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patricknorris42 · 4 months

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Flip Your Keyword Into A Excessive Performing Machine

If you’re already planning on utilizing Keyword Planner on your paid search advertisements, then setting up a campaign shouldn’t be a giant deal, however even in the event you don’t plan on using it for ads, Google nonetheless asks you to set up a marketing campaign. I additionally recommend wanting at the Instagram store faucet and looking out kawaii or lolita, then building up that feed. I personally sell weather proof and dishwasher protected kawaii stickers on Etsy. Have you ever checked out Etsy? Inktomi would not maintain its own search web page, however it does have many giant portal partners, corresponding to MSN, AOL, LookSmart, About, and HotBot, that use Inktomi's search database and know-how. Many examine Web 3.Zero to an enormous database. The online site gives hundreds of thousands of alternatives all through the United States and the rest of the world. At first look, the world of kawaii might seem to have very straightforward ‘rules’. We ship orders to virtually each country on this planet !

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A lot of the goodies inside are totally exclusive to the box and cannot be discovered wherever else. The sorts of objects that might be inside include clothes, equipment, electronics, toys, stationery and more! Amazon is nice for staple and standard objects in harajuku trend similar to pastels, plaid skirts, accessories, striped pastel socks. Hi I’m a lover of cutesy fashion all the fluffy dresses and pastel colours and over the knee socks. On the lookout for kawaii/cutesy style stores! Whether or not you’re in love with Japanese culture or just looking for a cute reward to offer to someone else, these kawaii subscription containers are stuffed with objects that make you go “awwww” and pout your face. How to provide as a gift: Sign up as a subscriber and remember to cancel whenever you want the subscription reward to finish. There may be a lot more info that Market Samurai will provide you with, so if you want to look into it in additional detail, head over to the Market Samurai website. The split sleeve adds a sleek touch to the entire look with its elegant imprints. 5-7 items monthly.Yume Twins subscription box focuses on cutesy kawaii Japanese objects.The thing that units Yume apart is that they really create their very own original objects.

Harajuku Kawaii Strawberry Milk Sweatshirt 2. Official Kasey Kahne Nascar Clothes. I've a kawaii collar, does my clothes aesthetic match the kawaii aesthetic? If you’re on a price range, you may have the ability to steal some 80s clothes from your parents’ closets. Asking the opinions of others especially your cherished ones may show convenient in your part. Honest warning - this list may break your heart with its cuteness. However good news - you can buy any field on this listing and get regular installments of cute delivered to your door! The Merchandise: Every Pusheen Field could have a curated assortment of thriller gadgets with a total retail worth of over $100! You can’t just window shop, it's important to folks watch. Within the leisure space, we'd watch and file Tv and movies and hearken to our CDs and MP3s. This one is a singular take on the Japan subscription box.

One could bundle Web entry, cable, gaming and phone service for a one-stop-procuring answer. Big posters and smiley-face stickers may be out of fashion, however iRewardChart is the award-profitable iPad application that is cool with kids. The packing containers may additionally include rare first edition objects before they're launched in shops! I like to recommend on the lookout for simple pieces at a normal store first. In its first year, more than one hundred volunteers logged greater than 6,000 hours. Please dark kawaii fashion for extra info. Each tools show the same Keywords Outcomes Web page, the knowledge on them is just barely completely different depending on which you select. By exploring and implementing the information on this short article, you possibly can enhance your earnings and make purchasers. You may be girly as you wish to be, but still darkish at the identical time. Add on our Darkish Punk Unicorn Crossbody Bag and Kitten Lace Bell Collar Choker to add to the extravagant apparel. Strawberry Dress, Lilac Sailor Gown, Cat Collar Gown, Floral Collar Costume.

#Kawaii #Kawaii fashion #Kawaii Shop

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quillpolice64 · 2 years

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The Best Strategy To Use For 9 Best Gold Stocks to Buy in 2022

You could be utilizing an in need of support or outdated web browser. Please improve or help. Unacceptable browser support (the Chrome Web Store nonpayment internet browser) is currently creating the present web webpage to load in a wrong personality or style. If the existing web page tries to pack in a normal web browser or does not properly shut, an mistake will definitely pop-up along with a web link to the download web page. We're sorry, this bug requires JavaScript. To obtain the best feasible take in please make use of the most current model of Chrome, Firefox, Safari, or Microsoft Edge to look at this website. We may additionally track task on our web servers. Please be suggested we do not highly recommend any kind of specific internet browser to you. Please attempt another browser if you as if. If you are having concerns accessing our website please inquire our dedicated support group when we reply to your questions. The details on this website is topic to improvement without notification.

Gold is one of the oldest assets assets in history. It's additionally one of the earliest private equity firms. (The New York Times illustrates its partnership with Goldman Sachs as "shakily similar to that of Citi."). (I contacted JPMorgan Chase, the other agency behind Bear Stearns, for remark before the newspaper offered an account of the deal.). Why was Need More Info? for Wall Street? Some clients promise through gold while numerous others disdain it. But neither is it a warranty of gold's worth, a silver cost increase is all we've been standing by for at least since the start of the gold rate surge of 2008, and the core banking company's rate-setting activities through late summertime might have much more than made up for any sort of damaging effect gold has actually experienced. The market has additionally come to be the automobile the central financial institution has used to keep track of the core banks' actions in the financial union. But handful of would deny that the yellow metal plays a unique task in markets, offering a shop of value that is unlike practically any type of various other property. When it comes to its gold and silver counterpart, silver is most likely more expensive than gold and silver combined at a singular cost factor. Nevertheless, gold was just released this week at an in-house price. The very same trait went for platinum eagle in current months, which might be accurate only for gold, but that has not occurred along with the silver. Having said that you feel about gold, professionals concede that gold sells can easily play an crucial job in a diversified assets portfolio. The U.S. dollar has experienced coming from a long-term modification since 2007 and is assumed to come back to its high level in the course of the 2nd fifty percent of the year, according to price quotes offered through the Securities and Exchange Commission. Gold bullion is being priced in different ways after that. The Nasdaq Gold Price Index is averaging much less than 1 aspect versus the United States dollar. Gold may or might not be a specifically really good inflation bush, but there’s little uncertainty that it has kept its market value over the long term. The U.S. buck has kept nearly 10% of gold since August 2007’ and the gold market also proceeds to be the 2nd most preferred currency complying with China and the european ’ while the Chinese Yuan has continued to be stable and the Swiss franc has been trading at parity despite the financial after effects of low asset prices ’ incorporating to its effectiveness. Owning physical gold is expensive and challenging. But you may always get some luck along with a nice silver. For a beginning, I favor to use real gold at a fraction of the retail cost for gold bullion, thereby making my costs even more affordable. Some exchanges may ask you to include your personal details, but the volume of details you can easily include in your down payment has to be relatively huge and the firm that purchases it is contacted the dealership or broker. So acquiring gold stocks is a great way for individual investors to get the exposure they need to have in their profiles. Gold and Ethereum are both very well-liked commodities, but they are not connected to the genuine amount of money, which is why I believe that is a fantastic thing for individuals. There are a lot of intriguing providers who want to put in in gold reveals, so I am fascinated to view what their collections are. In the meantime, have you observed any type of other gold inventories where you would wish to invest? Forbes Advisor has collected a list of the absolute best gold inventories whose essential metrics illustrate powerful essentials and good market value. The checklist features a riches of sell data and economic metrics, as well as historical information for both the essential gold marks of the year and its major benchmark mark: the S&P 500. The company is also happy to discharge its 2017 Q1 Gold Index record. Watch for the very most popular document cards of the year for the absolute best gold sells. Our curated listing of the finest gold stocks is created using meticulous criteria. We have provided and valued stocks and are constantly working to enhance our rankings. This means that the values presented on this webpage are of a high specification. Please take note that our supply collection is located on the greatest of the best and delivers really good market value. We have released the whole entire checklist on this internet site before, on this website in scenario you want to find out additional. The supplies laid out above are traded on U.S. or Canadian sell substitutions and comply with the following criteria: We have consisted of P/E proportions loved one to the five-year pattern as a secondary screening standard. We have additionally featured an assumed tax obligation treatment of a stock as a "high self-confidence" proxy utilized in determining tax benefit under U.S. economic law. After that, there would be income-based amortization of returns and funding gains for the year ended September 30, 2018.

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valorant-skin-changer-banjn · 2 years

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Can skin changers be banned in Valorant? answered - 24sSports

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 Whoever has used skin changer or is using it right now will get a permanent ban, so make sure you transfer your inventory to another account if you have expensive items. What is a GSLT ban? Is Skin swapping Bannable? The simple answer is: yes you can. Epic Games view this act as an act of theft on what is their property. These skins are essentially being marketed as items only available by purchase. GSLT creates a persistent token for a game server. This allows any users who added your server to favorites to join, even if you change your ip address. A token is a unique authentication token. It can only be used for a server and must never be written and should never be given to anyone. To be allow to generate an token, please make sure that you have put a phone number on your steam account: check it! Skin download is safe. They strictly allow only visual modification. Did Harry and Hermione actually kiss? Not worth it. If you somehow hacked the game files and made your own custom skin, then you would probably get banned in less than a week. Some skins that give aimbot according to the Valorant community are Prime collection , Reaver Collection, Glitchpop collection, Oni collection, Ion collection, Gravitational uranium Neuroblaster G. N collection, Elderflame collection and Singularity collection. We cannot guarantee custom skins from other websites than killerskins. Its an overlay its just an image on top of my game, but i play with the reticle disabled on fortnite, its like im getting kills with no crosshair lol. Usually, steam validation is a normal process as it checks for all the files of the game and verifies that all the files are available and their integrity is not compromised. How do I unban myself? In the server files, there is a blacklist file. Try deleting all the content in that. Just delete it and restart the server. Steam prevents some accounts from accessing certain community and social features that are commonly used for spamming, phishing, and other abuse. Co-authors: 5 — Editors: 20 — Last Updated: 55 days ago — References : Does Eiji know Ash died? Is Deadpool a Marvel or DC? Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Related Posts. Answers News. You might also like. Prev Next. Leave A Reply.

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mckinnon47gorman · 2 years

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hermes scarf replica 3

Genuine Hermes Scarves,replica Hermes Scarves The practical and aesthetic design will ne... Fake Hermes 110CM Scarf HJ02107, check out this amazing Hermes Scarves! Discount Hermes 110CM Scarf HJ02105, check out this amazing Hermes Scarves! Best BHermes Scarf For Sale HJ00892, try this superb Hermes Scarves! Round-the-clock help for a smooth buying expertise. Noida Escorts are now ready for you to serve better and better intercourse place in a singular method. Website Designing Company in Gurgaon. Keto Hack PRECAUTIONS BEFORE USING Keto Hack PILLS Here are some safety measures which you want to take care of for your human body. wikipedia scarf A care tag is significant as it can help decide the date and originality of the headscarf. But just because there isn't any care tag doesn't suggest that it's fake. The scarf could be an old problem or eliminated deliberately by the proprietor. Possibly the best checkpoint to spot a fake Hermès scarf is the print quality. Each Kelly bag takes between 18 and 25 hours to produce, and its 680 hand stitches owe solely to one Hermès artisan. Hems The hems on authentic Hermès carré scarves are always rolled by hand. The picture reveals how this seems at both sides of the headband. On the again, the hems are meticulously rolled inwards towards the center of the headscarf and on the front, there are tiny stitches. We educate you how to turn out to be an professional Hermès authenticator. The items offered on our web site are the best hermes you can find on-line. Please feel free to purchase the goods offered on the website. To create its scarves, Hermès has at all times collaborated with great artists and designers. replica hermes scarf Vintage ” Les Cavaliers D’Or” silk scarf by Vladimir Rybalchenko, some of the wanted artists of Hermes. The so-called “rouletteuses” make the perimeters of the headscarf rolling by hand the borders. The hem of the unique Hermès scarves is sewn “backwards”, that is to say on the extra vibrant facet of the print tand is not flattened however “rond“, that it to say plumped. The copyright is normally situated on the higher left hand nook of the scarf. Copyright © 2012 Powered by Hermes Handbags of Hermes Birkin All Rights Reserved. All watches you discover on this website are only replicas. They are not in any means related, endorsed or affiliated to the unique producers of the names talked about throughout this web site. All pictures taken from real watches, 100 percent the identical as authentic Watch. Vietnam stretches over 1.650 km alongside the japanese coast of the Indochinese peninsula with quite so much of widths and heights, Vietnam has a remarkably varied climate. The latest trend information, beauty coverage, movie star fashion, trend week updates, tradition reviews, and videos on Vogue.com. The world is topsy-turvy—why shouldn’t fashion be absurd too? These safety measures will help you shed weight. Also, you start residing an effective fit life-style forward. Nice and attention-grabbing post,I appreciate your exhausting work,hold importing extra, Thank you for sharing useful information. In the end, the craftsmen roll the hems by hand. Nature options prominently in her work, and for us, seems to send a message of the interconnectivity of all dwelling things. Hermes are one of many few manufacturers who have their very own scarf factory. Not only do they print and construct their own scarves, however they also loom the silk, which is why Hermes have the thickest, heaviest silk twill in the marketplace. If you look carefully, you will notice the texture of the weave. Authentic Hermes scarves could have a visible texture, fake Hermes scarves may have a flatter, smoother and shinier texture.

#hermes silk scarf replica #hermes scarf replica #replica hermes twilly

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kristiansenoneil7 · 2 years

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hermes scarf replica 11

Replica Hermes Scarves On The Market In the tip, the craftsmen roll the hems by hand. Nature features prominently in her work, and for us, appears to ship a message of the interconnectivity of all living things. Hermes are one of the few manufacturers who have their own scarf manufacturing unit. Not only do they print and construct their very own scarves, however in addition they loom the silk, which is why Hermes have the thickest, heaviest silk twill available on the market. phoenet.tw hermes scarf replica If you look intently, you will note the feel of the weave. Authentic Hermes scarves may have a visual texture, fake Hermes scarves will have a flatter, smoother and shinier texture. The goods sold on our web site are the best hermes yow will discover online. Please be at liberty to purchase the goods bought on the website. To create its scarves, Hermès has always collaborated with great artists and designers. Vintage ” Les Cavaliers D’Or” silk scarf by Vladimir Rybalchenko, some of the sought after artists of Hermes. The so-called “rouletteuses” make the perimeters of the scarf rolling by hand the borders. The hem of the unique Hermès scarves is sewn “backwards”, that's to say on the more vibrant facet of the print tand just isn't flattened however “rond“, that it to say plumped. Care label In one of the corners, you will discover the care label. wikipedia scarf The care label carries information about the place of manufacture. This must be France, i.e. it should say “MADE IN FRANCE”. It will also have the fabric, i.e. 100 percent silk, in addition to care directions written on it. While this tag is helpful for the authentication process, notice that with time and wear, it may fall off. Therefore, the dearth of a care label should not essentially be considered an indicator that the headscarf is fake. 100 percent genuine Hermès Birkin 25 bag in Noir Taurillon Clemence leather with gold-plated hardware. Lined in Chevre with an open pocket in opposition to the front and a zipp... Hermes Black and White Striped Canvas Tote- PRISTINE The cheerful summertime carryall is accompanied by a coordinating black canvas case. Black and cream striped canvas tote is carri... Shop our intensive range of designer footwear, we have one thing for everyone. The sensible and aesthetic design will ne... Fake Hermes 110CM Scarf HJ02107, try this amazing Hermes Scarves! Discount Hermes 110CM Scarf HJ02105, try this superb Hermes Scarves! Best BHermes Scarf For Sale HJ00892, take a glance at this amazing Hermes Scarves! Round-the-clock assistance for a smooth purchasing experience. Noida Escorts at the moment are ready so that you can serve higher and better sex position in a singular manner. Each Kelly bag takes between 18 and 25 hours to provide, and its 680 hand stitches owe solely to 1 Hermès artisan. Hems The hems on authentic Hermès carré scarves are always rolled by hand. The picture shows how this seems at either side of the scarf. On the back, the hems are meticulously rolled inwards towards the middle of the headscarf and on the front, there are tiny stitches. We train you tips on how to turn out to be an expert Hermès authenticator. The copyright is normally located on the higher left hand corner of the scarf. Copyright © 2012 Powered by Hermes Handbags of Hermes Birkin All Rights Reserved. All watches you discover on this website online are solely replicas. They usually are not in any way associated, endorsed or affiliated to the original producers of the names talked about all through this website. All pictures taken from real watches, one hundred pc the same as unique Watch. Similarly, if it’s rolled however you can see stitches which seem like a machine, it’s not authentic. Instead, the sting should be a tiny, beautiful rolled finish which has almost invisible hand-done stitches holding the roll in place. If you look carefully on the pictures, you must have the flexibility to see. Also, the roll must be the identical dimension and thickness the entire method round and by no means sit ‘wonky’ alongside the sting. Hand rolling is a very expert process and it’s expensive to do, so it’s extremely uncommon a pretend Hermes scarf may have a hand rolled edge. Since the Twenties, the brand has produced a few of the most fascinating leather-based goods on the earth. The Hermès scarf was born in 1935 from an idea of Emile Hermès, who was inspired by the “mouchoir de cou“, the neckerchief of the Napoleonic soldiers. Sign up along with your email address to be the primary to find out about new products, VIP offers, weblog options & more. So if you'll purchase a scarf from a not – recognized – recognized vendor please assume 10 times befor you send the money.

