a tissue.
He laughs lightly, following her closely, and responds, “You know the deal, my love. You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards.”
Rolling her eyes, she turns towards him, shamelessly exposing her nude form to him and making him wonder how it’s even possible for a man his age to shorten his refractory time. “ Way too mature.”
“Come,” he requests, holding out his hand to her once they’re cleaned up.
“I just did, thank you very much,” she responds with a smirk, one that tells him that she’s fighting tooth and nail against any conversation remotely related to her feelings.
“Twice, if I recall.” He grabs a knit blanket from the small tattered couch in the cabin and takes her hand, guiding her outside and towards the starboard side of the boat. He climbs up and onto the bow, Emma following him closely until they’re lounging in each other’s arms and he’s able to wrap the thick blanket over them. He loves her confidence, her complete comfort with herself evidenced by her silent refusal to get dressed despite them being out in the open, and he’s happy to stay naked with her if only to feel her soft skin against his.
“I love you,” she finally whispers into the quiet settled between them. “A lot.”
He pulls her impossibly closer, every part of him touching every part of her, and responds, “I know you do, darling. I’ve never doubted that.”
“I just--” she sighs, dropping her head dramatically against his chest. The moonlight shines against her hair, making it appear even more platinum than usual. “I love you. I love our life together.”
“Angel,” he breathes, “I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything, you know that.”
“I need to tell you something,” she whispers against his skin. “Something about my past… when I was young.”
“You know you can tell me anything, Emma. I’ll never judge you, especially not for something that happened when you were young.”
She stays quiet for a moment longer, her fingers gently tracing patterns over his chest and through the black and silver hair peppering over his skin. She’s always had a fascination with his chest hair, never able to keep herself from touching it when it’s exposed to her. Aside from the comfort it brings her to comb through the soft, thick hair with her fingertips, it also serves as an effective distraction against her nausea at the thought of opening up to him.
It’s ridiculous, really. He’s her husband, for goodness sake. She’s never felt this comfortable around anyone in her entire life; not her parents, not the woman who raised her. He’s successfully broken down nearly every wall she put up, and she feels the guilt settling deep in her gut as she considers breaking down this one and letting him see her whole truth.
“Killian,” she whispers against the gentle sea breeze. “I’m… I’ve never wanted kids.”
She feels him breathe out softly and nod, and she wonders what he’s thinking. Is it relief? Is it regret?
“I know, my love,” he comforts. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I know, I just… I never told you…”
“Emma, your reasonings are entirely understandable. I respect the decision you’ve made, and, as I've told you, I’m perfectly content to live out the rest of my days with you as my wife, with or without a child.”
“But would you be happier if we did have one?” she asks, suddenly needing to look him in the eyes as she presses up onto her elbows and stares. The moon glistens off of his deep irises, the darkness making them appear as though they’re the color of the ocean tonight. The way they shimmer makes her fall in love with him even more.
“What is this about?” he asks, his hand lifting to cradle her cheek, and she leans against his palm and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. His answer isn’t an answer, not really, and it serves only to drag out her feelings of guilt and insecurity.
She sighs and closes her eyes, entirely unable to look at him when she finally admits the truth. “When I was 16, I had a boyfriend. He was a real piece of work… I think it was part of my teenage rebellion phase.” He laughs softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek and letting her continue without interruption. “He and I… I mean… he was my first. It sucked, every time, but… I got pregnant.”
She bites her lip and opens her eyes, and she’s met with unconditional understanding.
“It’s alright,” he whispers, easily able to read the emotion she feels as she opens up to him.
“I didn’t want it; I’ve never wanted kids. And when I got pregnant at sixteen by someone who was no good for me-- not to mention too old for me at the time-- I knew that I really didn’t want kids. And I planned on giving it up for adoption because I knew I couldn’t handle raising it.” She bites her lip again, sighing and lying back down onto his chest. “I never told anyone. I thought, maybe I could hide it,” she laughs. “I never told Ingrid or Neal. I just found out and waited a few weeks and hid how shitty I felt. I just kept hoping that it wasn’t happening to me; that it was a dream and I’d wake up soon. And then…”
She gulps, tugging on the blanket so that it’s tucked under her chin, needing to be covered and held together. He reads her again and pulls her closer to him, squeezing his arms around her back and providing her with comforting pressure. “It’s alright, my love,” he repeats in a whisper.
She doesn't even realize that the tears have started to fall until she feels a warm wetness on her cheek against his chest. With a sudden sniffle, one that catches her off guard, she says, “And then one day I woke up and… it was gone. It was like I wished it away and it worked. I don’t even know how far along I was because I never went to the doctor, but it was… It was gone.”
He sighs again, his hands running up and down along her spine to gently soothe her as she breaks, crying into his chest and whimpering at the loss of something she didn’t even want in the first place. “I wanted it gone and it… I did that. It’s my fault.”
She never wanted to have children. That fact hasn’t changed. But when she found herself pregnant and wished that she wasn’t, her wish came true. And she’s never stopped regretting it.
“Emma,” he whispers, “I'm so sorry.”
“I didn’t want it,” she says again. “I wanted it to go away and then…”
“That doesn’t make your loss any less painful, love. Even though you weren’t ready to have a child, you still suffered a loss. That was still something terribly difficult that you had to go through alone.”
She nods, because he’s right. It was impossible, and she’ll never forget the feelings of guilt and regret and complete failure. With another sniffle, she says, “and today my mom asked when we’re having kids, like it's something we should be doing, and I just…”
“It made you angry. And hurt? Misunderstood, perhaps?”
