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charg3rs0ck3t · 1 year

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Faux promises and secret solaces.

Killian jones x reader

Warnings: it’s once upon a time, that’s the only warning you’ll need.

This is not proofread. There will probably be mistakes and I will fix them!

———————————————————————

You met him in the enchanted forest.

You fell for him in Neverland.

You lost him in Storybrooke.

You found him in your heart.

———————————————————————

The first time you met Hook, you could tell he was trouble.

He did him self no favours in trying to not be suspicious, but the others needed him so you held your tongue. Although, this was despite how much you truly wanted to rip out his tongue and shove it somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.

The way he’d take glances at you and smirk if you were walking close by, would make backhanded compliments, flirt to get his way, pick winning sides, he was a pirate. He was a pirate and you hated him. You hated his kind.

He was exactly the sort of man Regina would have used in her pursuit of ‘revenge’, the exact sort of man that killed your father.

But he wasn’t, no matter how many times he would breathily chuckle at some comment or some face you had made, you had to hold yourself back. You had to stop yourself from killing the man who smoothly laughed even in the face of his own demise. You had to stop from wanting to punch him in the throat and strip him of that feathery and deep chortle that took away all of your fears, that freed you of your panic, and provided you a euphoria that you had personally forbidden.

He was bad for you, bad for this team, bad for this mission.

He was a bad guy.

He was a villain,

and villains don’t get happy endings.

Leaving him behind was something you and Emma had talked about, you knew she also held distrust of him. Luckily, she had already planned on abandoning him.

The bean stalk was a stroke of luck, Anton was a stroke of luck.

Sure, you felt a slight sense of remorse as you had distracted him. But, as soon as Emma has attached that shackle, you let out a breath that you didn’t even know was there. Something felt good about going back to your life of solace, your newfound life of grief. He was too wild, too unpredictable, it scared you more than anyone would ever know.

You had fully expected not to see him again.

But fate seemed to have a sense of humour.

Such a fickle thing.

———————————————————————

Going back to Storybrooke, nothing was the same.

Your life had changed.

You didn’t know if it was for the better.

But your life had changed, your old life was gone. You had to adapt. No more was it straight lines and schedules, none of the life that Regina had provided was there, instead it was constant fights and unpredictability.

You had to become as unpredictable as the dangers you faced. You turned to the memories of the man in the enchanted forest, his power hidden behind his nonchalance and his loyalty a question left unanswered.

However much you hated the man, you needed to channel some part of him to adapt, to evolve and to overcome. The curse was broken, but danger seemed ever present. The towns memories were returned, but so were their worries, their fears, their anger. Instability was the first sign of anarchy and chaos, one weakness could enact a revolution among the people. So you did as you would, a child of a royal knight, ever loyal to Snow and Prince Charming, one of whom had raised you as a child throughout the curse.

All you had was your friends and your loyalty, but you’d soon learn that wasn’t enough.

———————————————————————

Yet the man returned, Hook. Still as untrustworthy as ever and yet, he seemed less irritating when in Storybrooke, except maybe for his dangerous tendencies and antisocial behaviour.

Henry being taken by pan was devastating, but this was the unpredictability you had planned for. So you knew what to do.

———————————————————————

The ride to Neverland on the Jolly Rodger was less than pleasant. It was full of cryptic warnings and misdirected anger. Even Emma was struggling.

The mermaid that was soon brought above deck definitely didn’t help your nerves, nor did the storm that soon followed and berated the ship.

You could catch no one’s attention, you had figured that the warnings may have held some truth. This land was built on belief. There were definitely some strong negative beliefs between them all. The blame fest began, fighting ensued and you couldn’t take it. So as you searched through the rain, you caught sight of land and jumped overboard. Your thoughts were that if no one would listen, you’d at least catch someone’s attendance or make your own way to land without them.

What you didn’t account for was a bit of broken barrel being launched after you and slamming into the back of your head once you had reached the ice cold water.

Losing your breath and all reasonable thinking, you gaped your mouth like a fish, breathing in and spluttering out water to no avail.

You could feel it filling your lungs and your eyes began to close, focused on the blurry light of the moon above you, till it was covered by the shadow of someone diving in for you. But by then you were already too tired.

———————————————————————

Opening your eyes and coughing out liquid from your burning lungs seemed to have never felt so good. That was until you saw it was a particular irritating man that hovered over your jolting form, hand on your shoulder as he helped you sit up.

The storm has calmed now, and you smiled. Everyone’s focus was on you, eyes wide at the madness that had ensued.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that! See! I got the storm to stop.” You proclaimed in a broken voice, interrupted slightly by a coughing fit and a small ‘thank you’ as you were passed a blanket.

The way that David and Snow stared at you was obvious you’d get some form of scolding later, but you hadn’t cared too much for it. When the curse was first broken, they had to double check you weren’t in some way related to Jefferson with how you often acted on impulse, in supposed madness. So rest assured you were used to scolding.

Getting to the island was your priority, keeping the team together and getting Henry was your number one goal.

But you could help but notice the glances the pirate would send you when he thought you weren’t looking.

———————————————————————

Neverland was a place of pure belief. A place of magic and miracles.

———————————————————————

It seemed like as if by some miracle, you started to believe in the sincerity and goodness of a certain pirate.

Hook was caring, he was careful and serious. He was always suited to the situation, always ready. But he could also lighten the mood.

It seemed all the time that wasn’t spent avidly searching for Henry, fighting Pan or planning, he always wanted to make you laugh.

The first time you had laughed at one of his jokes, it would have been some stupid joke about his hand.

“Can you give me a hand?” David had yelled over.

“Cmon really? Last time I lent one out I didn’t even get it back!” He had hollered back in response, turning to smirk at David’s glare.

Only.. only he spun right back around when he heard a small chuckle.

Seeing you, with your back turned to him and hand coving your mouth, was all he needed to decide that you were right for him. He walked over to David with a huge smile on his face and kept stealing glances at you the entire time.

———————————————————————

Getting Henry, finding Neal alive, dealing with Rumpelstilsken. Everything felt insane.

It was all too much, you had lost Henry again to Pan, he was too powerful and you all seemed powerless.

You pulled your legs to your chest and buried your head in your knees. Making yourself small was all you could do when the world felt so big around you that it felt like it would swallow you up and you’d be nothing but a snack to a bigger cause.

Feeling a soft hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality, the reality that you had been sat sobbing into your arms after you had ran off from the main camp.

At first you were afraid, was this hand malicious, was it Pan?

But after hearing a feathery throat clearing, you raised your head to meet eyes with Killian.

“Killian? What’s up? I thought you’d be with David or Emma.” You muttered out in response to his presence.

“Y’know, I’m not sure Miss swan or her doting ‘same-age parents are too fond of me. Plus we both know that I can’t exactly tell one hand jokes to Regina lest I want to lose that and another appendage id much like to keep..” he takes a breath whilst you smile at his sarcasm. “Plus, You’re the only one who calls me my name, I’m getting sick of ‘Hey you’ ‘Oi’ ‘pirate’ or if they’re really creative, I get to hear ‘asshole’, would that be pleasant for you m’lady?” You laugh and shake your head in response.