#hermes silk scarf replica #hermes scarf replica #replica hermes twilly

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bruhnfoster8 · 2 years

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Replica Championship Title Belts

When founding Gunfire, we tried to make our Airsoft store and the offer of replicas, elements, and equipment meet the needs of Airsoft gamers. We have been able to collect in one place products from world-well-known brands. We hope that they are useful and let you get into the world of airsoft extra simply. wikipedia belt WWE Champion Belt now presents wrestling belts on the market specifically designed to satisfy the needs and preferences of you. If you are in search of premium quality and championship belts at a reasonable value then you are the right place. You can customise any belt which is listed in our retailer or any of your customized. Professional wrestling is a form of entertainment which combines athletics and theatrical performance in a mimicry of fight sports activities. Many storylines center across the promotion's championships, which are represented by championship belts just like these in boxing. Painstakingly replicated from the unique trophy belts, the belt plates are cast in zinc alloy, plated in 18K gold and silver and mounted with studs and screws to the synthetic leather-based. and has sixteen strong brass snaps on the hand-embossed and stitched belt leather-based. The UFC Championship belt features a black velvet zippered sleeve so you possibly can keep it protected from envious pals. If you want to buy a few of these belts please let me know. Among the choices, replica championship belts are essentially the most practical and embrace metal plates and pretend leather backing. https://phoenet.tw/replica-designer-belts.html Commemorative belts usually substitute plastic rather than the metal plates. You can also find toy WWE championship belts which might be geared towards youngsters that normally price less than $30. Set the stage for epic wrestling bouts with WWE playsets and wrestling rings. Wrestling ring toys let kids recreate iconic WWE moments, from Elimination Chamber brawls to Raw showdowns. Both the women and men’s major roster high championships seem like horrible keyrings with a gaudy vajazzle, and all they're is simply the company brand on a different colored background. That’s not a championship belt, that’s the results of a Grade 5 craft competitors during which the children got the WWE emblem and some colourful fabrics. The WBC BELT, is The greatest prize that every fighter is preventing for, it's a large dream to even successful it, It is the best prize That any fighter may ever hold. And now for those great followers of the nice heroes that ever grew to become champions , Any fan can hold a replica of this prestigious icon of WBC boxing Championship belt, those heroes are . MOC Championship Belts produces customized belts for every type of occasions or occasions. Custom company logos, occasion titles and themes are all potential. MOC can create art work from idea to completion, or pattern to design based mostly in your specifications. Typically, pro wrestling title belts have a singular design for each title, in distinction with boxing and combined martial arts where the title belts of a given sanctioning body are all the identical design. The Big Gold Belt design, for example, is very recognizable and has been utilized by numerous wrestling promotions since the Nineteen Eighties. Boxers attempt to win the belt of all 4 organizations to unify their weight divisions. An airsft retailer is a lot extra then simply the merchandise. We are constantly raising our standards and enhancing the standard of our customer service. Belts By Dan presents totally custom championship title belts similar to the quality of these used on tv by major boxing, MMA and pro-wrestling companies. We additionally offer accessories for house owners of existing belts in addition to re-sale of already accomplished belts targeted on the excessive end collector. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and safety features of the website. Out of those cookies, the cookies which are categorized as essential are stored in your browser as they are essential for the working of primary functionalities of the web site. But opting out of some of these cookies could impact your browsing experience. Cleto Reyes doesn't accept returns on items such as this one. You supply your concept of what you want your belt to seem like. You can provide a rough sketch or just a description of your idea. Provide any logos or photographs that you want to include, preferably asvector artin both .ai or .eps file format. The prime title in a major promotion is normally designated a "world heavyweight championship". Other, lesser championships may carry regional names, be limited to a selected weight class, or be defended in different special circumstances, corresponding to the normal tag team match. Gunfire's provide also contains airsoft equipment - amongst them all kinds of batteries for airsoft replicas, tuning elements, tactical gear and 6 mm BBs.

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tran16swanson · 2 years

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New Rep Service After Preliminary Delivery And Greatest Placed To Take

Jon Moxley is the present champion in his record-tying second and longest reign. He gained the title by defeating previous champion Lance Archer in a Texas Death match in Tokyo, Japan at Wrestle Kingdom 14 on January four, 2020. None of us are right here by coincidence - the majority are lively gamers who know properly the gear we promote as a result of we use it every day. This permits us to give good recommendation and find an optimum solution to any problem, in addition to assist to decide on just the best ASG gear. We are a gaggle of lovers, who a number of years ago, when hardly anybody has heard of one thing like airsoft or ASG, decided to propagate the game in Poland. Welcome to Gunfire, the best airsoft retail, on-line store in Europe. In the start, I want to say that it received’t be a typical detailed evaluate of the replica, but it’s description with the addition of my private opinion. I am an informal AEG and GBB person, who just obtained a 420 fps spring-loaded bolt motion rifle into his hands. It's a treat not only for Specna Arms fans but for all airsoft lovers looking for tactical clothing with a singular design. We have introduced the Platinum Heavy Grade BBs, which are available in zero.32g / 0.36g / 040g weights, and normal and biodegradable versions. Rockets Platinum BBs are the right alternative for replicas with precision barrels. Lovers of timeless creations can discover beautiful earrings, necklaces, bracelets and rings from iconic collections like B.Zero1, Alhambra and LOVE. Versatile, fashionable and imbued with consolation, our clothing edit will equip you to be on high of your type game, every time. In case an inauthentic item is bought, The Luxury Closet will initiate a 100% refund and also bear the cost of return delivery. wikipedia belt Join us in constructing the most important luxurious marketplace within the Middle East. phoenet.tw replica designer belts The front of the deluxe version strap features genuine leather and UV printing, and the back of that strap includes a velvet materials with an embossed pattern. The entrance of the standard model strap is made from polyurethane leather-based suede with UV printing, and the back of that strap is produced from a velvet material with an embossed pattern. Moreira said he supplied to do work free of charge, changing the plastic gems with cubic zirconia and thickening the plates. To make the belt seem extra genuine, the dad and mom linked through Facebook with belt designer Sergio Moreira in Washington. A replica of the NWF Champion Belt that symbolizes Antonio Inoki. This website makes use of cookies to improve your experience while you navigate via the website. After buy, you'll receive an e-mail with further data. No matter where you store, you will earn rewards on each purchase. There was a problem including this merchandise to your Basket Please try again later. Necessary cookies are completely important for the website to perform correctly. This class only contains cookies that ensures fundamental functionalities and security measures of the web site. United Arab Emirates Choose a country/area for buying. After viewing product element pages, look here to find an easy method to navigate back to pages you are interested in. The strap is actually stiff and it feels uncomfortable to put on and maintain. However, it is a great show piece and awesome for taking pictures with. As a fan of the UFC, i am extraordinarily pleased with my buy. Since i discovered no ranking on Amazon for the UFC belt, I was a bit apprehensive on ordering. Lance Archer's solely reign of eighty two days is the shortest in the title's historical past. The title was formally introduced on May 12, 2017, and the inaugural champion was topped on the weekend of July 1 and a pair of, 2017, throughout NJPW's G1 Special in USA reveals in Long Beach, California. The present champion is Jon Moxley, who's in his longest and report-tying second reign. This belt additionally costs $29.ninety five and could be purchased right here at Buckle-Down’s website. Dress up your outfit and take it to the subsequent stage with this signature ‘D’ buckle belt with its faux pearl and gold to add an additional touch of sophistication. This gold enamel buckle belt will add a particular ‘pop’ to your outfit. For $29.ninety five, you possibly can order this belt here for your self or a beloved one. It’s time to buckle up and get down to business with Day eight of Magic because of our fantastic sponsor, Buckle-Down. Today’s sponsor wish to unfold some vacation magic to not one but TEN lucky people! What an superior approach to start the second week of 25 Days of Magic. When founding Gunfire, we tried to make our Airsoft retailer and the supply of replicas, elements, and accessories meet the wants of Airsoft players. We had been able to collect in a single place products from world-well-known brands. Thanks to this, the Airsoft Gunfire store can offer you a wide range of kit at enticing prices. However, we went a step additional and as an Airsoft retailer, we engaged within the promotion of several less-recognized airsoft brands, whose popularity continues to be rising. Moreover, the Custom Division, the branch of our Airsoft store that produces custom made replica, will give you uncommon, unique models built by our employees. Thanks to cautious preparation, basing on the highest quality parts and attention-grabbing design, custom Airsoft replicas rapidly disappear from the cabinets of our Airsoft store. As one of the best Airsoft retail store in Europe, we know how necessary it's to assist the community.

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qvistwheeler9 · 2 years

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Replica Boxing Belt On The Market

But days after police released images of the thieves and local media advised Timmy's story, the 2 ladies returned to Moreira's residence with the belt and a 4-web page handwritten observe of apology. The Vicks shipped the belt across the country, with the bundle being left on Moreira's porch earlier this week. His door view digicam then captured two thieves stealing the package. "It'll be as close to the unique belt that he sees on TV every say than some other belt he might buy in the market," Moreira said. I paying the overpriced Gucci payment fashion scene finally after ninety years not do the stuff that was an ideal assortment for the brand new really lower than her it! power as a brand and Gucci giant hermes birkin bag. Find the tools to enhance your speed, agility and touch in our participant’s equipment range. Please click here for full Christmas Shipping timeframe for all areas. Payment might be charged 2 to 7 days before your item is out there. 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#cheap real designer belts #discount designer belts #real designer belts cheap #replica belts #replica designer belts

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agent-yolk-writes · 3 years

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You're My Dad! Boogie Woogie Woogie! (Diavolo & Reader)

Ever wanted to call Diavolo your dad? No? Well too bad, I have the perfect fic for you down below!

AO3 Version Here!

If you like my writing, please let me know! My inbox is empty and it's hungry for OM content.

Bold = Diavolo's text

Italicized and Indented = MC's text

Like every natural disaster, it came without a warning.

It started off like every other day. Wake up, go to RAD, do student council duties, go home, sleep, repeat. Of course, there would be an occasional (read: frequent) occasion outside of the standard norm, but today was not one of those times.

“Here you go!” You handed Diavolo your latest finished report. “I’ve even separated the approved and rejected request forms and sorted them alphabetically for easier reading.” You said proudly. Sure enough, the Prince quickly thumbed through one of the piles and made a noise in his throat that sounded positive.

Next thing you know, he gives you one of his iconic smiles. “Excellent work as always, MC.” He tells you. “Your help is always appreciated! Thanks to you, we’ve made a tremendous dent in all this paperwork. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

The praise he was pouring on you felt so good. You try not to visibly react to it, but your brain dumped a massive pool of serotonin from his words alone. Hell, you can even feel your cheeks warming up. It always felt good to be praised by your peers, but there was something about the way Diavolo praises you that fuels you to work hard for the next one. While you were chasing that high and not wanting to be rude you simply replied with,

“Thanks, dad.”

And all of Devildom seemed to freeze over. You could hear Lucifer’s pen dropping to the floor behind you while Mammon choked on something somewhere else in the room. There were no sounds of papers being written or even talking. All eyes landed on you as the reality of what you said started to sink in.

Oh fuck, did you call the Prince of Literal Hell your Dad? Well, he’s such a huge guy and acts almost exactly like those kind-hearted fathers you always see on social media in your realm. It doesn’t help that your actual dad kinda sucks, so maybe this is projection at work. Sadly, the damage has already been done. You could see Diavolo’s face turn from confusion to amusement in a matter of seconds.

“I...I…” Your already red face got darker when you heard the faint snickering coming from Barbatos. Fearing that your rapid heart bursting through your chest, you can only manage to squeak a “Bye!” Before dashing out of the building and out of the academy.

So here you are, holed up in your honorary room at Purgatory Hall while your D.D.D. continues to blow up on the nightstand next to the bed. You couldn’t go back to the HOL, not immediately at least. You felt so embarrassed that you called your housemates’s semi-boss your father.

At least the residents at Purgatory Hall understood your human err. Solomon did give you some shit about it, but that was a given because, well, it’s Solomon. If he wasn’t teasing you about this, then you would have bigger fish to fry in Hell. Simeon was the most sympathetic person about your current predicament while Luke was just happy that you’re hanging out for a few hours. He can complain about the demons later.

You just hope this shitshow cools down soon. Maybe a nap will calm you down.

Hours have passed. Still afraid to look at your phone, your only indicator of time passing was Simeon coming up to your room with a tray of tonight’s dinner with a side dish almost overflowing with cookies courtesy of Luke. Bless these angels, both of them.

And sure enough, your phone stopped vibrating non-stop. Before you could deduce that the battery died, a singular buzz proved otherwise. Damn it.

Still, you couldn’t avoid the brothers forever. They’ll probably kick up another storm of messages since you haven’t replied to them initially. With a defeated sigh, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it. Let's see...143 messages in the HOL+Royals group chat, 103 messages in the HOL group chat, 87 messages from Mammon, 15 messages from Asmo, 10 messages from Lucifer, 5 messages from Levi, 1 message from Satan, 2 messages from Diavolo-

...2 messages from Diavolo. Sent a minute ago. Welp, no use avoiding him either since he’s the sole reason you’re even in Hell in the first place.

MC! Are you alright? You sure ran out of the room quite fast. I didn’t know humans could reach those speeds.

I apologize if I offended you somehow.

With a big gulp, you started writing back.

im okay! Hunkering down at Purgatory atm

if anything, I should be apologizing to you lol

Five minutes passed before he texted back.

That’s good to hear! (smiling devimoji)

Hopefully the brothers haven’t bothered you too much from this.

you have no idea.

(gurgle devimoji)

I have to say, you certainly caused a stir. I couldn’t help but wonder about something.

MC, do you see me as a father figure?

uh, no? If anything, I see you as a bother figure

cuz your always bothering me

God damn you, brain! Think before you speak for fuck’s sake! Quick, do something that'll lessen the blow!

lol

Nailed it!

(hehe devimoji)

I see.

I have been called many things, good and bad, because of my position. Being called dad is a new one.

It’s certainly not...unpleasant.

He’s going to kill you at this rate. You know he will.

ill make sure not to do it again. sorry chief

tho im sure i caused a riot during the meeting

No worries!

And you left it like that. Your mind was pulling blanks on how to respond. You could figure it out as you reply to the others, but you really don’t have the mental fortitude to face them now that Diavolo is embracing his new moniker happily.

And of course, think about the demon prince and he shall appear. Again. What he sent made you groan into your pillow.

How about this weekend we can talk about what human fathers normally do over some sandwiches and tea?

...that sounds nice

Great! Looking forward to it!

(smiling devimoji)

Even though this whole ordeal was embarrassing, you couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of your future meetup. While your actual dad had no redeemable qualities about him, there were always memes.

Curling up in your bed, you begin your hunt across the Demon Web with a VPN that lets you access human websites in order to bring your A-Game this weekend.

Maybe this turned out to be a good thing, after all.

#my writing #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me & reader #om #mc swd #swd diavolo #obey me swd #shall we date #diavolo & reader #obey me diavolo #diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo & mc #obey me mc

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patricknorris42 · 4 months

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Flip Your Keyword Right Into A Excessive Performing Machine

youtube

#Kawaii #Kawaii fashion #Kawaii Shop

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kingofthewilderwest · 3 years

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Okay I almost reblogged something onto another’s post before trying to chill. And decided instead to write my own post.

I feel like there’s these internal expectations on tumblr of how bloggers think, especially in regards to how they interact with creative material. To take two examples, there’s expectations that people listen to music while imagining stories in their heads, like an in-brain AMV or soundtrack. And there’s expectations people will reside deeply in the fanfiction world, especially if the fanfiction world is a means of making the fiction “better.”

But I really dislike this presumptive mentality. Especially when it gets into phraseology like, “Can you BELIEVE other people don’t DO this???” As if those people live boring, lame, uninspired but bizarrely and incomprehensibly milquetoast lives.