“Yes,” she breathes in relief. He’s always understood her, unlike anyone she’s ever known. “And she talked about how happy Alexandra makes you and it was like she thinks I'm hurting you by not wanting kids.”
“You’re not, Emma. I promise you, you can never hurt me.”
They’re quiet for another few moments, and she lets his gentle breathing and his soothing strokes up her back and the soft waves beneath them lull her into a sense of calm. Being with him never fails to bring her back down to earth, guiding her from her fear and anger and pain and into a place of love and consolation. She can weather any storm if he’s with her.
“I never… I never want to feel like that again. I always knew that I didn’t want children, but that experience really… I mean, it really solidified that for me.”
“I know what you mean, darling. I never had a specific desire to have children myself. I would have, if you’d wanted to, but it’s never been something that I’ve found myself needing.”
She nods and wipes a rogue tear away. “I sure am lucky,” she remarks, caught in a sense of disbelief at the fact that she gets to call herself his.
“Aye, about as lucky as I am.”
“I just can’t,” she whispers after a moment. “I never wanted to, and now I just… I can’t do it.”
“I know, angel. And you never have to feel that way again, I promise.”
“I can’t,” she repeats pleadingly, her arms tightening around his middle and her nose pushing impossibly further into his neck. She’s desperate to turn it off, the anguish that tortures her too great, and he’s desperate to help her. But there’s nothing he can do but hold her and let her cry in his arms until she’s spent, powerless to stop her pain. It kills him.
He whispers that he loves her into her hair, letting anger consume him for a moment as he considers her words and the fact that her terrible, too-old-for-her boyfriend did this to her. He wants to find the man and make him pay for the sobs wracking his wife. For taking advantage of her when she was just a child and making scars that still seem fresh a decade later. It’s unfair, and he feels his anger through the tips of his fingers as he tries to console her with gentle touches and soft words, unsure of what else he could possibly do.
He’s angry with her mother, too, for the things she said. The words that reopened an old wound when it could’ve stayed closed off in the deep pits of her mind. But he knows that the only way for her to heal is to feel, despite how difficult it clearly is for her.
It’s an experience that has haunted her for years, something she won’t easily move past and may never fully get over. He understands that, can empathize with her torment and guilt over her loss, and he only hopes that being here for her is enough.
When she calms, her breathing steady again and the tears no longer dampening his skin, he feels her let out a heaving sigh and press a kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice croaking after her sobs.
“Please never apologize,” he begs. All he wants is for her to be open with him, something he’s requested countless times. Now she has, and he can never express to her what it means that she trusts him. “Thank you for telling me.”
She nods into his chest and hugs him close to her. “Thanks for letting me blubber,” she answers sarcastically.
“Emma,” he starts. “You know you can blubber to me about anything.”
It earns him a soft giggle, the sound ricocheting off the water and the smooth surface of the boat and landing in the cockles of his heart, warming him from the inside out.
“I know. It’s just that… Well, I know this is nothing like your brother…”
“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “We can’t compare our losses or the pain they bring us. This was painful for you. You’re allowed to feel that no matter what anyone around you has gone through.”
She nods with a dejected sigh, obviously letting exhaustion overtake her after the long day that they’ve had. Between leaving before dawn, spending the day wrestling sea monsters, and the emotional and physical activity in which they’ve just partaken, he doesn’t blame her. He feels it too, although she would point out that she’s much younger and more energetic than he is.
“You missed dinner, my love,” he points out. “Why don’t we order in? Head home and have a shower?”
“A bath,” she says softly. It’s a brilliant idea; being on the water is certainly settling a chill in their bones.
“A bath, then,” he agrees.
She remains still for a minute more before shuffling over him, lifting onto her elbows and showing him her face. She looks stunning, blackened tear tracks and swollen eyes and all. He gives her a smile, one that’s genuine and reserved only for her, and cups her cheek with his palm. She leans into it immediately and kisses the inside of his wrist again, making his heart skip a beat.
“I love you,” she whispers. “More than anything or anyone. You’re perfect.”
“If you feel that way about me, then you better not argue when I tell you I feel exactly the same about you.”
She smiles, finally, and nods into his palm. “Okay,” she concedes softly. “Can we get onion rings?”
“Naturally,” he agrees.
When they get home, he tucks her into the couch under a warm blanket, endlessly dedicated to her comfort. He presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a moment before a knock on the door interrupts them and draws him away. He answers, Ruby delivering their dinner and smirking knowingly at his disheveled sweater. They’d dressed quickly after he’d placed the order, needing to hurry home with the knowledge of how quickly Granny works.
He places the bags on the coffee table before her, removing two grilled cheeses and a large order of onion rings and giving her a smile as he returns to the kitchen to fetch some drinks. She can’t imagine their life not being like this. She can’t even begin to picture a scenario that would make her happier than this. It’s taken her plenty of time to come to terms with her feelings, the realization that not every woman needs to crave raising a child of her own. She’s realized that it doesn’t make her broken, thinking like this. It doesn’t make her a bad woman, or a bad wife.
“There we are,” he says gently when he sits beside her, leaning toward her and pressing a long kiss to her temple. “My beautiful wife and my onion rings. What could be better?” he asks sarcastically, making her chuckle and snuggle into his side.
“Nothing, I hope,” she murmurs insecurely.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Eventually, she’ll go back to her parent’s house and apologize for her rude exit. She’ll apologize to her mother for her sudden and unexplained outburst. Maybe she’ll even explain her reasoning, although she doesn’t really feel that she should need to.
But for now, she’s perfectly content to sit here on the couch with her husband, enjoying their takeout and trash TV if only because it means that they get to spend this time with one another. That’s the only thing that matters to her.