“No, I suppose not kind sir~.” You tease him, just wanting to stay in the moment, it felt light and airy, for the first time in days you felt free. “Although I’m honoured you’d grace me with your presence, I sure hope it’s not because I’m the only one who doesn’t currently want to stab you?”

He turns to look at you, “Of course not, for a royal knight though, surely you should be the one to want to stab me most of all. Maybe it’d be better that way.” He moves in, close to your face, as you are enamoured with gazing into his eyes.

“I’m sure they can handle themselves, Four powerful people after you if you do anything wrong, I think I should be okay to try and resign from stabbing at the moment. Plus, if anything were to happen I’m sure I could accept the consequences.” He grabs your chin and smiles.

“You? Face the consequences? Perhaps you just are afraid to accept you might actually have fallen for me~” He pulls you into a short and passionate kiss. Grinning against your lips as he rests his forehead against your own.

“Not a chance pirate!” You tease as you stand up and begin to walk away, sporting a mischievous grin of your own.

But before you could walk further he grabbed your wrist and was suddenly stood right in front of you.

“Mark my words sweetheart, I’ll have your heart, we’ll take it as slow as you need but I will have it, as you’ve enslaved mine.” And as you turned your head away to think on what he had said, he had already walked off deeper into the forest.

Okay, maybe you did like him.

———————————————————————

Your return to Storybrooke was perfect, you could live the life you had whispered plans of every night since that moment in Neverland.

It was meant to be your fairytale ending.

Meant to be.

———————————————————————

Falling asleep every night, Hook would sit there hands running through your hair as you laid your head in his lap.

Every night he would repeat one sentence

“I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

Except one night, when he wasn’t.

You woke up one night. Checking the clock next to you it was some time around 1 in the morning.

You weren’t sure what had woken you up until you heard sounds of struggling and choking. It was Killian! He sounded in pain.

You rushed down to see Pans shadow ripping Killian’s as he struggled against the figure.

Catching a glimpse of you, the shadow tore the other from your lovers frame and stole them both. Dragging them from the home as you chased and screamed for help, for Killian, for anyone.

You pinched yourself, you screamed until your throat went raw and your mouth ran dry, you yelled and sobbed until you had half of the town surrounding you, trying to figure out what had happened.

In your worn voice you could get out two sentences.

“Pans back.” “Killian’s gone.”

That was all you could force out before you fell to the floor, soon encased in a warm pair of arms trying to lift you back into the house. The house that you had just lost everything in. The house that was meant to have been your home.

———————————————————————

It had been months since the incident, months of failed attempts and grieving.

But you had had enough of being sad.

Nothing was going to save you, no one was going to save you, so you were going to save yourself.

One day you got up, took a shower, brushed your teeth and hair, and went into work.

Life had to continue as normal, you had to ignore the concerned glances and you had to hope the eye bags would go away on their own.

So life went on, it went on without him. Although it hurt, it needed to, the world couldn’t stop for another 28 years, everyone couldn’t just forget again.

However much you wished they could.

———————————————————————

Emma and David had been trying to interrogate the shadow for months now. They had decided to keep Regina’s torture methods away and just had to hope that a non physical being had some form of conscience.

In those months they had nothing.

Nothing until the shadow gave off a mirage, a realm of bodies and their shadows caring for them.

And in the middle of it all was him.

The man you cared about most.

Killian.

———————————————————————

Waking up to a breathy humming and the feeling of hands in your hair wasn’t unusual.

In your grief, you had accidentally began to see Killian. You’d see him every morning, you’d see him at dinner, you’d even make him an extra plate.

You knew he wasn’t real.

But you needed to cope somehow.

There was a hole in your heart and you couldn’t just fill it with a child like Regina could.

This morning felt real though, it felt too real. But it also felt too good to be true.

You opened your eyes to see him where he usually sat, next to you, hands in your hair playing with the strands.

“Why must you torture me every morning.” You muttered. “He’s gone and he’s never coming back.. I’m never gonna wake up to him ever again so just! Just go away!”

You yelled.

You’ve been yelling at your hallucination of him a lot lately.

Usually he’d disappear, actually, every single time he’d disappear. But you turned around from where you were now sat up and he was still there.

He stared at you, tears in his eyes, reaching out for your cheek. He needed to touch you again.

“Killian..?” You whimpered out.

“I told you I’d be here when you woke up” he said, tears streaming down his face as he tackled you and held you in his arms.

You both sobbed. You cried like you hadn’t seen each-other in years. You held each-other like the other would slip out of grasp and disappear again.

You were here.

He was here.

You had him back, you had your home and he had your heart.

And in his heart he knew he’d never let you go ever again.

#once upon a time #ouat #ouat fluff #ouat hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #killian jones x reader #killian jones #ouat x reader #x reader #captain hook x reader #captain hook

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donteattheappleshook · 3 months

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(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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0ffurself · 7 months

Note

killian jones anything please love <3

Killian Jones x dying reader (angst)

On the deck of the Jolly Roger you lay, covered in blood and weak. "Curse you, Crocodile!" Killian shouted into he nothingness of the dark sky.

Killian turned to face you and his face could break at the sight of you. Sure Rumpelstiltskin had done bad things but nothing this bad before. He dropped to his knees. "No... Love." He grabbed you and held you close to him, as close as possible.

"No, I can't leave you. You can't leave me!" He sobbed into your hair, his face buried in it. Muffled sobs and whispers coming from his mouth. You lean back and use all of your strength to cup one of his cheeks in one of your hands.

"Everyone has to leave at some point, my point is now. I will see you again once your time comes... just promise me one thing!" You coughed some blood into your lap as he looks at you with teary and red eyes. "What darling?"

"Promise me you will move on, promise you won't be stuck on me forever. Promise you won't die alone and un-happy." He shakes his head at your words. "No, I ca-" You stop him, putting your hand over his mouth gently.

"Yes, you will. You will die with someone at your side, you will move on and live, not survive. You will !eet me again someday, but it will be a while." You try your best to give him on of those smiles he found comfort in, the ones that made him believe it would be okay. You would be okay. But this time you wouldn't be okay.

A single tear rolls down your cheek as your eyes grow pale and are almost colorless in the dark night. Your hand falls off of his face, leaving blood smeared across his face. "I love you" you whisper as your eyes gently close, your gentle smile fading.

"No!" He sobs. "My love! Come back! I can't... not without... please!" He gently kisses your cold and pale lips as one last try to bring you back to him. "No... no...." He cries as he wipes some of your blood off of his face.

He holds your limp and bloody body in his arms. Crying into you, planting gentle kisses on he top of your head as he cries into your hair. "Goodbye." He mutters between sobs.