It assumes that we all think the same on this site. And it assumes that people on tumblr are one thing, and the people apart of tumblr “Those Weird Others.” But I usually fall into the group that people are gawking about in their posts. Why must I be treated as someone boring? As some anomalous Other? As if we’re not RIGHT HERE reading it, instead of some far distant land. We’re all are RIGHT HERE too and are a genuine, valid, not at all boring part of this website’s culture. And we’re prevalent!

That’s right. I don’t listen to music and imagine anything going along at the same time. What of it? You think that makes me a weird boring normal person? You think that makes me uncreative? I’ve composed music like it’s part of my DNA (that’s one of my college degrees yo), I’ve written original stories since I was a toddler, I play several dozen instruments, I’ve done cosplay, I draw with a variety of media, I’ve done video editing, I’ve done gif making, I’ve done Photoshopping, I’m a worldbuilder, I’m an intensive conlanger. And I don’t listen to music and imagine an AMV. You know what? It’s exactly BECAUSE I am a creative. To imagine anything more than the notes would be to take away from the enriching audio experience itself.

The music is SUFFICIENT. Not just that. The audio stimulus is overwhelmingly, enjoyably intricate. The audio stimulus is enough to overflow my entire mind. I love the interplay of foreground and background and midground, the uniqueness of the instruments blending, the timbre of voices and instruments combining, the affect of chords changing. To my perspective, I could easily say YOU ALL are “missing out” because you need something else to make music sufficient... you’re making music the background to something else... you’re living in a world where music must be part of other stimulus in order for it to be meaningful instead of comprehending of it as a singular, spectacular EVENT... but I’m not going to go out and be like, “Oh, those weird people. Are there actually people who listen to music and imagine stories in their head at the same time? Lol, they’re so deprived. So weird wtf.” No! NO NO NO NO. Because I’m not going to “other” you, I’m not going to act like you aren’t part of this culture, and I’m not going to sit on this website expecting everyone has the same experience with art that I do.

You’re not!!! uncreative!!! for how you participate with art! You do you! And I am not!!! a tumblr anomaly! I’m not some some fucking “Weird Boring Normal Uncreative Lame Person Who Doesn’t Use Tumblr”!

I don’t like fanfiction. I don’t. I actually don’t. I celebrate people who write fanfiction, read fanfiction, dream of fanfiction. You guys are AWESOME. Because it’s your way of participating in a community and interacting with stories that inspire you. I’ll always scream in support of your very important contributions! But just because I don’t get into fanfiction doesn’t mean I am not interacting meaningfully and creatively with media. There’s people who will write meta or archive material or collect merch or draw fanart or have great discussions or make costumes or just vibe in fandom culture, whether peripherally or deeply. And that’s!!! NORMAL. HERE. On tumblr! It’s not bizarre to this internet space!

Not everyone uses fanfiction as a means of “I reject stupid canon and substitute it with my own”.

Not everyone finds fanfiction an entertaining way to engage in fandom culture.

Not everyone listens to music as a means of relating to fandom.

And fuck, even if I had identified as some weird boring normal person, that’s an acceptable way to live too, ain’t it?

I know this is such, such, such a small and unimportant issue. I’m picking on something that’s no big deal. But I guess I’ll get a pet peeve out this once???

Please, quit assuming everyone on this goddamned site has the exact same psychology you do and that people who don’t have your psychology are fucking Others.

This also goes for expecting everyone is a neurodivergent here and that neurotypicals are part of the Distant Others. I am not neurotypical myself, but I am tired of everyone thinking everyone’s got the same experience and background and mindset on this site. Quit assuming????

We’re all here, we’re all part of a community, we all make the community colorful, we all have cool brains, and it’s more fun to enjoy the diversity of fandom experiences than it is to assume everyone’s likeminded.

#blabbing Haddock #non-dragons #tumblr culture #pet peeve: discussed #yeet #I hope this makes sense #long post

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ameliapodcast · 3 years

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Cocoa Spy Recommendations

Here we go again! Intern shares their unfiltered, duck-petting opinion because even if you want them to, they really can not stay quiet for the life of them. For the full rec, click the read more, as this is a long post. Note: Those are Intern's recommendations, if I mess up, it's me doing that. Please let me know! Last time, we had Forgive Me! and before that patient33, if you haven't seen the posts, find them linked.

Today! @thenightpost

I will try my best to keep as neutral as possible, as I don’t want to spoil anything, just that here, it’s kind of hard?

In Gilt City, conscripted couriers are both respected and shunned. They inhabit the borderlands between a growing industrial society and the untamed, arcane frontier that surrounds it. The Night Post is a weekly supernatural audio drama about survival, tradition, and the vast unknown.

Give it a listen if…

You like Mystery, if you like the Magnus Archives and if you like the Statements, if you like a story that slowly unfolds and the occasional goosebumps in between. Also, all the gays.

A note

Apparently, they’ll start on the second season on the 11th of August! Which means I am super late but I wanted to listen again before writing anything. Website , Twitter, Spotify, Transcripts! Also, they are on Tumblr, tagged above!

Why you’d like it as a listener of Amelia?

Stories. Singular stories that give a pattern (cough), the stories of the people reading the stories, piece by piece, a little. All the strangeness that is treated as normal. The way The Interviewer wasn’t surprised with Percy being a podcast character-normal, I mean. Not as not scary, but … used to it. Also, again, if you loved TMA, here you go!

Why I like it?

Oh god, this category is so hard. It’s a good way of spooky, that doesn’t make me afraid to turn around but has me sitting with open eyes and completely straight all the same. I like the characters and unfolding story, I like the secrets. Feels so familiar, as a former spy I was surrounded by secrets, and now Amelia is also all about the secrets. And the stories! The single stories, as stated above. Also, I love letters just so much. It’s hard to get letters when you are officially dead and your name is literally Intern, but… One can dream…

How long did it take me to get into the story?

To be honest, it took me a few episodes. This is kind of strange, but I think it took me a while to warm up to the voices? That sometimes happens to me, and while I think it’s a me-thing, I feel like I should mention. While I was, simultaneously, super curious about the story after the first episode already. It got me hooked pretty quickly, is what I want to say. The writing is really, really good. The story is really good. If this one was a book, consider me reading through all my responsibilities. (Even so, I did listen instead of responding to several calls by Alvina and the Interviewer to do things…)

Others? (without context, I don’t want to spoil)

I kind of love the way the mail people are called pigeons.

“Minute House” sounds so cool.

Oh god, so many little details! The characters, who sometimes seem kind out of the character you think they had for a moment before you go “wait, I would have reacted the same way” which makes them super relatable, even though they are literally delivering strange mail at night (again, no spoilers) So much potential to get even better 👀 I love the story so much

- Intern

#cocoa spy recommendations #podcast recommendations #the night post #the amelia project #fiction podcast #audio drama

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Can I please request B, F, and O for Benoit Blanc? I’m simping for this gentleman sleuth so hard.

I’m surprised you didn’t put DNUT just for the sake of reference 😂 Stuff is below the cut!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?): While he isn’t against the idea to the point of fighting it, Benoit doesn’t strike me as someone actively looking to start a family, either. At least, not in the most traditional sense of what a family could be. He knows he’s not ancient, but he’s certainly not the very picture of youth, either. There’s plenty of things he’s not afraid to do in fear of appearing odd, but he can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, becoming a father at his age would appear peculiar.

Technically speaking, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course: He’s sure enough men his age have become fathers, and he knows plenty celebrities had at much older stages of life. But no matter what The New Yorker may think, Benoit knows he’s not exactly a celebrity; becoming a father at his age might appear less glamorous. And as flattering as the theory might be, he’s not so sure he’d be comfortable with the world knowing his virility in practice.

But, of course, things don’t always go the way we plan for them to. Just because he’s not actively looking to grow the family doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen. It’ll catch him by surprise, no doubt, especially given how he’s so used to being able to predict things by calculation and logic, but it’s nothing he’s necessarily going to fight, either. If the great Benoit Blanc is to become a father to an actual baby instead of just a fur baby, then he’s going to accept that position with pride and zeal. (And much confusion, but that’s nothing a lot of research and a handful of classes and Youtube tutorials couldn’t fix.)

Benoit knows the impact a loving parent can have on a child, and he wants to assure any progeny of his is granted that chance. He won’t be a perfect father, he knows that, but he most certainly would want to make an effort to be one that they wouldn’t hate. He’s encountered way too many patricide cases to go lax on it all.

More to the point, however, he’s honestly just content with his family as it currently appears to be. He may come from more traditional and decidedly old-fashion means, but this doesn’t exclude the sleuth from possessing an open-mindedness toward the ever-changing image of what a family could be decreed and recognized to be. And sometimes, a family is just a peacockish gentleman with a thick drawl, his more grounded and snarky partner, and their handsome pet cat who is either plotting their deaths or actually enjoys it when they sing show tunes to him.

There are times when he looks back on his life so far and feels ribbons of regret, however. How might things have turned out if he’d settled down before? Would things have been better? Worse? More or less the same?

Well, whatever the case, he doesn’t intend to dwell on it too often or for too long; you’re here now, and if that’s all there was meant to be, then he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

He’s not sure, if truth be told. There wasn’t really a precise moment or even necessarily one singular action that offered him any confirmation. The sting of Cupid’s arrow never actually radiated through him, so much as the realization flitted into his mind as a random memory might. It was simply a matter of fact to him one day: He absolutely adored you.

Part of him wanted to go into detective mode, to use that brain of his and search for a specific date that might have triggered the sensation, or to pester Elliot and Marta by using them as soundboards for his monologues and conclusion. Benoit Blanc is a self-aware man, he’s too old to be caught off guard by his own feelings like a schoolboy. But thankfully for all, he stops himself from doing so when he considers the stance that perhaps the feelings had already been present for months now, that there wasn’t any suddenness to the realization. A sense of jamais vu, but of the emotion. Jamais réalisé. Still, the ever-inquisitive spirit in him thirsted for an answer. He tried to satiate it.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that unlike most, you appeared to enjoy his monologuing. Most people would normally just sit there, the only feedback offered being blank expressions or ones that displayed how thrown off they were about his strange analogies. You, on the other hand, were always listening even when your eyes weren’t directly on him or if you appeared to be busy with something else. Sometimes, if you deemed it necessary, you would even throw in your own input. When he joked about how invested you were, you reasoned that you tended to do the same when you infodumped.

Going off that, he liked when you infodumped: Your entire person would gain a sprightliness to it, particularly in your eyes. The detective truly believed in the value of all sorts of knowledge, and he genuinely did appreciate whatever you had to offer, even when it only appeared to be trivia. The only downside to this was that you almost always would catch yourself and, casting your sights elsewhere, all that vibrancy from before would snuff out like a light. It would darn near break his heart to hear you apologize for “babbling on about such silly things.” He would always insist that it was quite alright, that you needn’t apologize, but you always assumed deep down that he was simply being courteous as all others in his position would be. The truth always was that he was being genuine, you deserved that much.

Maybe he thought you deserved that much because you were relatively patient with him. He didn’t think of himself as a nuisance but Benoit knew that to many, he was more of an acquired taste. He always tried to be polite and considerate but sometimes, his more abrasive traits would come to the foreground, especially when he was on the case. But you never seemed to get especially testy with him as Elliot would. If anything, you were quick to put him in his place with a gently-worded but sternly-spoken reminder that he needed to mind himself.

“The truth can only soothe you so much when you got a foot up your ass,” as you put it once. It got a smile out of him. Of course, he always knew you had some kind of wit about you; one that, while a bit more blunt than his, never failed to make him laugh yet force him to acknowledge the truth. He might’ve been known for his rich vocabulary, but he couldn’t help but admire your own, more direct means of getting the point across. He knew damn well that you understood everything he said, and sometimes he questioned if maybe your responses to him were so straightforward as a means of taunting him over his perceived verboseness.

Even if this were true, he found himself amused every time you opened your mouth. In fact, you were quickly becoming his favorite person to speak to. And he even dared to consider the possibility that, based on how you lit up every time he came to the office, perhaps the same could be said on your part . . .

Well, whatever the case, Benoit never got as far as he’d wanted to whenever he pondered the cause of his feelings for you. Much to his dismay, every effort was thwarted by himself: Every time he came to a theory, he would quickly become sidetracked by other thoughts of you. Eventually he became distracted to the point where every consideration he made could be counted on to be accompanied by some appraisal of your character. In short, he was simultaneously coming up fruitless and fruitful.

But then maybe those were the answers he was looking for. Of course, they weren’t in the usual format he was familiar with but he supposed it was for the best: Feelings weren’t the same breed of mystery as, say, a murder investigation. He didn’t count it as a failure on his part, however (given that Benoit Blanc wasn’t one to quit). No, he decided that perhaps it might’ve been better to keep his work and his play separate. He’d spent enough of his life revolved around solving mysteries, after all; this one, he concluded, was best enjoyed just being experienced as it was.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?):

It’s hard for you to choose, really: Benoit is a rather colorful man, after all, with his bright blue eyes and lack of fear regarding certain male accessories. But you do tend to veer towards shades of green. Specifically, peacock green because not only does he own a suit of similar shading, but also because frankly, due to his dandy-like nature, you couldn’t help but compare him to a peacock in your head. Sure, he lacked the arrogance associated with the bird, but what else could you compare a man with an assortment of floral ties and pretty-patterned pocket squares to?

Similarly, Benoit associates you with the color cranberry because of something in your wardrobe: Specifically, the red cardigan you were wearing the day you both met. Admittedly, he’s a twinge embarrassed that he couldn’t associate you with something more overtly romantic: He remembers that you like pink Starbursts but still give him half of yours; he remembers how you argue that black Converses are “the only valid converses” next to glittery ones; and he has no choice but to remember that godawful brown scarf you refuse to discard because “it’s still a good scarf and you’d already had it for this long.”

But you don’t mind. In fact, you’re elated and nearly swept off your feet at the fact: He remembers all the little things from the moment you two became acquainted, even though at the time he was under no awareness or intention that you would become so important to him. You know that, technically, it’s a part of his job to just commit things to detail, but you’ve seen this man forget website passwords and his own keys. Yet, if anyone were to demand that he recall three things from that fateful day, he would immediately recite about how you had a frog Beanie Baby resting on your computer monitor; that you were stabbing your Chinese takeout lunch with one hand and typing up a report with the other; and that you were wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan.

Sometimes, the first two bits were swapped with different things he remembered (all being true), but the one consistent memory that he would always bring up with be the cranberry cardigan. And frankly, you're satisfied with that bit alone.

Thanks for your patience!

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc imagines #knives out #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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corkoffice08 · 3 years

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9 Ways Create Higher Tiktok Creator With The Assistance Of Your Canine

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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all the perfect things (that i doubt)

SUMMARY: Zelena is defeated and Emma returns to her quiet life in New York with Henry, leaving Killian brokenhearted and her feelings for him unresolved. Three years later they meet again and quite a lot has changed—but will these changes push them further apart or help them find their way back to each other?

Canon divergence with no time-travel adventure.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ohmightydevviepuu! You are brilliant and amazing and a fantastic writer and a kind friend, and so to honour the anniversary of your birth I have attempted to fill this VERY LONG one-shot with all the things you like best. There’s angst and second-chance romance and people needing to sort their shit out before finding their way back to each other and angst and emotions and erotica and did I mention angst? There’s also Tinkerhook and Captain Cobra (implied, but very much there) and oh yeah it’s a 3B divergence. AND the title comes from a song! I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young, which is just about the most Killian thing to ever Jones. I hope that it leaves your boxes thoroughly ticked.

Much gratefulness to @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for invaluable suggestions and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️

Rated: M Words: 20k Tags: canon divergence, angst, smut, angst with a happy ending, minor mentions of suicidal thoughts

On AO3

all the perfect things (that i doubt)

Emma parked her bug in front of the red brick row house and got out, hiking her tight skirt inelegantly as she did and teetering a bit on her towering heels as she climbed the steps to the small porch. She went inside and shut the door behind her, then leaned back against it with a small sigh. It was weird being back in Boston after three years in New York—four, really, if you counted the year she and Henry had spent there without their memories—and she hadn’t quite adjusted yet. New York was pretty much home now, or at least that’s what she regularly told herself, and Boston was… well…

Boston didn’t feel like home but it did feel familiar, the uncomfortable familiarity of something—or someone—that knew her far better than she wanted them to. Emma didn’t like places that knew her too well any more than she liked people who did. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen to sublet a place in Brookline—that and the generous relocation allowance her bail-bonds firm was paying—and even though she had to drive into the city every day to help set up the firm’s new Boston branch, coming home every night to a place that wasn’t technically Boston offered at least a small respite.

She hung her keys on a hook by the door and kicked off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. It was only a six month placement, she reminded herself. Six months to get the new office up and running, then she could go back to New York and be comfortably anonymous again.

“Mom, is that you?” Henry’s voice called and Emma grinned, following the sound into the living room.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she teased, collapsing onto the sofa next to her son and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “How was the first day at the new school?”

Henry closed the book he’d been reading and turned to her, his face lit up with excitement. “Fine, fine, the school’s good and kids seem cool, but Mom! You’ll never guess.” He bounced in his seat, almost vibrating with eagerness. Even at fifteen Henry hadn’t lost the enthusiastic nature she’d found so hard to resist in the ten-year-old who’d first come to find her in this city. Despite his occasional bouts of teenage sullenness.

“Guess what?” she asked, smiling at him.

“Guess who my astronomy teacher is.”

“You’re taking astronomy?”

“I need a science and it’s better than chemistry.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“It’s also not important,” said Henry, impatiently refocusing the conversation back to his question. “Guess who my teacher is! You never will!”

“Um, Carl Sagan?”

“Mom, he’s dead!”

“Oh.” Dammit, thought Emma. She’d been pleased with herself for managing to come up with the name. “Um, who’s the other guy? Neil something Tyson?”

“Neil deGrasse Tyson, and no, come on, you’re not even trying.”

Emma sighed. “Henry, I genuinely have no idea. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“It’s Hook!”

“Hoo—what?” Emma stared at him as her heart stumbled then began to pound. He couldn’t possibly mean Hook Hook, could he?

“Captain Hook!” Henry confirmed, and Emma’s heart took off at a gallop. “He calls himself Killian Jones of course and he doesn’t wear the hook anymore but it’s still definitely him! I couldn’t believe it!”

“But I thought…” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Isn’t he living in Storybrooke?”

“That’s what I said! I mean, I’ve never seen him there but I just kind of assumed. But he said no, he’s lived in Boston almost three years!”

“You—you talked to him?” Breathe, Emma.

“Well, yeah.” Henry shrugged. “It would have been rude not to. He didn’t exactly seem thrilled to see me, but he was nice. He said not to expect any special treatment in class though if I remembered what he taught me about using the sextant that one time it would be helpful. I mostly remember, so…”

Henry chattered on and Emma tried her best to listen but her mind couldn’t focus. She felt breathless and chaotic, buzzing with confusion and with a strange eager excitement. Hook is here, was all she could think. Here. Here in Boston. Where she was. Here. Close by. Possibly very close. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, and she pressed the heel of her hand against it.

He was Henry’s teacher. Hook was a teacher. She tried to imagine that and found to her surprise that it wasn’t actually all that difficult. Obviously he wouldn’t wear his pirate coat in the classroom like in the image her frazzled brain insisted on conjuring, but he’d always been so good with Henry, she could easily imagine him teaching other kids.

And he’s here, her brain kept reminding her. Here. Where you are. You can see him. You can see him. You can see him…

“…and he’s actually a really good teacher, he explains things so well.” Henry was still talking. “He says he teaches math too, I’m actually thinking I might try doing pre-calc with him, you know I wasn’t going to take that until we got back to New York, but I think he might be able to help me, and…”

“That’s great, kid.” Emma felt bad interrupting him when he was so excited but she couldn’t handle any more talking about Hook or thinking about Hook teaching Henry or about him talking to Henry or really just any thinking about Hook at all. “What do you want for dinner?”

Henry’s eyes lit with a different sort of enthusiasm and Emma hid a grin. How to distract a teenage boy 101: Offer him food, she thought.

“Pizza from Dino’s,” said Henry decisively. “But since that’s not possible, how about something Boston-y that we can’t get in New York?”

“Like what?”

“How should I know, I’ve only been here once. You’re the one who used to live here.”

“Um, baked beans? Clam chowder? Lobster roll?”

“Pah,” he scoffed. “I can get lobster rolls in Maine.”

“Well, how about clam chowder then?”

Henry looked dubious. “Okay,” he said. “I’m willing to try new stuff while we’re here. But if it’s gross, it goes on the list forever. Deal?”

Emma laughed. “Deal.”

…

Later that night when Emma finally gave up after hours of tossing and turning in her bed, kicked off the covers and went to her laptop, she knew what she was going to do. She didn’t exactly like it, but she knew it, and as she opened the website for Henry’s school she didn’t hesitate. She clicked on ‘Staff Directory’ and scrolled through the list of teachers’ names and then she caught her breath.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t believed Henry, just that in the first flush of shock at hearing his name again she hadn’t really been able to process the reality of Hook being here, in Boston, in a normal place with a normal job and presumably a normal life. Not until she actually saw his name, right there on the screen, with her own eyes.

Killian Jones. Mathematics and Astronomy. Latin Club. Debate Team.

With slightly trembling fingers she clicked on it, releasing the breath she’d been holding and gasping in another immediately after as her heart stumbled once more and began to pound against her ribs. The picture was in black and white and tiny, just a thumbnail, but it was unmistakably him. Still with the scruff though his hair looked neater, no eyeliner of course but he’d kept the earring—a small stud barely visible in the tiny photo. And somehow, somehow he still had that look in his eye… the one that promised excitement and adventure and fun… Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to clear it. When she opened them again the look was still there. His students must love him, she thought. What kid wouldn’t want a pirate as their teacher?

She closed the school’s website and opened the professional one she used to dig up information on her skips. Using it to investigate anyone else was unethical enough that she could be fired for doing it but she was prepared to take the risk. He was teaching her son, she told herself. She had information about him that the school district did not. She had to make sure he wasn’t still doing… pirate-y stuff. Yeah, that was it. That was the reason.

Ten minutes later she had his home address and cell number, his personal email and links to his social media accounts. Or rather, his account. Singular. He didn’t have Facebook or Twitter, which wasn’t particularly surprising she supposed, but he did have Instagram. She clicked on the link and a small smile curved her lips as her screen filled with images of the Massachusetts coastline.

He liked to take pictures of the sea. This was also unsurprising. But although various boats and ships featured prominently in many of his photos none of them were the Jolly Roger, and that did surprise her. What had he done with his ship, she wondered. Probably left it in Storybrooke; it wasn’t like he could sail a pirate ship around Boston harbour. Though he had sailed it to New York… She frowned. Hook loved that ship, it had been his home for literal centuries. Emma couldn’t imagine him just leaving the Jolly and moving someplace else.

It was just… weird, the whole freaking thing. Hook’s presence here, his job, the quiet life he seemed to be living, his absent ship. It was a mystery, and mysteries had never sat well with Emma. Before she could talk herself out of it she copied his home address and pasted it into Google Maps, and when the results appeared on the screen she gave a wry snort. He lived a few blocks away from her sublet. Because of course he did.

Good, she thought. It was good that he lived so close. That way, when she went to his house to confront him tomorrow she’d be able to walk there and pick up some dinner on the way home.

…

Hook, as it turned out, lived in a very nice house on a very nice street in a very nice neighbourhood. A very nice neighbourhood, Emma thought, looking around as she strolled down the sidewalk trying to look casual and not as out of place as she definitely felt. Quiet and well-kept, with tall trees and flowers and carefully tended lawns. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect would appeal to a fairy tale pirate.

His house was made of red brick in a sharp and tidy style, with white-framed windows and black shutters and a white portico with actual freaking columns at the top of the red brick steps. It was completely bizarre to think of him living there but also made an odd kind of sense. The house’s unfussy symmetry and clean colours gave it a nautical sort of air, and aside from a few shrubs on either side of the porch the lawn was neatly kept but bare. He’d always kept things neat, she remembered.

Emma’s heart was galloping again, her hand trembling as she rang the bell. She could hear it echo through the house and panic gripped her chest, and she wondered wildly if it was too late to turn around and run away. Then the door swung open and her mind went blank.

His eyes were exactly as she remembered them, as blue as the ocean he so loved and just as deep, their expression shuttered now but still compelling. Still beautiful. They stared at each other for a breathless moment as she scrambled to think of something, anything to say to him, then he stepped back and held the door open.

“Come in, Swan,” he said, and her heart beat even faster at the sound of her name in his voice, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—you have?”

“Aye.” He smiled wryly. “Ever since Henry appeared in my class yesterday. I knew your curiosity wouldn’t allow you to stay away for long.”

He ushered her into a living room that was as tidy as his cabin on the Jolly Roger had been, with broad-planked hardwood floors and one wall lined with bookshelves. A large, comfortable-looking sofa sat at the centre of the room and Killian gestured to it. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, beer?”

“Beer.” Emma latched on to the idea of alcohol like a lifeline. “I think I could use one.”

“Aye,” he replied. “As could I.”

He disappeared through a door in the corner of the room as Emma sank weakly onto the sofa and tried to calm her frantic heartbeat. A minute or two later Hook returned with two brown bottles, handed one to her then sat on the opposite side of the sofa and took a long drink from the other. Emma drank as well, surreptitiously studying him from the corner of her eye as she did.

He was wearing jeans. Well-worn, soft looking ones. And a t-shirt in a similar condition with ‘Boston College’ across the front in faded letters.

“Boston College,” she blurted, desperate to fill the stretching silence.

“Pardon?”

“Your shirt. Boston College.”

“Oh, aye.” He looked down and shrugged. “Where I studied.”

“But—you didn’t,” said Emma, feeling thoroughly off-kilter. “You couldn’t have. Did you?”

“Obviously I didn’t,” he replied. “But I have both memories and official documentation that says otherwise. Courtesy of Tink.”

“Tink?” Emma frowned, both at his words and the nasty tendril of jealousy that curled in her gut.

“Indeed. She gave me what I needed to start a new life in this realm. Much as Regina once did for you.”

“But—Regina did that for me as part of a curse. How did Tink… for you..?”

He shrugged again. “Damned if I know. I try not to ask too many questions where magic is concerned. We… rekindled our old companionship after you left. She knew I wanted to leave Storybrooke and once her magic was fully restored she offered to help me do that. The results are as you see. She gave me what she said was the same realm-specific knowledge Regina gave the Storybrooke residents she cursed, along with an identity and accompanying memories so I could get a job outside of Storybrooke.”

“But—” Emma’s head was spinning, the jealous tendril writhing like a snake. “Why did you want a job outside of Storybrooke?”

“There’s nothing for me in that town,” he replied, in echo of the last time they’d sat like this, drinking together. “Why would I stay?”

“Well… I mean…”

He drank again, deeply, and she tried not to watch his throat work as he did. “I saw an opportunity for a fresh start in a new place,” he said. “One that thinks Captain Hook is an object of ridicule with a perm and a waxed moustache.” He smirked wryly though anger flared in his eyes.

“You saw that, did you?”

“And read the book.” He drank again. “And as much as I may like to wring the neck of this J.M. Barrie, he did in a roundabout way afford me the chance to slip unnoticed into this realm and become someone new. And so I did.”

“I’ll say you did. A high school teacher?”

“And why not?” he challenged. “You’ve said yourself I’m good with children. And I enjoy it. It’s honest work, and rewarding.”

Emma shook her head, struggling to get to grips with everything he was saying and everything she was seeing in him. He looked so familiar; even with the drastic wardrobe change his face and his hair and his voice were all just as she remembered. But he was different. A kind of different that couldn’t be explained away by the knowledge Tink had given him or his new life. His face and eyes were so expressionless, his body language cool and distant. She couldn’t detect event the smallest hint of the flirtatious pirate who used to invade her space whenever he could, always challenging her, always understanding her, always watching her with that unnervingly intense focus—like he wanted to uncover every inch of her. That man seemed so thoroughly absent from the one now sitting opposite her that for a moment Emma wondered if she had imagined him.

“Well, you seem to be good at it,” she said brightly. “Henry can’t say enough good things about your class. He’s thinking of taking another one with you, actually. Pre-calculus.”

“Aye. I’ve already approved his request. He’ll start tomorrow.”

“So are you as good a math teacher as you are an astronomy one?” She made her voice light, teasing, edging into flirtatious, hoping to draw out the pirate—even just a brief glimpse of him, just for a moment. Hook’s face remained impassive.

“I do my job to the best of my ability in every class I teach,” he replied, then drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the sea chest in front of the sofa. Emma sipped hers, feeling cold and confused and with a sharp ache of loss in her chest.

Hook leaned back against the arm of the sofa and gave her a hard look. “So is your curiosity appeased, then, Swan?” he asked. “Do I pass muster? May I be allowed to continue with my job and my life?”

She frowned, hurt by the harsh sarcasm in his tone. “I didn’t come here to—to investigate you,” she said, forgetting that this was the exact excuse she’d given herself for her visit. “I just wanted to see you.” I’ve missed you, she did not say. I thought maybe you’d missed me too.

“And now you have,” he replied. “Is that all?”

“I—I guess so.” Emma put her own beer on the table though the bottle was still mostly full. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’ll see you out.”

He could sound less eager about it, she thought, following him to the door. He opened it for her and she looked at him again, at this man so familiar and yet so strange, and realised that even though he was standing right in front of her she still missed him. She missed him.

On impulse she leaned in close and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. His scruff was surprisingly soft beneath her lips and she heard him catch his breath, felt him flinch as if to hug her in return then stop himself. She lingered as long as she dared before stepping back, and when she looked into his eyes again she caught her own breath.

There was the heat she’d started to think she had imagined. Heat and longing and that edge of danger that even a black and white thumbnail photo couldn’t disguise. In that split second he looked like he wanted to devour her, his breath hot on her cheek as he leaned closer, his eyes blazing with everything she had missed about her pirate.

Then he blinked and his eyes were shuttered again. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling them from around his waist and shoving her away, towards the open door. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Swan,” he said, not looking at her. “So nice to see you again. Tell Henry I said hello and not to forget his astronomy homework. Goodbye.” He shut the door behind her and she heard the click of the lock turning.

She fought the urge to cry all the way home.

…

Killian leaned back against his front door and slowly slid down it, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head drop into his shaking hand. Tremors racked his body and his chest was so tight he struggled to draw in gasping breaths.

Three years. Three years since she’d left Storybrooke, left him, returned to the life she’d had when she couldn’t remember him and never looked back. Three years since she’d shattered his heart.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he thought bitterly, she walks into mine. He should have taken that job in Montana instead. Emma would surely never show up there.

Of course, he hadn’t thought she’d show up here either, not in this city she’d already lived in and left. Emma wasn’t the sort of person to go back to places—or people—she’d put behind her. He’d thought he was safe here.

It seemed he’d thought a lot of things that weren’t actually true. That he could withstand seeing her again, for one. That he was prepared. He’d coached himself, steeled himself, buried his feelings deep and locked them away. And all it took was one brief press of her body against his, one gentle brush of her lips across his cheek to break right through his carefully constructed defences and reduce them to dust.

Tears prickled behind his eyes and he blinked them angrily away. He would not weep over Emma Swan, he told himself firmly, not again. Not today. Instead he would pull himself together again just as he had in Storybrooke, as he did every time thoughts of her overwhelmed him, and he would get on with his life. Now that she’d seen him surely her curiosity would be assuaged and she wouldn’t return. He could find his peace again.

…

The next morning Killian walked to work, a thing he did as often as possible. It wasn’t that he disliked driving, quite the contrary in fact. Cars, in keeping with many of the mechanical innovations of this realm, fascinated him, and aside from his house his car was the one possession in which he had truly indulged.

In the staid upper-middle-class neighbourhood where he lived his sleek gunmetal-grey Aston Martin was almost acceptable, not outrageous enough to give his neighbours anything to actually complain about but more than sufficient to irk them in a way they couldn’t quite articulate when he zipped along their tree-lined streets with the top down. Had they known that the money he’d used to buy it was ill-gotten pirate treasure magically converted into the currency of their realm, they would have been even more displeased. The thought of that delighted Killian nearly as much as the car herself.

And his car did delight him; the powerful hum of her engine and the way she responded to the smallest twitch of her wheel was the closest thing he’d yet found in this world to standing at the helm of the Jolly Roger in full sail. He’d purposely chosen a convertible for the feel of the wind through his hair, and as often as possible he took her out of the city, driving far too fast along quiet country roads and almost hoping the local police would catch him doing it.

Once a pirate always a pirate, at least in some small ways.

But still he preferred to walk to work. Idling in traffic was an insult to his car and a waste of her skills and anyway the walk was not a long one—hardly more than a good stretch of the legs, as Liam would have said. It took him barely twenty minutes along the shortest route and less than half an hour even if he stopped for coffee first.

That morning, he stopped for coffee. He’d not slept well, too plagued by thoughts of Emma and then by dreams of her to manage any real rest. His eyes felt gritty and his head ached, and though the walk in the brisk morning air cleared some of the cobwebs from his brain it hadn’t made much of a dent in anything else.