🐍

#Killain #Killian Jones #Killian Jones x reader #angst #dying reader #x reader #ouat #Once upon a time

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sancocnutclub · 23 days

Text

It's called "Thank you for the roller-coaster, here's yours! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! :D"

present for @walviemort as a thx back for your wonderful bday gift ♥

#killian jones #mpreg!killian #expecting a secret #my art #lot of grumpy pirate angst pirate and wee one passenger pirate! ♥

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kazoosandfannypacks · 8 months

Note

do you have any headcannons on mentally illness, disability or neurodivergency for ouat?

This isn't quite what you're looking for, but @kingofbr00klyn and @silver-the-phoenix and I have this au/possible headcanon that whenever someone dies but comes back, they often return with ptsd related to the way that they died. Some examples:

In S1:Ep1, Charming effectively died from a stab wound while putting Emma in the wardrobe. Now, whenever he's holding a baby, especially in that arm, he gets flashbacks

In S3:Ep11, Gold dies by stabbing himself and Peter Pan, and He gave Peter Pan a hug to do so. Hugs are no longer a comfort to him.

In S4:Ep22, Killian is snuck up on and stabbed in the back. People sneaking up behind him startles him a lot more than is warranted.

In S5:Ep8, Killian is given a would-be-fatal slash to the neck with a sword. He's now very sensitive about his neck- he won't wear a scarf or a turtleneck or a tight necked shirt (not that he had a habit of wearing shirts with a close-fitting neckline 😉) He also can not wear a seatbelt with a shoulder strap, because it makes him feel like he's gonna die again.

Feel free to add on some of your own!

#once upon a time #ouat #whump #angst #ptsd #killian jones #david nolan #charming ouat #rumplestiltskin #mr gold #once upon a time season 5 #ouat headcanon #ouat au

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laylaswriting · 1 year

Text

Bloodstream Chapter IX. - Pirate

MASTERPOST | Ao3 | Wattpad Title: Bloodstream Chapter IX. - Pirate Pairing: Killian Jones x fem!reader Word count: 1.6k Warnings: none Tags: drama, angst, mutual pining/tension Synopsis: Hook confronts reader about last night's events. A/N: I'm sorry I made you guys wait for so long. I got very insecure about this story and was not sure if I'll even publish the updates. The story will follow reader's story more in the future episodes and will include more backstory, so I'm sorry if that's not your cup of tea. I hope you'll still enjoy ❤

The next morning, she woke up with a terrible headache, like thousands of hammers were banging on her brain at the same time. She slowly blinked her eyes open to see her crewmates still sound asleep. It was still fairly dark; the sun didn’t rise above the horizon yet.

She decided to take a breath of fresh air, hoping it would ease the unpleasant feeling of being hangover for the first time in her life. She slowly walked onto the deck where she could only see Mr. Smee at the wheel. She nodded his way and he mirrored the gesture but they didn’t speak a word.

The chilly morning breeze caused a shiver to run down her spine as she stepped to the railing of the Jolly Roger, looking out at the seemingly endless sea. The first rays of sunshine shimmered on the water’s surface, painting the dark blue ocean in all shades of red and orange.

She heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the deck, coming from the captain’s cabin. She didn’t turn for a second – her feelings were all so mixed in her head. She wanted to confront him, to ask him all the questions she had in her mind. She wanted to earn some kind of reaction out of him. But after a short while she turned towards the sound of the voice, straightening her back before she spoke.

“Good morning, Captain.”

“Morning sailor” he replied with no emotion on his face. She mirrored his expression. “Don’t you have tasks to take care of?”

She opened and closed her mouth before she replied with a nod, averting her gaze from him.

“Then I recommend you get to them if you want to stay on the ship.” Without anything else left to say, he headed towards the quarterdeck to take the wheel from Mr. Smee, who then started with his daily tasks. His words cut through her skin and straight to her heart.

She headed down to the small kitchen area and started to organize the things in there. She kept stock of all the food they had – therefore she knew they had to stop by somewhere to get more supplies soon. Their food wasn’t going to last much longer.

That knowledge and his words from this morning settled in her brain and the fear of being abandoned in a random town made her worry grow by the moment. Would he really do that?

That night on the quarterdeck he said he wouldn’t just toss her out from the crew. But what if he changed his mind? What if she really was more of a burden than a useful addition to the crew? The thoughts in her head were so loud she didn’t even notice that Ribs entered the small kitchen only when his huge hands landed on her back in a gentle pat. At least he meant it to be gentle.

“You’re early, little man! Couldn’t sleep again?”

“You know it” she replied with a sad smile. He smiled back at her and grabbed the biggest pot off the ground. They didn’t speak much after that, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was a comfortable, warm silence between friends where they felt good in each other’s company without the need to say anything.

The days went by mostly the same – she thought. It was strange, the thrill and excitement of life as a sailor - a pirate -, washed away by the monotone daily tasks on the ship. She didn’t mind it per se, it just felt odd to think about how “normal” as a concept can change for a person so fast.

Chatter and the sound of footsteps filled the air as everyone else was getting up after a long night out and started to perform their duties. She said hi to James who also was battling a violent headache after one too many sips of rum last night. She chuckled and helped her friend out. Mr. Smee and the Captain were barking orders left and right at the crew, they needed to change directions and align the sails.

As she was pulling on the rope, she suddenly felt a hand wrap around her own and pulled with her. For a second, she didn’t register who it belonged to but after she saw the rings on his finger and his black shirt, her heart skipped a beat.

“I want to talk to you” he said in a low voice. She only replied with a nod and after she fastened the rope to its spot she followed after him into his cabin. Her heart stammered against her ribcage as she sluggishly moved towards the cabin. She hasn’t stepped a foot in there since that night.

It looked and felt the same, the smell of old parchment, paper and leather filled her nose as she stood against the door. He was looking at a map on the table, but she knew he wasn’t really paying attention to that. Nobody said a word for what felt like eternity.

“Look, I-“ she started, not knowing exactly what to say but he interrupted her.

“That song. You said your mother taught it to you?” He looked up from the map and she felt his eyes pierce through her soul. Lately she didn’t afford the luxury to make long eye contact with him, because every time she did her heart dropped into her stomach and this time was no exception.

“Well, she didn’t teach me. She just sang it to me when I couldn’t fall asleep as a child. I was very small when she died” she said, making a pause and swallowing hard to keep her tears at bay. “It’s one of my only memories of her.” There was a moment of silence after her reply, Hook just stood next to the table and stared at it.

“How did she meet your father?”

“What’s going on?” She asked and crossed her arms. Hook mirrored the gesture as he looked at her without saying anything for a moment. This whole scene was so strange – she thought. What was going on with him?

“Your mother. Was she a sailor? Your grandfather maybe? Where did she learn this song?”

“What? No. My mother, she lived all her life in our town.” Her heartbeat fastened at the implications behind his question. She got more confused by the second and just wanted answers about all this. What was so special about this song? “She could’ve heard it from some travelers.”

“That’s very unlikely.” He shook his head. “Your father lived there all his life as well?”

“Yes.” Her patience was growing thinner by the second.

“Maybe he lied.”

“What are you implying?!” She snapped, putting her arms on her hips while her eyes were throwing daggers at Hook. “That my father is a liar? That my mother was a pirate?! Because of one song?” She almost spat the word pirate, which made him close the gap between them with huge leaps and the next thing she knew was his arm next to her head, his body almost flushed against hers.

“Now-now, is being a pirate so bad?” He sneered, raising his hook next to her head. She felt her hand tremble and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared or because his presence made her head spin. “The lady didn’t seem to mind all this time, freeloading on my ship, eating my food, sleeping in my bed!”

His voice was roaring and it echoed back from the walls. He put his hook under her chin and lifted her head to match his gaze. His eyes were piercing into hers and she wanted to avert her look but she couldn’t. She was so angry at him – but she was also scared. Scared of being alone, losing her family once again. Losing him forever. No matter how angry she was at him or how distant he was, in the back of her mind she knew she wanted him close.

“That is not what I meant” she breathed as her heartbeat rose to the skies above.

“I’m sure you didn’t, love. If it’s so awful for you here, feel free to hop off next town. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.” He stepped away from her and opened the door of his cabin, signaling for her to leave. She swallowed the lump in her throat and headed to the deck with quick steps. Some curious sets of eyes were glued to her, but she paid no attention to them. She felt nauseous from the events that just unfolded, tears prickling her eyes from being so overwhelmed with emotion.

She stood next to James and leaned against the railing, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he put one of his hands on her shoulder.

“Splendid” she replied when they heard a voice coming from the quarterdeck. It was Hook.

“Get to work lads, we are headed towards a port at full sails! If all goes well, we should arrive in a day or two!” He gestured at the crew with his good arm and put his hook on his belt. His eyes scanned the deck and they lingered on her, his gaze piercing through her skull. James squeezed her shoulder and she averted her gaze.

The captain then left the quarterdeck and went back to the cabin, slamming its door behind him. She let out a shaky breath then went back to her duties. She was preparing to say goodbye to her friends once they hit the shore.

#killian jones #captain hook #fanfiction #ff #series #killian jones x reader #captain hook x reader #killian x reader #hook x reader #angst #drama #mystery #romance #slow burn #x reader #imagine #fanfic

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 10 months

Text

In The Lonely Hour (6/10)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | AO3 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: A collection of canon-compliant(ish) one-shots that provide glimpses of Killian's life based on the album "In the Lonely Hour" by Sam Smith.

Lay Me Down Killian yearns for Emma on the Jolly Roger.

Killian felt lost on waters he’d navigated countless times. He was adrift without a heading. His compass unwaveringly pointed toward a realm where he was known only as a fairytale villain, to a woman who would not know to think of him, and a boy so full of hope and belief that even Pan could not break him.

The creaking of familiar boards beneath his boots made the infinite night feel empty. The wooden ship wheel was worn smooth from his constant attention over the centuries of life he shared with her. The Jolly Roger had seen him through his darkest days and had facilitated his wildest escapes. She was his home and main source of comfort- along with the rum. It seemed tonight there would be no comfort from the ache in his chest.

His heart insisted that his home was with the emerald-eyed, brave princess a thousand realms away. The bloody thing had been dormant so long, he’d forgotten how troubling a fresh wound could be. He needed to learn how to survive in the continued company of this pain, sharp as it was; because there was no way to soothe his loss: there was no vengeance to seek, no body to wrap in canvas and mourn, no fine rum he’d acquired dulled it, and no way to return to her. (He’d searched for the loophole in the curse for several months, but it appeared the way back truly had sealed behind them.)

Letting out a breath, Killian closed his eyes. A soft smile pulled at his lips at the vision he knew would greet him. Emma smirked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of humour and challenge, her blonde waves pulled away from her face in the heat of the jungle, and with little warning, she would pull him into her so that she could kiss him with a passion that changed his world. There was no tug on his lapels. No warm lips pressed against his. There was only the breeze off the sea to stir his heavy jacket and the salt it left behind coated his lips.

The vision faded away, as imaginings of loss loves often do and he opened his eyes to the twinkling stars above him. He followed the trail of a bright star as it darted across the sky and a desperate wish escaped him, a reflex from a childhood long ago passed, before he could think better of it. The star winked out and Killian was left feeling a bit foolish, hand and hook on the wheel, steering the Jolly ever onward.

——

The bird came to him the next day. They were too far from land to sight such a bird; yet, it flew up to him as though they’d met before, as if Killian often welcomed visitors of the avian variety. Killian was bewildered by the strange behaviour until he saw the scroll it carried. As he relieved the bird of its burden, he fumbled with the scroll, his hand shaking too much to unroll it smoothly. Had the wish he’d given to last night’s travelling star been granted? With his heart pounding in his ears, he read the message scrawled before him.

Get this memory potion to Emma. Everyone she loves is in danger. She is the only one who can break the curse. She has to save them.

Relief and purpose flooded his system. His next breath felt like the first one he’d taken in nearly a year. The air was sweet, filled with hope and excitement at the days before him. Swan was out there and the curse he’d outrun days before had apparently restored travel between the worlds. He could see her after all this time. If the author of the note was to be believed, locating her was the only course he should chart.

He dared to hope that there was one person she loved that was not in danger. Perhaps, one that could help her with the difficult task set before her by the sender of this letter. If she didn’t love him, it would be enough to be in her enchanting presence once more.

#killian jones #captain swan #killian x emma #captain hook #cs fanfic #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #cs ff #In The Lonely Hour #manip by jas #angst #writes by Jas #fic by Jas

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cosette141 · 2 years

Text

As You Wish (OUAT fanfic) | Oneshot

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Author: cosette141

Pairing: Captain Swan

Words: 1.4k

Summary: After Killian gets his heart back, Emma starts acting strange around him, and he finally realizes why. Oneshot

(under the cut!)

.-.-.-

a/n: Takes place after Killian gets his heart back in s4.

Also to note: the title doesn't refer to a Princess Bride reference xD

~cosette141

The first time Killian noticed the change in Emma's behavior was this morning.

Last night was the day that had almost been the last of his life, when the Crocodile had nearly crushed his heart. His heart was now safely back in his chest, and the Crocodile was blissfully banished from the town.

After the chaos was over and his heart returned, Emma had profusely apologized for not having noticed it was missing. However many times Killian had attempted to ease her guilt, it hadn't worked.

But beyond her guilt for not having paid closer attention to him, not having listened to her instincts when she'd known something had been off with him, there was a sort of… other look in her eyes when she looked at him. This sort of sadness.

Something he bloody hated seeing in her eyes.

As much as he'd wished she'd noticed his predicament, he couldn't blame her; there'd been so much chaos she'd been dealing with, and in hindsight, if she had noticed, he didn't know if the Crocodile would have hurt her or killed her to keep her silence. Or even bloody used Killian himself to do so.