He ordered his usual black coffee and a not-so-usual blueberry muffin. The intense sweetness of breakfast foods in this realm he didn’t generally care for but this morning he needed a boost of something and sugar seemed as good a thing as any, despite the inevitable mid-morning crash it would bring. There were always donuts in the staff room, perhaps later he’d finally give one of those a try. Anything to get him through this day.

He took his coffee and the bag with the muffin from the barista with the best approximation of a smile that he could manage and wished her a good day. She blushed.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Killian shook his head as he turned to go. When had it come to pass that he, the erstwhile Captain Hook, was referred to as ‘sir’ by sweet and blushing young women? Probably right about the time he’d stopped calling himself Captain Hook.

Still, the blush and her shy smile brightened his mood and he was just thinking that perhaps this day might not end as dreadfully as it had begun when he walked through the cafe’s outer door and straight into Emma.

Coffee sloshed from his cup and onto his hand and he barely managed not to drop it or his muffin as he caught her around the waist with his prosthetic before she could fall, hissing in a breath at the feel of her pressed against him for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. She gave a small cry and grabbed his shoulders for balance, her eyes wide and startled.

“Hook!” she gasped.

“Killian,” he snarled, using the arm around her waist to steer her out of the path of the other people trying to get into the cafe. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use that name anymore, particularly not in public,” he hissed, low for her ears only.

“What, you think someone’s going to recognise you?” She smirked. “You don’t have enough hair for that.”

“This isn’t a joke, Swan,” he said harshly. “I’ve left that man and his name behind me, and I don’t particularly care to be reminded of them.” Her fingers flexed on his shoulders and with a start he realised that they were still standing close together, his arm tight around her waist. He released her and stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, though he had a terrible suspicion he already knew the answer.

“Getting coffee,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This place was recommended in all the neighbourhood guides.”

Neighbourhood bloody guides. “So you live nearby, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yep. About three blocks that way.” She gestured vaguely behind her. “I’m working in Boston, though. Setting up a new office of my bail bonds firm. What about you?”

“You know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I mean are you headed to work already? Isn’t it a bit early?”

“The school day begins at 7.30, Swan, as I would expect you to know, being the parent of one of my students,” he said shortly. “And I am now officially running late. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

“Killian.” Emma caught his arm and he flinched, both from the feel of her hand on him and the way she said his name.

“What?” he snapped.

“Can we—look, can’t we just—”

“Spit it out, love.” He risked a glance at her, his fingers tightening on the muffin bag as their eyes met.

“Can’t we be friends?” she burst out. “Please?”

He stared at her for an incredulous moment and then the fury he’d been so carefully holding back exploded in his chest. He rounded on her, backing her up against the fence of the cafe’s outdoor seating area, keeping his voice low so as not to draw attention, spitting the words in her ear.

“No, Swan, we cannot be friends,” he hissed. “We have never been friends.”

It was far too tame a word, he thought, too tame a concept to ever encompass the complex tangle of emotions that Emma inspired in him. They had always been both more than friends and a good deal less, and as far as Killian was concerned she’d thrown away the more when she turned her back on him three years ago. The less was all that remained.

They were standing much too close again, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes and hear the rasp in her breath and he was so tempted, so bloody tempted to give in. To agree to be her friend and anything else she wanted, to accept whatever scraps of affection and attention she was willing to spare him and be grateful for them. But he’d accepted those terms before and they had all but broken him.

With a massive effort he reined in his anger and stepped back, drawing a deep breath to calm himself. “As it appears that we are neighbours of a sort, I don’t doubt we’ll see each other around,” he said. “When that happens I will nod politely to you and exchange pleasantries about the weather and Henry’s progress in school and perhaps the latest performances of Boston’s various sports teams. Beyond that I can’t imagine that we would have anything to discuss.”

He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving her leaning against the fence, trembling and once more on the verge of tears. She stared at the door of the cafe for a long moment before turning away, no longer hungry but with an aching emptiness inside her that she had no idea how to fill.

…

As he had predicted, Emma ran into Killian everywhere she went, or at least that’s how it felt. After their third encounter at the cafe—each at a different time—she’d started arriving early and lurking in her car until she saw him leave before venturing in herself. Even with that precaution she still spotted him at the grocery store and at the bank, and at the only pizza place in town Henry deemed acceptable as a temporary stand-in for Dino’s. He was everywhere she turned, nodding civilly at her each time they met and making a bland remark, his face and eyes so expressionless it made her want to claw at something. Preferably at him.

Finally after two awkward weeks Emma found a welcome distraction, a temporary one but at least it was something to take her mind off Killian for one night: a skip that was a perfect target for a honey trap of the kind she hadn’t pulled in far too long. Anticipation buzzed in her veins as she approached the restaurant where they were set to meet, a swankier one than she usually preferred for these sorts of things but the skip was a banker who was clearly out to impress.

Emma was out to impress too, in a dark red strapless dress that hugged every curve and heels that made her legs look endless. Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup on point, and she flashed a smile at the doorman as she strode in, feeling slightly reckless and more confident than she had in some time, and completely failing to notice the woman standing just inside the doors until she’d bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, catching the woman’s arm as she stumbled. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem,” replied the woman with an apologetic laugh. “I probably shouldn’t be standing in the doorway, but my boyfriend’s running late which is really not like him, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with myself while I wait.”

She was a very pretty woman in a wholesome sort of way, with golden brown hair and dark blue eyes, and a warm smile that Emma couldn’t help responding to.

“Well I hope he turns up soon,” she said, smiling back.

“I’m sure he will,” replied the woman. “Have a great night!”

“You too.”

The skip was waiting for her at the bar, with a martini for himself and a glass of white wine for her. Emma ground her teeth behind a brilliant smile. Men who ordered for women without consulting them were the worst kind of assholes. She was going to enjoy nailing this fucker’s balls to the wall.

“White wine!” she exclaimed, settling gracefully onto the barstool next to him and crossing her legs, making sure a generous portion of thigh was on display. “How’d you know?”

“I know what the ladies like,” he replied with a smirk he probably thought was charming.

“You sure do.” Emma picked up the wine glass and took a sip, not missing the way his eyes lingered on her mouth as she did. She set the glass down and ran her fingertip along its rim, looking up at the skip through lowered eyelashes. “So tell me about yourself,” she cooed.

“Well, I work for the biggest bank in the city…” he began, and Emma widened her eyes in feigned interest. From the corner of one of them she caught sight of the woman from earlier approaching a small table not far from the bar, accompanied by a dark-haired man who had his hand at the small of her back and was leaning down to whisper in her ear. Emma smiled to herself, glad that the woman’s boyfriend had finally showed, and then she got a good look at him.

Killian.

Emma’s heart stumbled and she froze, her eyes fixed on the couple as they arrived at their table. The woman was holding a pink rose, sniffing it with a soft smile as Killian pulled out her chair for her and kissed her cheek as she settled into it. He spoke a few words to the hovering waiter who nodded eagerly and scurried away, then sat down next to the woman and took her hand, lacing their fingers together and murmuring something that had her blushing and sniffing the rose again.

My boyfriend’s running late… my boyfriend… boyfriend… the woman’s words rang in Emma’s ears as she watched them. They looked comfortable together but still with an undercurrent of excitement, like the relationship was new but not too new. Killian must have been dating this woman for at least a few months. Long enough for her to know that it wasn’t like him to be late, and not to feel insecure when he was. Long enough for her to casually call him her boyfriend.

The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and a small vase for the rose. The woman laughed when he set it down in front of her and the look she gave Killian made Emma’s heart ache. The waiter poured their wine and they clinked their glasses together, then settled into what appeared to be easy and pleasant conversation.

Killian looked… not precisely happy, Emma thought. But he looked content. Relaxed and at ease in a way she’d never seen him be before. He smiled often as the woman spoke and there was no flirtation in it, no smirk or leer or defensiveness. Just simple smiles from a man enjoying the company of his date.

“Hey,” said the skip, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Sorry.” Emma dragged her eyes away from Killian and tried to focus on her mark. She needed to stay sharp to spot the moment when she could jump in and cuff him with the least amount of fuss. It would be better if she could get him outside first; he looked like a runner and although she’d taken the precaution of clamping his car she didn’t really want to cause a commotion in a restaurant this nice. He started in again boasting about his job and she did her best to appear attentive but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Killian. That woman had seemed so nice, sweet and friendly and she didn’t even know who he was, thought Emma with a burst of anger. She didn’t know anything about him, not about his past and the terrible things he’d done… or about the losses he’d suffered… the way he could read her like an open book… how he used to look at her… the way he kissed…

Oh she knows exactly how he kisses, whispered a nasty little voice in the back of her head. And a lot more.

Emma snarled at that thought, clenching her fist on her wine glass so hard that the stem snapped and its jagged point sank deep into her palm.

“Ow!” she cried, loudly enough that several people at the neighbouring tables turned to stare. She didn’t look at Killian—she couldn’t—but she could sense his eyes on her and for a crazy moment she wished she still had magic and could disappear in a puff of smoke.

“What the hell,” said the skip, glaring at her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I just—it just broke.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.” His lip curled in disgust but he made no move to help her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck this,” said the skip, tossing back the rest of his drink and standing up. “You’re really hot but no lay is worth this much effort.” He tossed some money on the bar and walked away.

“No—wait!” Emma tried to follow but as soon as she stood up a jolt of pain shot through her hand and made her woozy. Her wound was bleeding profusely now, dripping into the spill of white wine on the bar and turning it pink. The bartender was frantically trying to mop up the mess with one hand and waving a handful of cocktail napkins at Emma with the other.

“Ma’am…” he said faintly, “please don’t bleed on the upholstery…” Emma took the napkins and tried again to pursue the skip. She squeezed the paper against her palm in an attempt to stop the bleeding but her wound twinged agonisingly under the pressure and she stumbled, crying out again, and then a warm hand gripped her elbow.

“Swan,” said Killian’s voice in her ear. “Let him go.”

“No—he’s a skip—he’ll get away—”

“You can’t chase him down with a bleeding puncture wound on your hand,” said Killian impatiently. “Let him go. You’ll get him another day.”

Emma looked up at him, her head spinning from the combined effects of pain and blood loss, and his touch on her skin. He eased her back onto the barstool and she didn’t protest, sitting quietly as he took the napkins and dipped them into a glass of water he must have brought from his own table. Cradling her hand in his prosthetic one he gently dabbed the blood from her wound, easing out a tiny shard of glass that had been lodged within it.

“You should get this seen to properly,” he said, his voice deep and gruff. “But I suppose you won’t.”

“I hate doctors.”

“Very understandable, but it might get infected. At least wash it well when you get home.”

“In rum?” she challenged, hoping to rile him. He didn’t look up.

“No need,” he said. “A good antibacterial soap should do the trick.”

He finished rinsing the wound and set the used cocktail napkins aside, pulling a large cloth one from his pocket. She caught her breath as he wrapped it several times around her hand and secured the ends in a tight knot. His new prosthetic moved, she noted vaguely. Much more useful than a hook. No need to use his teeth.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “That should do it.”

Emma’s chest was aching, her mind whirling with how familiar and yet how strange this felt. Never, in all the times she’d thought of him over the past three years, not once had she imagined a situation in which Killian Jones didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t challenge her. Didn’t even fucking look at her. Flirty Hook she could handle, and cocky Hook. Even hot as fuck Hook breathless and wrecked after their kiss in Neverland she could handle. But this calm and controlled man who bandaged her hand without once looking at her face, this man she absolutely could not. She had no idea even what to say to him.

“I guess you think I should thank you,” she snapped. Her pain and confusion were too raw, too much for her to process right now. Anger was easier. It was hot and clean and she had more than enough to spare.

Anger flashed across Killian’s face as well and she felt a perverse thrill at the sight of it. Good, she thought, he should be angry. She wanted to make him furious.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he snarled. “I have no need of any gratitude from you.”

She hissed in a breath sharp with hurt and they glared at each other, the air thickening with the tension between them, brittle and volatile and unbearable.

“Killian,” said a small, quiet voice, and they both turned to see the woman standing awkwardly a few feet away, twisting her hands together. “I’ve paid the bill,” she said. “I—I’m going to go.”

The anger drained from Killian’s face, replaced by regret and guilt and a deep sorrow that made Emma feel ashamed. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll accompany you.”

For a moment Emma thought the woman would refuse, but then she gave a small nod. Killian offered her his arm and she slid hers through it, and they left the restaurant together, not looking back.

Emma shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if a million eyes were watching her. She swept the room with a defiant glare and as soon as Killian and the woman disappeared through the doors she headed towards them herself. With any luck she’d still be able to catch the skip before he could get the clamp off his car. She hoped so. She hoped he ran when she confronted him. She hoped he fought back and gave her an excuse to punch him in his stupid smug fucking face.

…

Killian dropped Anabel at her door with a kiss on the cheek and an apologetic smile, hating himself for the hurt confusion in her eyes.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, squeezing her hand. She gripped his fingers hard.

“Who is she?” she whispered.

Guilt stabbed at him, followed by suffocating regret. He genuinely and deeply cared for Anabel, and he’d tried so bloody hard to be happy with her. He was almost happy, as close as he could remember being for the best part of three centuries, and so naturally he’d gone and buggered it the first chance he got. One glimpse of Emma pale and bleeding had wiped Anabel and his hard-won contentment and every other bloody thing clean out of his mind, and he had acted without a thought for anyone but her.

“Someone from my past,” he replied. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought I’d put her behind me but—”

“You still love her,” said Anabel flatly. It wasn’t a question.

Killian sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this here, or now, or ever, but he owed Anabel the truth.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She nodded, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder, soothing her as they fell. “I’m so sorry, Bela,” he said softly. “I care so much for you and I truly thought that we could—”

She pulled out of his embrace and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t make any decisions now. Sleep on it. Talk to her, figure out whatever needs figuring. I’ll wait.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’ll wait, Killian.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips. “You’re worth it.”

…

You’re worth it. Those words followed Killian home, chased him through his door and straight to his stash of rum. He’d mostly given up drinking it, needing to be sharp for his classes and limiting himself to a beer or two when he wanted to relax, but there were times that simply called for the hard stuff.

He poured himself a generous glassful and tried not to let the words ring in his ears. You’re worth it. It was worrying, how hard such things still were for him to hear. No one had thought him worth much of anything for so long that he’d come to believe it himself. To internalise it, in the terminology of this realm.

He knew of course that he had some good qualities. He was intelligent and quick to learn, resourceful and decisive and courageous. A man couldn’t survive centuries in command of a pirate crew without at least a few of those attributes. But they counted for little when his shortcomings were constantly cast up at him by the one person he most wished to impress. Well you are a pirate… I’ve got magic, he’s got one hand… let me guess, with you?

Emma had certainly never thought he was worth much. Not worth staying in Storybrooke for. Not worth taking a chance on. Not worth loving.

While he, fool that he was, could never stop loving her.

He was deep into his fourth glass when his doorbell rang, and he knew without even looking who it was. Ignore it, whispered his sensible voice in his ear, but Killian was too drunk and too angry for the sensible option.

The moment the door swung open Emma charged in, shoving him back and slamming it behind her. She rounded on him, fisting her uninjured hand in his shirt collar and pulling him against her.

“I lost my skip because of you,” she hissed.

In her heels and his stocking feet they stood eye-to-eye, pressed together from chest to knee, and every nerve in Killian’s body screamed in pleasure at the contact. He grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, pushing her away so forcefully she nearly fell. “You lost your skip because you broke your glass,” he snapped. “It was nothing to do with me.”

“You distracted me. While I was working.”

He glared at her. “What are you on about? I was having dinner, or about to—”

“You were flaunting that woman—”

“Flaunting?”

“With the rose and the pulling out her chair and—”

“That is simply how I treat the women I date, Swan,” he said, stepping closer to her again, backing her against the wall.

Emma’s cheeks flared bright pink but she didn’t back down. “What, even when I’m not watching?” she sneered.

“I wasn’t aware you were watching tonight!”

“Oh, like you didn’t notice me as soon as you walked in.”

Her breath was coming in short pants, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest with each inhale, and his lust clawed inside him like a living thing desperate to get out. Killian leaned in until their lips were almost touching, torturing himself with her little gasp and the way her eyes darkened. “No, actually,” he growled. “I didn’t.”

He pushed away from the wall and smirked at her. “I know this is difficult for you to grasp, love, but not everything in my life revolves around you,” he said harshly. “Until two weeks ago I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Oh, so you just happened to be out on a date at the same place I was?”

“That place being my girlfriend’s favourite restaurant, where we’ve dined many times before, you mean?”

Emma’s lip curled. “Your girlfriend—”

“Aye. Of nearly a year.”