However, even that dark fear didn't ease Emma's guilt, or that sadness in her eyes.

She'd remained glued to his side ever since, her hand almost always finding its way to his chest or her fingers to his wrist, in a subtle attempt to feel the reassurance of his heartbeat.

Something that touched him to no end.

But more than her guilt and more than that sadness in her eyes, was this strange change in her behavior around him that he didn't understand.

The first instance was this morning.

Emma had stayed the night, not for the first time, in his room. She'd slept tucked so close to him, her hand resting over his chest all night long.

When they'd woken, Emma had gotten out of bed, saying, "I'm going to get changed. Get us a table?"

Killian had smiled, getting up to do so. "As you wish," he said softly, enjoying what had become a routine for them, to get breakfast together.

But Emma had frozen, and whipped back around to him, eyes suddenly worried. "If you want," she said quickly.

Killian had paused, looking at her with confusion. A rush of color to her cheeks, and that strange sort of sadness in her eyes, she quickly said, "Actually, don't worry about it."

And in utter puzzlement, Killian watched as Emma rushed to change, her haste almost an embarrassment for something he didn't understand. She'd grabbed the door, giving him a smile that was so uncertain, something almost shy—such a strange look on her. "Want to get breakfast?" she asked, as if restarting the whole conversation.

Standing slowly, looking at her as if she'd gone just a little mental, Killian said, "Are you all right, love?"

"Yeah," she said, too quickly. "So do you want breakfast?" she asked again.

"Aye, if you're sure you're all right," he said, approaching her with a furrow in his brow.

"Yeah," she'd repeated. But she smiled, like his words were a relief. She'd taken his wrist gently, her thumb resting over his heartbeat again, like just that settled the rest of her nerves.

But even more curious, she didn't move, just staring at him.

Beyond confused, Killian gave her a little smile, saying, "Let's get you something to eat." She wasn't the best in the mornings, so he hoped perhaps her strange… essence today was simply hunger. When he led her out of the room, she let out a breath in something that looked like contented relief, and let him walk her to the diner, and insisted that he chose whatever table he wanted.

They'd shared the meal without any other… strangeness, but there was still something that he couldn't put his finger on.

So much so that he'd reached for her hand across the table, thumb resting on her wrist just to ensure that her heartbeat was right where it was supposed to be as well.

Emma's strange behavior continued throughout the day. Especially so when Emma's family invited them for dinner.

Emma'd asked him at least ten times if he wanted to go to the dinner or do something else, to which most of the time he'd replied, "Whatever you wish, love," which only seemed to frustrate her more.

It was now, as they arrived at the loft and David answered the door with a mock-exasperated, "Emma, Hook! You two take the long way? Get in here, the food's getting cold!"

Killian had moved to enter, but Emma had gone still again, and he paused.

"Love?" he asked as David left the door open, but went back to the kitchen to help Mary Margaret.

"You don't have to go in if you don't want to," said Emma, her sad eyes on him like what she was saying was the most important thing in the world.

Killian couldn't take it anymore. "Emma," he said, feeling his confusion about to burst. "Love, what's going on? Now it's you who's acting strange," he said, the words only making Emma lose color in her face. Killian's own brows furrowed in what was now much concern. "Emma? What's wrong, love?"

Her eyes suddenly filled with a thin veil of tears. "I just…" Her voice caught. "I just don't want you to do anything you don't want to do," she whispered.

Killian's brows only furrowed more, even more confusion dawning—

Until it clicked.

The past day ran through his mind, every instance where Emma had either accidentally told him what to do, or avoided doing so.

Even something as simple as get us a table.

It suddenly made heartbreaking sense.

"Emma," he said, his voice softening, brows furrowing for a different reason. "Is this because… because the Crocodile had my heart?"

At the look in her eyes, he was exactly right.

Being at the Crocodile's beck and call, being unable to move or speak unless the Crocodile willed it was the most sickening feeling of Killian's long life. It was a horrible violation of him, the feeling of being someone's puppet. It was maddening, degrading, but above all, terrifying. That no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was fully at the Crocodile's disposal.

The fact that Emma had spent all day ensuring that everything they did was within his own will was the most heartbreaking, touching thing she or anyone has ever done for him.

Emma's eyes only filled with more tears, wet with guilt and sadness. Her eyes dropped from his to find the floor. "I just…" Her eyes shut. "I just know what it feels like. To have to do what you don't want to do." Her miserable eyes opened. "When I was in jail…" Her brows kneaded with bad memories, and Killian moved closer to her, feeling his heart ache worse than when the Crocodile had squeezed it. "It just…" continued Emma sadly, "I wasn't even in control of my own life, what I could wear, or when I could eat or go outside, and I couldn't leave," her voice choked, and Killian moved even closer to her, touching her face.

"Emma," he whispered, his own eyes stinging at the idea of her in such a place.

Her eyes found his again. "I know it's not the same as what Gold did to you," she whispered. "You had it even worse and I… I just hate that you had to go through it, at his command, of all people, and… and I just want to make sure you know I don't want everything to be as I wish, okay? I want you to be able to do what you want to—"

He cut her off with a kiss, feeling her need to keep talking, but eventually she gave in, and met the tenderness of it. When he pulled away, he met her miserable eyes. "Emma, love," he whispered, "I want," he said slowly, "to do what makes you happy. Because that makes me happy." As she opened her mouth to speak, he smiled, gently touching her lips with his thumb to stop her. "If there is something I don't want to do, I will tell you, Emma. Such as your insistence to teach me to captain your driving vessel, to which the answer is still no," he said dryly, his words easing a little laugh from her chest. But his smile softened even more, thumb brushing over her cheek. "I want you to stop punishing yourself for what happened," he said softly. "That is what I want most of all."

Emma's brows creased, but her lips tilted a little, cutting through the sadness like the sun through clouds. "As you wish," she whispered, smiling a little wider.

And he smiled back.

-.-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree @eddisfargo @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #cs fic #emma swan #killian jones #killian jones fanfiction #angst #once upon a time #ouat fic #ouat fanfic #once upon a time fanfiction

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takemetothemoon-fics · 11 months

Text

Helpless || 2

Title: helpless || 2

Pairing: Killian Jones x reader

Word count: 936

Warnings: blood, swearing

Tags: angst, hurt-comfort

Synopsis: when reader gets really hurt, she has no choice but to go someone who is not really her friend....

A/N: hihihihi part two lets go

MASTERLIST

"Take your time. I am not going anywhere until I get the whole story. This Sunamo is someone I have had my eye on for a while. You are not the first to suffer at his hands. What did he do?"

"I was alone, and suddenly he and his men were just there. They were everywhere. they circled around me and I had no where to go." you exhale deeply "before I knew it, they got me. They grabbed my hair and kicked me when I was down. They cut me.. They got me in the places they knew it would hurt most."

His face softens into a sympathetic expression as you describe. He looks down at the ground before continuing "You did not deserve this. I am sorry. You did not deserve this. What happened afterwards?"

"I passed out. When I woke up, they were gone. So was my sword. I was far from home... and I knew you lived out here."

He lets out a slow breath "This was far worse than I expected. What about Sunamo himself? Why did he do this? What did he want?" His eyes fill with concern.

"Who knows what that sadistic fuck wants? For all I know it could be just to see me suffer."

"Tell me what you were doing when he found you. This could be of importance. And believe me. Sunamo is a monster. But he is a calculated monster with an intellect that is matched by none I have encountered. So this was intentional and he wanted something from you."

"I was alone at the old harbour."

A look of horror crosses his face "… That monster did this to you just because you were alone? Nothing else? No motive whatsoever?"

"I don't know, it's not like he told me" You snap at him.

"I know this may be a shock to you y/n. But your enemy is willing to put a hold on his hate for you to help you. We can put our rivalry away temporarily and focus on this matter at hand. All I ask is for you to tell me who did this to you, so that I may ensure this does not happen to you or anyone I may care for again."

"...sorry."

You can hear his teeth grinding behind a sigh. He steps back, shaking his head. It is a miracle you survived. "I hate him. That monster needs to pay for what he did to you. I swear it, y/n. I will see him suffer for this."

"You don't need to do anything Killian. I will handle this on my own"

"What if he kills you next time? You were so badly injured from a surprise assault that he may just decide to finish it."

"If that means the last thing I do is running my blade through his chest, then so be it."

"You have a second chance at life. Why are you willing to give it up?"

"Why do you care?"

He looks at you in the eyes "You are an enemy. True. But nobody deserves to go through what you just did. You are strong y/n, but you are in no shape to face that monster. You should rest and recover. If you need anything, anything at all, to help you with that, I will get it for you. In the meantime I will keep my eyes on that Sunamo. He is no longer just some problem, some obstacle on the seas. He is the new greatest terror of the seas because of what he just did."

"Don't go at him alone. at least let me help. This is my fight. Let me fight it"

He thinks for a moment "… Fine. But we do it my way, and when I give an order, you follow. This means I won't spare that bastard for your personal vendetta. Do you agree?"

"You know I can't do it your way."

The look of horror returns to his face. You're still so stubborn. This man just about killed you today and you aren't willing to put your pride aside to do this the right way? He stare at you in shock as his eyes fill with anger. He speaks in his most serious voice "Do you want to see him killed or not?"

"I do. your way won't do the trick. Trust me."

He stares you down and takes a deep breath "Very well. I will play by your rules. We will do this your way. But mark my words. This is going to be messy. And I will not be happy about it."

"Stop being a dick. you're the one that so eager to help." You snap at him again. All your defence mechanisms are down, and you feel this is the only way you can still defend yourself.

He sigs. "Fine. You want to be rude to the man who is willing to throw away all his principles and ideals to help you? So be it. You're too stubborn to be reasoned with anyway. Take care of yourself, y/n. He starts to leave, but pauses as he nears the door "And… good luck."

"Wait.'

He turns, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sorry." You say through gritted teeth.

You exhale. You don't want to say it, but you need him. you're just too stubborn to ask him for help.

His eyes study your face. He finally looks away and sighs. "… Alright. I forgive you. I am willing to help you. Now tell me how you want to get back at this Sunamo."

#fanfic #ff #imagine #killian jones #killian jones fanfic #killian jones fanfiction #killian #jones #drama #killian jones x reader #killian jones angst #ouat #once upon a time #once

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hooked-on-swanics · 5 months

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Chapter 2 of my Underworld/5b rewrite is up! If you like whump, if you like angst, if you like feels, this is for you.

I hope it hits you in the heart <3

#ouat #killian jones #captain swan #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat fanfiction #captain hook #ouat s5 #underworld fanfic #fanfic #whump #killian whump #angst #feels #some fluff

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charg3rs0ck3t · 1 year

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Okay hot people, I’m writing a Killian Jones fic, if it doesn’t work out you better believe I’ll swap out the name for some marvel character and watch the world burn.

Is the ouat fandom dead? I literally don’t know anymore but this man has my heart and soul in a chokehold.

Edit: Guys I’ve already written it 😭😭

#killian jones #ouat fanfiction #ouat #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #captain hook #killian jones x reader #captain hook x reader #ouat angst #ouat fluff

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donteattheappleshook · 10 months

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Dare I say forever...

Part 3 of Lover of the Light (AKA Wish Baby)

Summary:

He’d turned the tavern upside down trying to find her, had scoured the streets for any sign of her golden hair, of the eyes he’d only just been gazing into. But she was nowhere, and the panic started to settle. No. No, it has to have worked. That was why they found the bloody star in the first place - light magic, no tricks, a wish that would send them both home. But she’s not with him.

The reunion of WishEmma and SilverWishHook after the events of Lover of the Light and Ghosts that we Knew. Also affectionately (and agressively) nicknamed Wish Baby

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr: 1 2

HAPPY SUPER BELATED BIRTHDAY @the-darkdragonfly 🎁🎉🎂🎈

This fic is suuuuuuper late but that’s because (as you know) it turned into a 34k word monster that had to be turned into two parts/chapters. You’re the loveliest person ever and I hope you like this conclusion you’ve been demanding for two years! 😘

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you @elizabeethan for betaing this fic that is way longer than it was supposed to be when you agreed to read it! 🙏🙏

And thank you @kmomof4 for being a second set of eyes when I decided to write this story out of order! 💕

********

Part Three

“You’re too bloody old for this,” Killian grunts, shoving at a handful of bloody roses - because of course it had to be roses - and their bloody thorns, reaching for another gap in the criss-crossing wood that creaks under his weight. He’s too old to be climbing trellises in the middle of night to sneak into a lass’s bedroom - especially a bedroom in a bloody castle.

He heaves himself up another step, hook getting caught in the tangles and he struggles to free it without falling on his arse. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. His back. His breathing is so loud that he worries they’ll hear him across the garden where two guards are supposed to be stopping people like him from breaking in and whisking away princesses. He should tell Emma to fire them.

A thorn catches his palm and he curses, sweat beading on his temples as he covets the strength he had as a younger man, the energy. He needs it now. He needs to find her. One moment he’d been holding her hand in that tavern, the light blinding as he tried to keep his eyes on her face for as long as possible, and the next, she was gone. The Emma who’d come here had disappeared, but this Emma, his Emma, he still doesn’t know where she is.

No. No, it has to have worked. That was why they found the bloody star in the first place - light magic, no tricks, a wish that would send them both home. And then a new panic had set in. Home. If she’d been sent home, back to the castle where the other Emma had just used magic in front of her mother…

And so here he is, climbing the trellis beneath her window like a suitor in a storybook, only older, and wearier, and sweatier. But he embraces the exhaustion, the burn of his limbs, because it keeps the worst of his fears at bay. What if she’s just gone? What if she was never sent to another land? What if he can’t bring her back. What if she’s lost to him forever?