“—you expect me to believe that Captain Hook has a girlfriend?”

“No, Killian Jones has a girlfriend,” he hissed, stepping closer again. “What, Swan, did you imagine I would pine away in celibacy forever because you wouldn’t have me?”

“Of course not! That was never—we were never—”

Abruptly all his anger, his frustration, his lust, the electric thrill of sparring with her again drained away, leaving him numb but for the gnawing ache in his heart. “Indeed,” he said, and turned away. “We were never.”

“That’s not what I meant, Killian.”

“Isn’t it?”

He stalked into the kitchen and retrieved his glass of rum, tossing it back and refilling it with a hand that was not quite steady. Before he could pick it up again Emma appeared at his elbow, whisking the glass away and taking a long drink.

“Help yourself, love,” he snarked. She handed the glass back to him and he drained it, setting it down on the table. She refilled it without a word and took another drink. He sighed.

“Why are you here, Swan?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury licked at him again. “You don’t know,” he hissed. “Is that so? Well perhaps I can enlighten you.” He took the glass from her and emptied it, then slammed it down. “You wanted to make sure that I was still your faithful pet,” he spat. “That I would still come running the moment you crooked a finger, desperate for any scrap of your attention—”

“That’s not true—”

“—despite your utter rejection back in Storybrooke and your complete lack of interest in me or my life in all the time we’ve been apart.”

“I asked about you, or I tried—”

“You tried.”

“Yes! Every time I talk to my parents I ask—well, not ask but I try to—I thought you were still in Storybrooke!”

“And so you thought you’d just use your parents to check up on me? And it never struck you as odd that they didn’t know anything?”

“I just—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t ask them directly because then they would know you were curious,” he concluded. “And we couldn’t have that, could we darling?”

She grabbed the rum glass and refilled it. He watched as she tossed it back, wishing he could ignore his body’s reaction to her—that constant itch to touch, to trace the curves outlined by her clinging dress and sink into the softness of her hair. He still remembered how it felt beneath his fingers in Neverland, the taste of his rum on her tongue… he wanted to taste it on her again, to lick the traces of it from her lips and then deep into her mouth, wanted to rip that dress from her body and plunder her. The dark heat that flared in her eyes as she caught him staring, as she let the rim of the glass trail across her lower lip, said she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wouldn’t stop him. That she wanted everything he did.

Slowly she set the glass down and stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her breath against his cheek. His cock was rock hard and he cursed it, cursed his helplessness to resist the pull she exerted on him. His hand curled around her waist without his permission, and when a small, satisfied smile curved her lips it slid down to grip her arse and pull her tight against him.

She stiffened and for the briefest moment he thought she might pull away, and then she moaned and rolled her hips and he was lost. His arm wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck, he plunged his hand into her hair and she tugged at his, bringing their lips together in a clash of heat and lust and fury. She tasted just as he remembered and this time he chased it, battling her for control of the kiss. If they were going to fuck like this, he thought, in anger and animosity and not lovingly, reverently as he had so often dreamed… if they were going to fuck, they were going to do it his way.

He slid his hands beneath her dress and hooked the index finger of his prosthetic beneath the thin strap of her thong, snapping it easily. She gasped against his mouth and he chuckled darkly, trailing into a groan as his fingers found the slick heat between her legs. She was so soft and so bloody wet—wet for him—that his head spun and his knees went weak, and he forgot his anger and their fight and sought only to pleasure her, pushing two fingers inside her and stroking her clit with his thumb, thrilling to the sound of her low moan and the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into his arms.

He tugged her head back and trailed his mouth down her neck as his fingers worked inside her, dragging the neckline of her dress down with his teeth until her breast was freed then swirling his tongue around her nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped. “Hook.”

He jerked away like she’d doused him in ice water, his anger flooding back.

“No,” he hissed. “Killian.”

Emma’s eyes flashed defiance, “Hook,” she insisted, scraping her fingernails down his chest, popping buttons as she went. He knocked her hands away with his prosthetic and backed her up against the kitchen counter, his fingers still inside her, squeezing his hand to grind the heel of it hard against her clit, wrenching a helpless moan from her.

“You want Hook?” he snarled. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you can’t have him. It’s me or nobody and I swear by all the gods in the heavens, Swan, if you call me by that name again I will kick you out of my house as you bloody are.”

She glared at him, chest heaving, and he could see how badly she wanted to defy him. He prayed he’d have the strength to carry out his threat if she did. Their harsh breaths sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the kitchen until Emma bucked her hips against his hand and conceded.

“Killian, then,” she said, grudging but breathless, like the name was an intimacy that she resented but also craved. He pressed her clit harder and she moaned again. “Killian,” she breathed, and it sent a spear of pure lust through him.

He pulled his hand from between her legs and stepped back, holding her gaze as he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. “My bedroom is upstairs,” he said. “First door on the left.”

Her eyes flashed again and then she straightened up, reached behind her back and in one quick movement unzipped her dress and shimmied free of it, smirking when he hissed in a breath at the sight of her naked body. She stepped out of the pile of fabric, still in her heels, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and sauntered from the room.

Killian ground his fist into the countertop and forced himself to count to sixty before following her.

When he arrived she was sitting on his bed, leaning back on both hands with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling from the tip of her toe. He stopped in the doorway and feasted his eyes on the sight of her toned limbs and smooth skin as he slowly undressed, not missing the catch in her breath when he undid his trousers.

“Curious, love?” he taunted.

“Very.”

He pushed the garments down, trousers and underpants together, smirking as her eyes widened and she drew a deep breath.

“Well,” she purred, “you did promise I’d feel it.”

He ignored the stab of anger, bit back the retort that it was Hook who’d told her that, and put a swagger in his hips as he closed the short distance between them. She sat up eagerly and reached for him but he caught her hand and held it back.

“I want your mouth,” he said. “No hands.”

She shot him a venomous glare but complied, laying her hands flat on the bed as she took his cock in her mouth, swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked hard. He clenched his teeth against an aching moan, wove his fingers through her hair and tried not to perish from the sheer pleasure of living out one of his favourite fantasies.

She took him deep in her mouth, alternating hard suction with lazy strokes of her tongue and quick scrapes of her teeth until he couldn’t take any more and pushed her away, shoving her back onto the bed where she lay panting and looking very pleased with herself.

“Too much?” she taunted.

“For now.” He leaned over her, running his hands up the insides of her thighs and spreading them wide, then slipped his arms beneath them and buried his face in her cunt. She gave a strangled cry as he licked through her folds then sucked on her clit, pressing the tip of his tongue hard against it. Her hips bucked as she tried to push them up against his face but he held her down, licking her far more gently than he knew she wanted and forcing her to accept it.

“Damn you, Killian,” she snarled, clutching at his head. He laughed and she gasped at the feel of the vibrations on her swollen flesh, then moaned when he resumed his onslaught, as hard as she liked this time, licking and sucking her roughly until she lay teetering just on the edge.

“No…” she whimpered when he pulled away, blindly reaching for him as he leaned across her to yank open a drawer on his bedside table and withdraw a condom. He handled it with practiced ease, holding it securely in his prosthetic and tearing the packet open with his hand.

Emotions flitted across her face as she watched him, anger laced this time with a touch of hurt. The hurt cut deep into his heart and made him furious. She really did think she’d had him on such a leash that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone else after she rejected him, he thought, giving her a nasty leer as he rolled the condom down his length. Her nostrils flared but she didn’t look away, and when he finished she grabbed his shoulders and shoved him onto his back, straddling him, kissing him roughly and digging her fingernails into his skin as she positioned his cock at her entrance and took him inside her.

They groaned together at the sensation, the tight, slick squeeze of it. He thrust up as she ground down, groaning as she tilted her hips and arched her back to take him deeper, dragging her sharp nails down his chest.

“Ugh that’s so good,” she moaned, and as they found their rhythm and began to move in perfect tandem Killian could only agree. Emma's head was thrown back, her hair curling wildly over her breasts and down her back, her muscles squeezing him as they rocked together in the most glorious dance of his life, and had he not already been as deeply in love as a man could be Killian knew that he would have fallen then. His hurt and anger ebbed away and he lost himself in sensation, in the indescribable bliss of sinking into the woman he loved and feeling her clenched tight around him, the sound of her sighs and moans in his ear. It was a feeling he never thought he’d know again after Milah, and certainly never dreamed he might know it with Emma.

You don’t, he tried to remind himself. This is only sex. She doesn’t love you. She never will.

He didn’t care about that though; in this moment with this woman he couldn’t care. He could only feel, and make the most of this one chance to feel these things with her.

Emma’s breaths grew faster, harsh and short and catching in her throat, and as her rhythm began to falter he could tell that she was close. Gripping her arse tightly he flipped them over until she was spread out beneath him. She hummed in approval and hiked her leg up over his hip as he thrust in deep, driving her hard into the mattress over and again until she gasped and cried out, her eyes squeezed shut and back arching as a pink flush spread across her skin. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and it sent him flying over the edge, choking out his own cry as ecstasy gripped him harder than ever before. He collapsed onto his side and pressed his face into the crook of her neck, conscious of little more than the smell of her skin and the gentle caress of her fingers through his hair.

They lay like that until their breathing calmed and their skin cooled, and gradually reality began to encroach. Killian forced himself against every will he had to move, untangling himself from her and rolling over to remove the condom and dispose of it in the bin next to his bed then grabbing a handful of tissues to clean them both up.

He dreaded what he would see when he turned back again but Emma still lay where he’d left her, her face calm and showing no signs of panic or regret. She took the tissues he offered without comment and cleaned herself, grimacing a little when she handed them back. He dropped them in the bin along with his own and took a deep breath, waiting for the excuses he knew had to be coming, for the sound of her getting up and running away, leaving him yet again. When the bed shifted but none of those things came he risked another look at her.

She was snuggling back against the pillows, and as he watched she pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them. He held his breath and did the same, swallowing hard when she slid over to him and curled herself against his chest.

“Emma—” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

She cuddled closer, slipping a leg between his and an arm around his waist. He tangled his fingers in her hair, stroking a silky strand between his thumb and forefinger as she hummed in contentment and closed her eyes. A moment later so did he.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, his eyes half-closed and his nose in her hair. He was adrift in the moment, this extraordinary, unbelievable moment of softness between them when Emma not only allowed him to hold her but actually snuggled into him, fitting her body to his like it belonged there, like there was nowhere else she wished to be. Killian suspected she would regret it in the morning and when she woke she would push him farther away than ever. But now, here, in this moment, she was his.

Her skin was so soft, he marvelled, so silky beneath his fingertips that he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, gently stroking down her body, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip, down her thigh and up again, over her arse and along the ridge of her spine to sink once more into her hair.

Slowly he became aware that she was touching him as well, her hand trailing over his thigh and hip, up his back and down his shoulder, pausing briefly to explore the tattoo there then slipping further on to sift her fingers through the hair on his chest. He caught his breath as she discovered the scatter of tiny stars tattooed across his heart, almost lost among the dark strands, and traced the pattern they described with unnerving accuracy.

She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, blinking slowly as he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the dimple in her chin. He kissed the dimple, thrilling to the little hum of enjoyment she gave. He kissed her nose and her forehead and both her cheeks, and then, finally, her lips.

The kiss was slow and soft and and achingly tender. Killian poured his whole self into it and everything he felt for her, fully aware of what he was confessing but unable to care. Emma knew his feelings whether she wished to accept them or not, and he had nothing to lose.

She opened her mouth with a soft moan and took the kiss deeper, pulled him closer, her tongue on his sending heat licking up his spine, her hands stroking it across his skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, worship her as he had in his dreams, distil a lifetime of devotion through the prism of this one act. But there wasn’t time for all he wished to do and so he made do with what he craved the most. The soft weight of her breast in his palm and the hard peak of its nipple, how she moaned into his mouth as he stroked it with his thumb. His fingers caressing her, slowly down her belly then between her legs, sinking deep into her velvety heat. Her tongue soft and wet as she licked down his neck, nipping at him, leaving marks that would linger on his skin for days and break his heart anew each time he saw them.

Emma shifted beneath him, aligning their bodies and lifting her knees to cradle him, holding him close and kissing him hard as he slid inside her. The wet warmth of her mouth and her cunt made him dizzy; the squeeze of her legs around his waist and the clutch of her hands on his shoulders and back urged him on. He tried to go slowly, to make this last as long as possible, but the sounds of her pleasure, the way she clung to him, the sheer elation of sharing this with her—however illusory it may be—was too great to withstand, and far too soon they fell.

She gasped and he groaned as ecstasy gripped them both, her fingers curling through his hair and pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes locked as she fluttered around him and that gorgeous flush suffused her skin once again. Caught in the delicate tenderness of the moment, wrapped in intimacy and awash in sensation, Killian struggled to contain the words he longed to say to her. He tried his best to hold on to what he knew was true—that this was just an interlude, a moment soon to end—but against all good sense, his better judgement, and even his will, he felt that tiny, stubborn bud of hope bloom yet again in his heart. Perhaps, it whispered to him as he rolled onto his side and Emma followed, curling herself tightly around him and sighing contentedly against his chest as they drifted off to sleep. Perhaps.

…

A prickly sensation in her arm woke Emma. She resisted it, groaning internally and trying to will herself back to sleep. It was far too early to be awake, she could tell that much even through her drowsy haze. It was early and she was so comfortable but for the prickly arm, warm and contented and relaxed, with Killian’s chest beneath her cheek and his arms tight around her.

Killian— With a jolt Emma came fully awake, staring up at his sleeping face with eyes gone wide in dismay. What the hell had she done?

Slept with Killian Jones was what she’d done—God, she couldn’t even call him Hook in her head anymore. She’d charged into his house and drunk his rum and had sex with him—twice!—and it had been just everything she had ever fantasised about and more. So much more. Far, far too much more.

She forced herself to pull away, away from the warmth of his arms and of him. The fact that she had to force herself had panic gripping her chest. She wanted to stay, she realised with a flash of the same terror that had sent her running from him in Storybrooke and the same regret she’d felt on realising, not even a week after her return to New York, that leaving him had been a terrible mistake. For three years she’d tried to bury her regret over that one rash decision, buried it and ignored it and denied it, without success, and now here, finally, she had the chance to make things right. All she had to do was slip back into his arms, curl up where she wanted so badly to be and go back to sleep.

But she couldn’t—it was too much, too fast, and she wasn’t ready. His feelings were too big for her to deal with and hers… hers she couldn’t even bear to think about. She scrambled away, trying not to jostle him, but his eyes blinked open anyway and she froze just on the edge of the bed, caught by the look in them. He had such expressive eyes, true windows to his soul as the saying went, laying bare his every thought and feeling, and it had always amazed Emma that he never seemed to mind how vulnerable they made him. He’d hidden nothing from her, not since Neverland and not until these past few weeks when the cold, shuttered blankness in those beautiful eyes had cut her more deeply than she’d realised. They weren’t blank now, though, but brimming with emotion—with hurt and anger and a weary, hopeless resignation that clawed at her heart.

“I...” she began, trailing off when she realised she had no idea what to say, how to explain. How to make him understand.

Killian sighed and leaned over the edge of the bed. She heard a drawer opening and then a soft t-shirt landed in her lap. “You can wear that downstairs,” he said. “Your dress is on the kitchen floor.”

“Killian—”

Emma groped for the words to tell him that she didn’t want this to be the end, that she wasn’t trying to run from him again. She just needed some time and a bit of space to process all the things that had happened and how she felt about them. But his face was blank again and his eyes so terrifyingly hard that the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking bother. Just go.”

She swallowed over the aching lump in her chest. “I never meant for this to happen,” she whispered.

He snorted. “Let’s not kid ourselves, love,” he said, and she flinched at the bitter edge in his voice. “You’ve wanted to know how I fuck since the beanstalk. Now that you’ve finally got it out of your system perhaps we can both move on.”

“Move on,” she choked. “You’ve done that already.”

“I’ve certainly tried,” he said. “Anabel makes me happy. She actually likes me for myself and while you may not think I deserve that I choose to believe I do. I’ve worked bloody hard to put my past behind me and build a respectable life in this realm.”

A life that doesn’t include you, his words implied, and she nodded, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. She slipped the t-shirt over her head and scrambled from the bed, grabbing her shoes as she fled, desperate to get away from him before he could see her cry.

…

Killian managed to hold off his own tears until he heard his front door close behind her and then they came in a torrent. All the anguish he’d kept so tightly locked away these last three years—the heartbreak and the guilt, the regret over the life he’d led and the choices that had shaped him into someone a woman like Emma could never love—came rushing forth like the sea through the hull of a sinking ship. He turned his face into the pillow that still carried her scent and wept for all he had lost in the course of his long life, for every terrible deed he’d done and every beautiful thing his touch had destroyed. He wept until he had nothing left inside him, until he sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring in through his windows with offensive brightness and he groaned, rubbing his eyes and wishing that just once the habits born of centuries on the sea would leave him alone to wallow in his bed. Instead he dragged himself up and stumbled into the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ignored his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, then went downstairs.

In the kitchen he found his t-shirt, folded almost neatly and draped across the back of a chair. With shaking hands he picked it up and pressed it against his cheek—just for a moment—then with a guttural cry flung it away against the wall.

…

Emma spent the next week driving herself as hard as she could, working the toughest cases, the longest hours, hounding the staff at the new office with her demands. Anything, anything, to avoid having to think. If she stopped moving even for a second she saw Killian’s face in her mind’s eye and heard his voice telling her to go, and the ache of loss would hit her again, as fresh and raw as the moment it happened.

Losing something she’d never really had shouldn’t hurt so much, she thought, and frankly she resented it. She felt swamped by a strange sort of untethered frustration, an uncomfortable feeling and uncomfortably familiar. She’d last felt it back in Storybrooke, that antsy itch under her skin whenever Killian was near, in the few quiet moments they’d shared in between battling flying monkeys and breaking curses. She’d managed to ignore it then, seizing on the witch and the curses and Neal as convenient distractions, excuses not to think about Killian or her feelings or what he wanted from her. What she wanted from him, what they could have. And as soon as those distractions were gone she had run. Just as she always did. As she would continue to do, damn it, until she found something that made her want to stay.

She refused to think about how badly she’d wanted to stay in Killian’s bed.

...

“Mom,” said Henry the following Saturday, coming into the living room to find her dusting the corners of the bookshelves, “can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” Emma dragged her attention away from her determined assault on the cracks in the wood. “Sure. What’s up?”

Henry shifted uncomfortably. “Um, have you—have you seen Hook at all since we moved here?”

“Killian,” said Emma automatically.

“What?”

She felt her face grow hot. “He prefers to be called Killian now.”

“So you did see him!” cried Henry.

Emma set her dusting rag down with a sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Kind of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.” She cast a sideways glance at her son. “Grown-up stuff.”

“Mom,” sighed Henry, with his special ‘I’m a teenager now’ eyeroll. “I’m not a kid anymore and I’m not stupid. I know that you and Killian—that there was something going on with you guys in Storybrooke and I know that’s part of the reason you left.”

“Henry—”

“And I saw how you reacted when I told you he was here. It’s okay to talk to me about it.”

Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I mean, no details,” he said with a grimace. “But like, in general.”

“Henry.” Emma rubbed her temples. “I appreciate it, really. But I can’t. I can’t even think about it.”

“You really should. It’s not a good idea to hold stuff like that inside.”

“Stuff like what?”

“You know. Feelings. You hold yours in too much.”

“I know. I know I do.” She frowned at him. “How did you know there was… something with us in Storybrooke?”

“It was pretty obvious, Mom. He came all the way from the Enchanted Forest to New York to get you, and then when we got back to Storybrooke you two were always talking together or at Granny’s, and when you weren’t with him you asked him to babysit me. Which you wouldn’t do unless you trusted him.”

“That’s true,” Emma whispered. She had trusted Killian. She did.

“And then after we moved back to New York you never asked about him,” Henry continued. “When you talked to Grandma and Grandpa you asked them about everybody in Storybrooke, even my mom. Even Leroy. But you never asked about him. If he’d only been a friend you would have.”

Emma shook her head. “Kid, when did you get so smart?”

“Duh, I always have been. Thanks for noticing.” They were silent for several minutes before Henry spoke again. “And you know,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to, you know. Date him.”

“Really? Would you really want me to be with a pirate?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to think of him that way anymore. But I always liked him, mostly. He took me sailing and told me about my dad. And he’s probably the best teacher I’ve ever had. And he’s been looking really sad all week.”

“He has?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s noticed. He’s all quiet in class, not like he usually is. And he hasn’t been having lunch with Miss Hartfield.”

Emma’s heart gave a painful thump. “Miss Hartfield?”

“The physics teacher,” Henry clarified. “They always used to have lunch together. All the girls in my class thought they were dating and now they’re all crying cuz they think they’ve broken up.”

“Is Miss Hartfield a very pretty brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“Yeah.” Henry looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I—met her. Last weekend. She was having dinner with—with Killian. I guess they really are dating. The girls in your class should be happy.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Mom—”

“It’s okay.” Emma swallowed hard and forced a smile when he gave her a skeptical look. “Really! I’m okay.”

“You’re not—”

“I am.” Emma wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Or I will be. I just—need a little time. Is your homework done, by the way? Speaking of your teachers.”

“Oh, yeah, nice segue.” Henry rolled his eyes, playing along, though it was clear from his face that he didn’t believe her. “It’s nearly done.”

“Well, get it all done and then what do you say we order pizza and watch some bad movies. Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

…

By the next Thursday, Emma had almost convinced herself that she was fine. Killian still crept into her thoughts far more than she’d like but the ache he brought she convinced herself was less severe. She didn’t have to fight so hard to stop the tears from welling up or keep herself constantly distracted.

It’s like he said, she told herself fiercely. It was just an itch that needed scratching, and now it’s scratched that’s it. No hard feelings. No feelings at all.

Thursday afternoon as Emma was leaving work, Henry texted her that his friend Becca was having some problems and wanted to talk and he was going to her house for a little bit. His homework was nearly done, he said, and he promised to finish it when he got home.

Said homework was spread out over the dining table when Emma returned and she went to gather it up and put it to one side so she could sit there herself and have some dinner. Her heart skipped when she saw it was astronomy he’d been working on, the book still open to a page illustrated with several constellations. One of them caught her eye. It looked like a slightly tilted cross with bent arms, and it tickled something in her memory.

She frowned and bent down to get a closer look. That pattern of stars looked so familiar. Emma racked her brains trying to remember where she could have seen it before. It couldn’t have been that long ago, she thought, and—oh. Oh. She flushed as the memory resolved with uncomfortable clarity, and her heart began to pound.

She recognised that pattern because she had traced it herself through the hair on Killian’s chest, connecting the sprinkle of stars tattooed over his heart. She remembered thinking how odd it was, him having a tattoo there where it was practically invisible. His other tattoos were elaborate and brightly coloured and on places where he had less hair, but those tiny stars she would never have noticed if she hadn’t had her face pressed right up against them.

It did make sense, she reasoned, for an astronomy teacher to have a constellation tattoo, though all his others featured names and clear associations with people from his past. But this one—Emma peered more closely at Henry’s book looking for the constellation’s name, and when she found it sank slowly into the chair, her knees gone too weak to support her.

It was the constellation Cygnus. The swan. Killian had a swan tattoo. Right above his heart.

He was in love with her.

Emma let her head fall into her hands as the full force of that realisation hit her, with the strength and fury of a hurricane. She was aware he had feelings, strong ones, and though she’d never let herself think too much about them she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t known. But this… this was serious. He wouldn’t put her permanently on his body with Milah and with Liam unless it was big-L love. Killian loved her, or at least he had. Did he still? Could he still, after what had happened between them?

She closed her eyes and thought about the last words he’d spoken to her, about his girlfriend—Anabel—and how happy he was. Her breathing sped up an her hands trembled as she recalled it, the memory she’d tried hardest to escape and with the least success. The closed expression on Killian’s face and the flat tone of his voice were etched into her mind as clearly as if she were back there in his bedroom living that terrible moment all over again, and she realised with a flash of shock that he’d been lying. She’d been too upset to see it at the time but now her superpower was screaming at her. He’d lied to her, and not even well.

A bubble of hope rose up in her heart. If Killian was lying about being happy, about having moved on, then maybe… maybe there was a chance that he still loved her. Maybe if she told him how much she missed him… if she reached out, if she tried… maybe they could actually talk. The way he’d acted the other times they’d met… his coolness, his distance, his anger… of course he was just trying to protect his heart from further hurt. She could certainly understand that. But if she told him, if they talked, then she could fix this. She could get the old Killian back again—the one who looked at her with warmth in his eyes and always believed in her. The one she could now admit to herself that she deeply and desperately missed, not the way you miss a friend you haven’t seen in a while but like a part of herself was gone.

She sent Henry a quick text telling him where she was going and raced out the door. Ten minutes later she was standing in front of Killian’s, practically leaning on the bell.

Killian opened his door and for the first time looked surprised to see her standing there on his small porch.

“Swan!” he exclaimed. “Is Henry okay?”

“Um.” Emma frowned. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“I wanted—” She took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“Talk,” he repeated in an incredulous tone, then eyes moved from her face to something behind her and he smiled a huge, fake smile and waved his hand. Emma turned around to see a middle aged woman waving back as she walked down the sidewalk, a similar smile on her face and a very sharp look in her eye. The moment she looked away Killian grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her through the door.

“Come inside, Swan, before the whole neighbourhood sees you,” he hissed.

“Since when do you care about the neighbourhood?”

“Since I have to live in it.” He glanced around then shut the door tightly. Emma went into to the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa, trying not to fidget. Killian followed but remained standing in the doorway, watching her with a dark scowl.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I told you—to talk.”

“I don’t believe we have anything left to say to each other.” When she didn’t reply he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Your tattoo.”

Emotion flashed in his eyes, apprehension and a hint of alarm. It flared just for an instant and then was gone, as thoroughly as if it had never been. Had she not been looking for it, Emma thought, had she not known how to read him as easily as he did her, she’d have missed it completely. “I have many tattoos,” he replied.

“I’m talking about one in particular. The stars over your heart. It’s a constellation, isn’t it?”

Killian’s face was like stone. “Aye.”

“Which one?”

“Swan—”

“Exactly.” Emma pounced. “It’s Cygnus. The swan. You have a swan over your heart, Killian.”

He shrugged. “What of it?”

“What of it is I don’t think you get tattoos that have no meaning. You’ve got Milah on your arm, Liam on your shoulder, someone called Alice on your hip who I’m willing to bet is your mother, and over your heart is—is—”

“Is you,” said Killian flatly. “Is that what you want to hear, Emma? The swan is obviously for you. Because I love you, and because I can’t resist torturing myself with permanent reminders of everyone I loved who is lost to me, etched into my bloody skin. Is that what you came here to get me to confess? It’s a poor confession when you already knew.”

Guilt swamped her, heavy and suffocating. “I didn’t know,” she attempted to protest, her voice quiet but falling like lead in the face of his stark confession.

Anger snapped in Killian’s eyes, fuelled by a pain she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t allowed herself to see. “Don’t lie to me, love, and don’t lie to yourself,” he snarled. “Of course you knew. You knew when I all but begged you not to go back to New York, and you still left. You knew when you slept with me and you still tried to sneak away before I awoke. You’ve always known exactly how I felt and it has never once stopped you from breaking my heart.”

“Killian—”

“No. I can’t hear this.” He ran a hand over his face. “Go now, Swan, and don’t come back.”

“Don’t come back?” she choked.

“What would be the point? We both know where we stand and I—” his voice broke “—I can’t live with a gaping wound in my chest.” He turned to look at her, his face for once not blank but open and raw and with a plea in his eyes that tore at her heart. “Please, Emma. If you care anything at all for me, leave me alone now. Let me have the chance to heal.”

Emma’s brain was screaming at her to say something, stop him, don’t let this happen, don’t let him go. FIX THIS. But everything he said was true, every angry, hurtful word of it. She had known his feelings and had she had taken them for granted, even used them against him, never thinking of how that might hurt him. She’d caused him so much pain already that she couldn’t now refuse this one small, heartbreaking thing he asked of her.

It’s too late. You pushed him away one time too many and now he’s gone.

“I talked to your girlfriend, you know,” she said, forcing the words past the clawing ache in her chest. “At the restaurant, before you got there. She seems really nice.” She risked a look at his face and almost cringed at the wariness in his expression. “I’m glad you’ve found someone like her, Killian. I really am. You do deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” She stood and moved towards the door, refusing to be hurt by the way he visibly tensed as she drew near. “I—I hope you’ll be happy.” With one last look to fix his face forever in her memory she turned and ran from his house.

…

When she got home Henry was back, sitting at the table with his homework. He looked up to greet her, the cheerful words dying on his lips when he saw her face. He jumped to his feet and hurried over to wrap her in a huge hug. Emma gripped him tightly and let the tears she felt like she’d been holding in forever finally, finally fall. She cried as she could never remember crying before, great heaving sobs that left her empty and drained and clinging limply to Henry’s shoulders.

“What can I do?” he begged. “Mom, tell me what I can do.”

Emma sobbed again, wondering what she’d ever done to deserve him. “Do you think it’d be okay if I came back to Storybrooke with you this weekend?” she asked. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you kidding?” Henry smiled, a bright smile that did nothing to disguise his worry. “Grandma and Grandpa would love that!”

“They would. What about Regina?”

“Honestly, I think she’d be glad to see you too. Everyone would. People have missed you.”

“And you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Henry hugged her again. “I’d love it.”

…

They drove up to Storybrooke as soon as Henry finished school the next day, arriving at her parents’ loft just in time for dinner. Snow and David were as thrilled as Henry had predicted, hugging her between them, smiling widely with damp eyes. Emma found her own eyes growing damp as she leaned into the comfort of their embrace, her heart tripping when David gently cupped the back of her head.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” said Snow when they finally pulled apart, cradling Emma’s face between her hands. “Why don’t you and Henry go sit at the table?”

“Is there anything I can—”

“Nope,” said Snow firmly. “It’s all under control.”

Emma seated herself at the table between David and Henry and looked around at the loft. “Wow, have you guys changed anything in this place since I was here last?” she asked.

“Um, I think those curtains are new,” said David absently as he attempted to wrestle a protesting Neal into his high chair. Henry grabbed a toy and distracted his uncle with it long enough for David to get the toddler’s legs through the holes and settle him in. Emma’s heart tripped again. Henry was so comfortable here, far more comfortable with her father and brother than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“We’re thinking of moving, actually,” said David, sitting down next to Emma. “There’s a farm just outside of town that’s for sale, we might buy it.”

“You want to be a farmer?” said Emma blankly.

“I grew up a shepherd,” he reminded her. “And this place won’t be big enough once Neal is older and wants his own room. Plus we haven’t entirely ruled out the idea of more kids. So I think it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t pass up. Your mother, on the other hand—”

“I don’t object to it, exactly,” said Snow as she set a bowl of salad and a large platter of chicken on the table. “It would just mean a long commute if I’m going to keep working with Regina.”

“You’re working with Regina?”

“I’m the deputy mayor,” said Snow.

“You are? Since when?”

“Um, about two years now?”

“Oh.” Emma fell silent as her parents launched into a debate on the merits of farm vs town in a way that made it clear that this was an old, comfortable discussion, frequently rehashed. Henry chimed in with a comment every now and then, egging them on, and Emma ate her chicken rather sullenly and tried not to feel left out.

“So what’s it like being back in Boston after so long?” David asked her, when the conversation hit a lull.

“It’s fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “A bit weird. I don’t normally like to go back to places I’ve left.”

An awkward silence fell and Emma felt herself flush. “I mean, I’m not saying I never would, but—”

“How about you, Henry?” Snow jumped in. “How do you like Boston?”

“It’s pretty cool. I like that there’s so much history. And my school’s really good.”

“Are you still having a hard time with math?” asked Snow, smiling fondly. “I remember that was always your downfall when you were in my class.”

“No, actually, I’ve got a really great teacher at the new school.” Henry shot Emma a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s, um, actually it’s Hook.”

“Hook?” David frowned. “What, like Hook Hook? He’s your teacher?”

“Captain Hook?” said Snow.

“How many Hooks do you know?” snapped Emma, irritated by their disbelief.

“Well,” said Snow, now looking surprised at Emma’s vehemence. “It’s just a bit strange, isn’t it? That Hook’s a teacher?”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. “He always taught Henry stuff when he used to watch him before.”

“And my dad too,” said Henry. “In Neverland.”

“Really?” asked David, still frowning.

“Yeah. He’s the one who taught my dad how to navigate and how to sail. Seriously, Grandpa, he’s really good at it,” said Henry decisively. “Everyone loves his classes.”

David shook his head. “Not that I don’t believe you, Henry, it’s just hard to imagine. It’s hard to imagine Hook as anything but a pirate.”

“It’s not that hard,” retorted Emma, stabbing at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

“Well, you know, after Pan’s curse when we all landed back in the Enchanted Forest he could hardly wait to get back to his pirate’s life,” David pointed out. “He barely stayed with us for an hour.”