He doesn’t want to think of what that would mean, of what it might do to him to have her ripped away like this. He fears who he might become without her, who he was when he met her, the emptiness that had consumed him, that she had filled. She’d changed him.

He reaches the window, grunting embarrassingly - though there’s no one around to hear it - as heaves himself over the edge of her balcony. It’s dark, the blinds are closed and he can’t hear anything inside. He calls her name, tries the door when she doesn’t answer. It’s locked. Why the hell is her bloody balcony door locked, he groans. Probably to keep people from climbing up the trellis into her room.

Slipping his hook into the keyhole he curses when it takes him longer than he’d like to pick the lock. He’s out of practice at breaking and entering. When it finally unlatches the door creaks open under his hand and he winces, everything feeling too loud.

“Swan? Emma, love, are you there?” He tries to ignore the stirring dread when he receives no answer, searching in the dark. He’s never been here before, their meetings always in the tavern or on his ship. The room smells like her, her scent clinging to the walls, haunting the space as it does his cabin every time she has to leave. He calls her name again, checking the bed, searching the sitting room attached. Her chambers are bigger than his whole bloody ship.

She has to be somewhere. He’ll search the whole bloody castle if he has to. Unfortunately his fear makes him impulsive; his desperation makes short-sighted; and his lack of practice makes an idiot. Because when he opens the door to the hall, prepared to go storming off looking for her, he forgets to listen, forgets to be silent, or armed, and he comes face to face with two guards - or face to back.

Bollocks. He tries to back away slowly, but it’s too late, the guards turning, their swords drawn as swiftly as his own. So much for sneaking about the palace unnoticed - he’ll have to find her quickly. He disarms the first two easily - not killing them, he knows Emma is close to some of the guards and he doesn’t think she’d appreciate him doing away with her household staff - but one of them shouts and more come running. Five, who he manages to take down, then ten, harder this time, a few still standing when more come, and soon it seems the whole bloody army is in her bedroom.

“Get your bloody hands off of me,” he spits as four hold him down, force him to his knees, disarmed, bloody and bruised. A new guard walks in, older than the rest, a commander more than a fighter now he imagines.

“We found him breaking in, Lord Humbert. It looks like he came up through the balcony.”

“Tell whoever’s stationed outside to report to my quarters,” the man says in an accent close to Killian’s own. “The bloody idiots can explain how they let someone get into the princess's room.” Killian likes this one, the name familiar. He just can’t place it.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing here?” Humbert asks.

“I would,” Killian snarks. “But I’m in a bit of a rush, actually. I have people expecting me. You know how it is.”

The guard actually looks half amused, glancing at his clothes and at his hook. “Aye, well, I don’t think you’ll be seeing anyone anytime soon. The punishment for attempted kidnapping is death, Captain.”

Killian gives him his most charming, sarcastic smile. “Well it’s always nice to be recognized.”

“Your title won’t do you much good when you’re facing the gallows, I’m afraid. Take him away.”

“Wait!” he says through gritted teeth before the guard can turn away. “I wasn’t trying to kidnap her, I was trying to bloody warn her.”

He stops, frowns. “About what?” Killian sets his jaw. He can’t tell this man anything without revealing Emma’s magic, possibly putting her in even more danger. Humbert waves his hand and he’s being dragged to his feet as the man walks away, a wolf on the back of his armor. “You’re Graham - the one who saved her mother.”

Graham stops, turns back, raising a hand again and the soldiers holding him relax their grip only slightly. “How do you know that?”

“Emma told me. She also told me that you taught her to track when she was little. Her governess got angry because she would come back covered in mud and leaves.”

“Emma told you?” Graham asks, frowning deeply, stepping closer.

“Aye, she cares for you - said you were like a second father to her. Which is why I’m sorry about this.” The man hardly has a moment to register his words before Killian pulls a sword from one of the guards’ belts, hitting Humbert in the face with the hilt and knocking him out cold. The other guards are caught off guard, Killian making quick work of them. “Sorry,” he says to them before taking off down the hall - Emma’s made him soft-hearted. “True love and all.”

***

Emma nearly falls into the water. One moment she’d been sitting with Killian in the room that belonged to another version of her, and the next she was stumbling across the deck of a ship. She blinks, looking around at where she is, recognizing the Jolly, the open sea around her. She touches the fabric of her clothes, the riding pants and vest. Hers. She’s back. They must have done it - her Killian and his Emma. Running below deck, she throws open the door to his cabin.

“Killian?” she calls. But there’s no answer. The ship is silent, empty, eerily so. She searches the bosun’s room he’d spent so many nights in, the galley, the hold, the deck. He’s not here. Why isn’t he here? She makes her way to the railing, looking out at the docks. This isn’t the port near Misthaven. “Where are you?”

She lets her magic flow through her, humming under her skin, extending beyond her but not far, holding tight to it. Killian, where are you? Emma lets it pull her to the edge of the ship, looking out into the dark water below, her reflection visible in the bright moonlight, the waves rippling through it before the image shifts and she nearly gasps.

Mirror magic. She hadn’t meant to use it but she can see him coming through beneath her reflection, as though it were floating to the surface. The tavern. Misthaven. She doesn’t know what his ship is doing here, why he’s not on it, but she’s going to find him. Emma raises the main sail and makes her way back to the helm, looking up at the stars, the constellations he taught her. She points the ship east, back to him. She’ll find him. She’ll find him and she’ll tell him everything.

He hadn’t been at the tavern when she arrived a little over an hour later. The barkeep had seemed confused when she’d asked if he’d seen Killian. “He was ‘ere earlier - with you. Ran outta ‘ere like a bat outta hell. Assumed you wen’ with ‘im.”

“Do you know where he went?”

The man shook his head. “Maybe ‘e’s lookin’ for you too.”

“Damn.” If he did, then he’s at the palace, and she needs to find him before anyone else does. She takes the barman’s horse back to the castle, hopping off and sneaking around back to the servants quarters to avoid being seen. She needs to sneak in, find Killian, and sneak him out before anyone even knows she’s there.

The door to the kitchen is unlatched, the cook notorious for leaving it ajar, livestock often making their way into the pantry searching for snacks. She’s relieved to find it empty, creeping through the room to the staircase that leads to the great hall. If she has to search floor by floor, she will.

She decides it’s her best bet, starting up the winding staircase. She can hear the sounds of guards above her, worried they’ve already found him, and she picks up her pace, taking the steps two at a time. She barely hears the footsteps, barely hears the sharp sound of metal being unsheathed before she nearly crashes into him.

Someone catches her just in time to avoid her plummet back down a hundred or more steps, and when she looks up to see her savior, she can’t believe it. “Emma?”