“Though to be fair, it was mostly his ship he wanted to get back to,” said Snow. “And it’s not like that was an option for him here.”

“That’s true,” David conceded. “I guess it’s hard to be a pirate when you’ve got no ship. He could’ve stolen one, but I genuinely did have the feeling he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

“Wait, wait—what do you mean, no ship?” demanded Emma. “What happened to his ship?”

Snow, David, and Henry all turned to her in surprise. “Don’t you know?” asked Snow.

“Know what?”

Snow and David exchanged a glance. “Hook traded his ship,” said David. “For the magic bean he needed to get to New York to find you. Didn’t he tell you?”

“He traded his ship…” Emma’s head began to spin. “For me?”

“Well, yes, in a way,” said Snow. “Did he really not tell you?”

“No. He never said a word.”

“Well I guess we only know because David basically dragged it out of him,” said Snow.

“He was moping around the town so much after you left,” said David. “Drinking and getting disruptive. I threw him in the cells for a night and in the morning tried to gently suggest he might be happier if he took his ship out for a few days to clear his head, and he said that would be a bloody challenge when Blackbeard had his ship.”

“Blackbeard!” Henry exclaimed. “I didn’t know that part. He hates Blackbeard. Said he’s the worst kind of pirate, a man with no code and no honour. Why would he trade his ship to Blackbeard?”

“He didn’t say. I guess he just really wanted to get back here and find Emma.”

No one was looking at her but Emma could feel the weight of their attention, and she groped desperately for something to say, some way to respond to this revelation. But as always when she was overwhelmed with emotion, no words came. She poked at her food, feeling frozen and numb and so terribly sorry, and desperate for a distraction.

One came a minute later in the form of a knock on the door. Emma had never been more glad in her life to see Regina, come to pick up Henry with Robin Hood and a delighted Roland at her side. In the bustle and confusion that followed their arrival, Emma slipped away to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, downing half of it in one gulp then pressing the cool glass to her temple as she tried to calm her turbulent thoughts.

Regina hugged Henry and watched as he hugged Robin and Roland, smiling a smile that made Emma blink with a new shock of astonishment. It was unnervingly soft for the erstwhile Evil Queen, warm and happy.

“What the hell happened to Regina?” she whispered to her mother when Snow came into the kitchen with their empty plates.

“What do you mean?” Snow frowned. “She looks just the same to me.”

“Yeah but remember I haven’t seen her in three years. She looks… well, she looks happy.”

“She is happy,” said Snow. “She and Robin got married last year you know, and—” she broke off when she saw Emma’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“Huh-uh.”

“But didn’t Henry tell you? He gave her away.”

“I—don’t really ask Henry about his visits here. And you never mentioned it.”

“You don’t ever seem to want to talk about Storybrooke with me either,” Snow replied. “You ask how everyone is, but whenever I try to offer details you change the subject. Have you left this place behind so completely, Emma?”

“I’ve tried to,” said Emma, in a burst of honesty. “I wanted to get away from all of it—magic and villains and being the Saviour. I never wanted any of that and I never really felt like I belonged here.”

“You never really tried,” said Snow. “But there’s always a place for you in Storybrooke, sweetie, whenever you want to take it.”

…

Killian parked his car in front of Granny’s and got out slowly, taking in the sight of the familiar streets and buildings with a resigned sigh. He hadn’t been back to Storybrooke since he’d moved to Brookline, hadn’t had any desire to return until seeing Emma again had stirred up all the old feelings he’d worked so hard to bury. This past week his new life had felt like it was suffocating him—the students who looked up to him, the colleagues who respected him, Anabel who loved him. All of them so obviously concerned by the shift in his mood, caring about him, and the weight of all the pretence he’d built around himself threatened to crush him. Not a single one of them truly knew him, what he was and the things he’d done, the life he’d led for so very many blood-soaked years, and Killian hadn’t been able to bear another second of their kindness.

The Rabbit Hole was just as he remembered, loud and raucous and full of people playing their own game of pretend, fuelled by alcohol and shielded by the brittle jocundity of such places. He looked around for Tink but couldn’t see her, and though he strained his ears could hear nothing over the pounding music. He pushed through the crowd towards the bar where he finally caught sight of her, perched on her knees atop a barstool and waving him over.

“Hey!” she cried, leaping down from the stool and throwing her arms around him. He froze in surprise for a minute then tentatively hugged her back.

“Tink,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She released him and stepped back, grinning as she took him in. “I guess I just missed you.”

“That’s new,” he snorted.

“Well you used to call me, if you remember, the first year or so after you left. Now I barely hear a word for months on end until suddenly you text to say you’ll be here in three hours and can I put you up for the night. So I have to ask, is everything okay with you?”

Killian tried to summon his old cocky grin and some quip to reassure her, but they refused to come. Everything wasn’t okay, far, far from it, and he knew this was at the root of his spur of the moment decision to come back to Storybrooke. He needed to talk to someone who truly knew him, all of him, and who had known him at his worst. Tink was, as strange as it may be to think about, his best friend.

“No,” he said, and watched her eyes widen at the stark honesty of his reply. “I’m not okay. At all.”

Tink’s face softened and she looped her arm through his, and he let her lead him to an empty pair of stools at the very end of the bar. They sat and Tink ordered a bottle of rum and two glasses, then rested her hand just above his prosthetic and listened, keeping his glass filled as he told her everything. He told her of how hard he’d worked to make a place for himself in this land and build a new life to go with it, and how at times he felt that he’d succeeded in that aim but at others felt a complete fraud. He spoke about his job and how much he loved it and the joy of helping his students learn, but how he still felt unworthy of the trust placed in him by the school and by their parents. He told her about Anabel and how much he wished that he was whole enough to love her and then finally, haltingly, he spoke of Emma. About seeing her again and all that had occurred between them, and the way he’d spiralled afterwards into a depression so deep he wasn’t sure he could recover.

“I’m so tired of living sometimes,” he said. “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question but Tink nodded anyway, memories of long nights spent sharing rum and companionship in Neverland hanging thick between them. “Obviously time passes differently there, you have less of a—a sense of it passing, but—”

“But it still passes,” she said.

“Aye. It still passes, and I’ve passed so bloody much of it. And sometimes I think about how in terms of the physical age of my body I’m only about thirty-five. I could live another fifty or sixty years, easily, what with the medical marvels in this realm, and at times I just wonder—” he drew a deep breath “—I wonder if that’s really what I want.”

“You want to die?” Tink asked carefully.

“Not precisely.” Killian tossed back his rum and she poured him some more. “I’m just exhausted by the prospect of more living. Does that make any sense at all?”

Tink nodded, sipping her own drink before speaking. “Years can be a burden,” she said. “Fairies are immortal so we don’t feel them the same way humans do, but we see how they affect you. Most humans your physical age would still have a lot left to look forward to but you’ve already lived the lifetimes of at least three men. It’s understandable that the prospect of living another might feel overwhelming.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, assuming you don’t actually want to end your life?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. Though he couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed his mind in his more desperate moments, Killian had fought too hard for his survival to ever end himself by his own hand.

“Then you have to find something to live for,” said Tink. “Or someone?”

He shook his head. “Emma doesn’t want me.”

“It doesn’t have to be Emma.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” he muttered, glowering into the depths of his glass. “Not for me.”

“You felt that way about Milah too.”

“I thought I did, but this is different. Milah and I—we were in love but our relationship wasn’t healthy. I can see that now. We didn’t bring out the best in each other; in fact we probably brought out the worst. She wanted the cocksure pirate and so I leaned into that role, for her. We both leaned into it, and we enjoyed it, the plunder and the destruction and the casual cruelty. I think it made us both feel powerful.” He sipped his rum and shot a sideways glance at Tink, who was watching him attentively and still without judgement.

“But Emma, though,” Killian continued, setting his glass down and flexing his fingers around it. “Emma makes me want to be better. Even when I thought I’d never see her again, even though I know we’ll never be together I still want to be the man she inspired me to become.” He squeezed the glass harder, almost hoping it would shatter in his hand. “But then, if I’m only being that man because of her is that truly who I am? And how can I try to build a life with someone like Anabel when I know I can’t love her as she deserves and I’m only even remotely like someone she might want because of my feelings for another woman?”

Tink wrapped her arms around one of his and squeezed it sympathetically, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wish I had an answer for you, Hook,” she said. “But who you truly are, or can be, is a question you have to work out for yourself.” She paused as they both drank. “Have you ever considered telling Anabel about your past?”

He snorted. “Tell a sensible science teacher from the land without magic that I’m Captain Hook? Oh yes that would go over brilliantly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Tink. “I meant telling her a modified version of what happened to you, with your parents and Liam and Milah. Letting her see a bit more of who you are and what shaped you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it. I genuinely don’t know if it would help or just be a burden on her. For all she knows I’m just a normal man born in Bristol, England in 1981. How would I even begin to fit parental abandonment, a dead brother, and two tragic romances into that man’s life?”

“Two?”

“She already knows about Emma.”

“Right. Well, you’d have to get creative, but if it helped her know you better? At least you could try.”

Killian drank again then tightened his arm to pull Tink closer, resting his cheek on her head as the the pleasant haze he craved began to settle over his mind. “Do you know why I fell in love with Emma?” he asked. Tink shook her head, her hair tickling his nose. “It wasn’t her courage or her kindness or her beauty, though those are all contributing factors. It was because she understood me. We understood each other, from the very beginning, in a way I’d never known before. It scares her but I—I crave it. And that’s what’s missing with Anabel and with every other woman I’ve known, even Milah. That connection of the whole self. It’s something that can’t be forced or—or brought into being. It is or it isn’t, and that’s that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I don’t have the energy to sort through all of this realm’s women in hopes of finding a pale reflection of it. I’ve found the love of my life, Tink. It took three centuries but I found her, and I offered her my heart, and she refused it. I don’t think the answer is to try to patch over that wound with another woman. I don’t know what the answer is. Perhaps there isn’t one.”

He frowned as Tink tensed against him, her eyes going wide. “Perhaps the answer is Emma,” she said. “And you just haven’t asked the right questions yet.”

He followed her gaze and felt his jaw clench. Tink clung to him for another brief moment, whispering in his ear. “She might still be your answer, Hook. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

…

Once Henry left to spend the night with Regina and her parents went to put Neal to bed, Emma muttered something about taking a walk and fled the loft, desperate for some space and time alone to sort through her muddled thoughts. As painful and chaotic as they were she knew she had to think them, and feel the feelings that they brought. Already she’d lost so much by trying to run from her feelings. More even than she’d known.

Killian had given up everything for her. That was the thought that kept echoing in her brain. He’d given up his ship, his home, his most prized possession. He’d given it to a man he hated, all so that he could get back to her, knowing she wouldn’t even remember him. All to bring her back to her family. Her home.

And what had she done? She’d scorned him and pushed him away, denied her feelings and run away from them and from him the first chance she got. No wonder he was so hurt. No wonder that pain had turned to anger. He should be angry, she thought in disgust, he should hate her. Yet she knew that despite everything he didn’t. He may not want anything to do with her anymore but he didn’t hate her. She almost wished he did. It might actually make the weight of her guilt and regret easier to bear.

For the first time in her adult life Emma actually, genuinely faced her feelings, and thought seriously about what they were and what they meant. She didn’t love Killian, not the way he loved her, but she could. All the elements were there, from the way they had always understood each other to how easily she’d trusted him to the electric sizzle of their sexual chemistry. It was that could that had scared her, sent her running three years ago. The vulnerability it represented, the loss of control, terrified her. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss with her her toes hanging over the edge and a gale force wind at her back. She’d fallen into that abyss before with terrible consequences, but then Killian was not Neal. She knew, somehow, beyond any doubt, that if she let Killian Jones into her life he’d never leave her.

If she had let him in. It was too late now.

She began to cry again, not with the wrenching sobs she’d cried the day before but with heavy, drenching tears that flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin faster than she could wipe them away. Her chest felt hollowed out, aching and empty and hopeless.

She caught sight of the neon sign for the Rabbit Hole and swerved abruptly to her right, cutting across the street without looking for cars. Fortunately there were none. This was Storybrooke, after all, even on a Saturday night. And she really, really wanted a drink.

The Rabbit Hole was fairly busy, its noise and bustle comfortingly familiar. Emma kept her head down as she moved towards the bar, hoping no one would recognise her. It wasn’t until she was nearly there that she spotted Killian.

He was sitting at the end of the bar with a half empty bottle of rum and Tinkerbelle beside him, her arms looped through his and her head on his shoulder. The obvious, comfortable intimacy between them sharpened the ache in Emma’s chest and reminded her of her suspicions about what their relationship had been in Neverland. She was certain it was more than either of them had let on.

As she stood frozen and wondering what to do, Tink looked up, her eyes widening in recognition. Killian frowned and followed her gaze and when he saw Emma the look that flashed across his face nearly broke her heart. He shook Tink off and stood up, tossing back the rest of his glass of rum and heading for the door.

Before she could think better of it, Emma spun on her heel and took off after him. She caught his arm just before he could reach the door and he spun around, yanking it from her grip.

“Bloody hell, Swan, can I never be free of you!” he cried, and the hopeless defeat in his voice made her tears well again. She forced herself to remember that his feelings were justified, that she had done this to him and that he didn’t owe her forgiveness or anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here and I don’t want to bother you, but Killian—”

“What?”

“My dad—he told me what you did. How you traded your ship for a magic bean to come find me in New York.”

A faint flush coloured Killian’s cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably. “It was nothing,” he said. “Anyone would have—”

“No, anyone definitely would not have,” cried Emma fiercely. “You gave up everything you had to get me back here and then I just turned my back on it, and on you. And I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, Killian, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just—I wanted you to know.”

He swallowed hard and gave her a small, guarded smile. “You made what you thought was the best decision for yourself and Henry,” he said gruffly. “That’s all anyone can do. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

“But I’m not,” she burst out. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not unhappy exactly but I miss—I miss you.” She heard his sharp intake of breath but barrelled on before she could lose her nerve. For once in her life she knew just the words she wanted to say and she was going to say them.

“And you were right,” she continued. “I knew how you felt about me and I threw it back in your face and pushed you away whenever I could. I was scared of my own feelings, of how strong they were, and I know that’s no excuse but all my life I’ve always run from things like that. I run from things that make me feel too much and I still can’t believe that anyone could really care as much about me as you seemed to and so I ran before I could find out that you didn’t. I know I hurt you. It wasn’t always unintentional, and God, Killian, I am so fucking sorry for that too.”

She swallowed hard, twisting her hands together, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her but not daring to meet it. “And I know that there’s no chance for—for us anymore but I wanted you to know how much I regret it. There’s nothing in my life I regret more than ruining things between us before they could even really start.”

Gathering her courage she looked up at him, and caught her own breath at the expression on his face, that soft, intense expression she’d missed so much. “Do you want there to be a chance?” he said hoarsely. “If there was a chance, would you—could you take it?”

Emma gasped again as hope exploded in her heart and it began to race. She nodded. “Yeah. I think I could. I would.”

“You think?”

She stepped closer, looking up at him, hardly daring to breathe. Music pounded through the air around them, voices shouted, bodies danced, and they were the only two people in the world.

“I could,” Emma whispered, “I can and I will if—if that’s what you want too?”

Killian drew a shaky breath and his fingers trembled as he reached up to caress her face, brushing softly across her cheek before sliding into her hair. He pressed his lips to hers in the gentlest kiss of any they had shared, a butterfly’s wing of a kiss, a kiss of promise and forgiveness and hope. Emma sighed into it as it slowly deepened, as Killian’s fingers tightened on the back of her head and hers gripped his jacket and she couldn’t suppress a moan.

When they broke apart she was breathless and dizzy and he was beaming, a bright, dazed grin that made her heart soar as he leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you really mean it, Emma?” he whispered. “You really want—”

“You,” she said. “Yeah. I want you, and I want us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’m yours, love,” he said. “As you know.”

“Just like that?” Emma pulled back enough to look at his face while keeping her arms tight around him. “After all the hurt I caused you, you can just forgive me?”

“Aye, just like that. I’m not saying all the hurt is healed or that we don’t have things to work through. But of course I can forgive you. I love you.”

“Killian—”

“Shhhh, let’s just leave it there for now,” he said. “It’s nothing we didn’t both already know. We’ll work on the other half later.”

“Later,” Emma murmured, snuggling back into his arms. “I like the way that sounds.”

…

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @teamhook @kmomof4 @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda

#cs fic #captain swan #canon divergence #3b divergence #angst #smut #angst with a happy ending #cs ff #cs ff au #lots of feelings #some heartbreak #they get there in the end #all the perfect things (that i doubt)#profdanglaisstuff #birthday fic #ohmightydevviepuu

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