“Killian!” she throws herself in his arms, holding him tightly and he freezes. But then she’s pressing her lips to his and his arms wrap around her, drawing her closer, letting her push him back against the wall as she kisses him like she thought she’d never see him again. He’s here. He’s safe.

“Is it really you?” he asks, pulling away enough to brush his thumb over her cheek. Emma nods furiously, beaming and crying all at once. “Yeah, it’s really me.”

“Where did you go? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. It’s a long story, but, Killian, we have to go. If they find you here -”

He nods, solemnly. “I know. Come on.”

She takes his hand, and he just looks at her, that air of disbelief still in his eyes. Then he looks at her hand and she knows he’s thinking the same as her. She thought she’d lost him, and she doesn’t resist as he pulls her back to him, kissing her one more time, just because it won’t be the last.

A clamour comes from upstairs, footprints and armor and blades and Killian breaks away, drawing his own sword. “This way!” she hisses, leading him down, but she freezes, footsteps coming from below as well and she turns wide, frantic eyes on him.

“It’ll be alright, love.” She doesn’t know if she believes him this time…

“Unhand her!” a voice shouts from above them.

They both whirl around, each with a protective arm thrown out across other, leaving them standing side by side. “Stand down,” Emma orders and Killian takes another step forwards, sword in hand as the guard looks at her, hesitant, uncertain and she orders him to stand down again. Why aren’t they listening?

“Swan,” he whispers, hook pressing into her hip, trying to hide her behind him. “They know about your magic.”

She only lets the panic take over for a moment, simmering low in her stomach, heart hammering, before she channels it. Light begins to simmer in her palms. “Then they have all the more reason to listen.”

“Emma!” Her magic vanishes, the familiar voice sending a pang through her. They both turn, but it takes her a moment to raise her eyes to his, to see how he’ll look at her now, if there will be fear there, or worse, hatred. Killian raises his sword at the guards there, led by an older man with a scar on his chin.

“Dad.”

“Emma, we were so worried,” he says. Killian’s sword lowers slightly as her father steps forward and his eyes settle on the pirate holding her back, on his weapon. “Step away from my daughter.” He’d kill him. She knows he would. She can see it in his eyes, magic or no, he’s her father and he would destroy anyone who tried to hurt her.

“Dad-” Killian drops his sword but doesn’t leave her side.

“Seize him!”

“Dad, wait!” He doesn’t listen, guards grabbing Killian, dragging him off of her, and she reaches for him as her father pulls her to his side. “Dad, wait, no!” She’s crying now, shouting at him as she grabs for Killian’s hook.

He gives her a small smile that she knows he doesn’t feel, knows is just for her. “It’s alright, love.” He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before he’s dragged off. “I’ll find you,” he calls. “I promise. I’ll always find you.”

Emma turns to her father, grabbing at his tunic. He’s staring after Killian, an expression she can’t read on his face, but not the abject hatred and murderous intent that had been there a moment ago.

“Dad, please, don’t hurt him.” He finally looks at her, brow pinched in confusion, and she says the words she’d been so afraid to confess to anyone but Killian. “I love him. Please. Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want.” His eyes go wide, mouth falling open and she lets her head fall against his chest, somewhere that had always felt so safe. His hand comes to the back of her head, a reflex born of years of soothing her tears and her words are muffled against his shirt through her tears. “I can’t lose him. I love him. Please.”

***

The cell door beside his opens, another prisoner tossed in with a grunt and a few choice curses at the guards. The women in this kingdom certainly do have a way with words. “And here I thought I had the place to myself,” he says because even now, for all his years and all the time he’s had to learn better, he still hasn’t.

“You won’t have any place for much longer,” the guard says to him. Ah yes, those pesky gallows they keep mentioning.

“Ou, ominous,” the prisoner next to him says, laughing as the guard walks away. She’s a woman, he can’t see her, a thick stone wall separating their cells, but her voice is light despite its bite and her hands hang out the bars she leans against, distinctly feminine. “What did you do to piss them off?”

“Trespassing.” It’s not completely untrue. He did trespass in the castle. And he’d trespassed where he had no right being the moment he thought he could be a part of Emma’s world.

“Hanging for trespassing?” she demands. “Man, this kingdom is rough.”

“It was a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“Look, I’m not really in a chatty mood, what with my imminent death and all.”

“Ah, I get it. First time?”

He scoffs. “Not hardly.”

“Always nice to meet a kindred spirit.” Killian can hear her smile and he finds one tugging at the corner of his lip. He likes this woman. She reminds him of Emma in a way, the snark and the dark humour. “So, you’re not in a talking mood,” the prisoner says when he doesn’t answer. “Are you in an eating mood?” She sticks her hand out, offering a roll of bread. “It’s not much of a last meal but I was able to snag it off the guard's plate when he was tossing me on my ass.”

Killian takes it, not having eaten since this morning, hand slipping out of the bars to reach for it. “Thank you.”

She gasps when his hook flashes against the iron, but not in fear. “You’re the pirate who tried to kidnap the princess.” She sounds almost impressed.

“I wasn’t trying to kidnap her.”

The prisoner laughs. “Sure, and I wasn’t trying to rob that carriage.”

“I wasn’t -” he sighs. It’s pointless. There’s no reason to argue.

“Okay, I’m sorry. You weren’t trying to kidnap her. So what were you doing?”

“I was trying to find her.”

“... to kidnap her?”

“To warn her.”

“... That you were going to kidnap her?”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am, thank you.” He doesn’t answer. “So are you going to tell me what you were trying to warn her about?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because there’s nobody else to talk to and I might be the last person you talk to. You know, deathbed confessions and all that.”

He scoffs. “I’ve been in more dire straits than this and found a way out.” He begins doing just that, searching for a weakness in his cell, anything that could help him get free - or anything he could use to overpower the guard.

“And go where? This palace is a fortress.”

“To her,” he says to himself, but she hears them.

“Who? The princess?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh, do you want to tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Come on now. You don’t seem like a stupid person, but you’re stupid enough to break into a castle to try and talk to her. And to break out of the dungeon and go right back to the same castle to find her. I mean, it’s not difficult to figure out. Life-in-danger stupid is the kind of stupid that’s only brought on by one thing.”

“Love,” he says quietly.

“Yeah. So, do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs. “What would be the point? I’m going to lose her no matter what now.” Either her parents will kill him, or they’ll find a way to keep her away from him forever.

“Because… Say you do die tomorrow; say this is your last night. If you can’t be with her, don’t you at least want someone to know your story? Don’t you want someone to be able to tell her that you spent your last hours thinking about her? I would.” A pang pulls at his chest. He hasn’t feared death in a long time, he’d not had anything to lose, to leave behind. “But hey,” she says, “maybe I’m just a romantic.”

“I… I promised her it would be alright. I knew it was a risk from the beginning.”

“So why did you do it?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’d understand if you met her. I knew it was a risk, but I also knew that I had no chance, the moment I met her…”

***

Her father takes her down to the kitchen, dismissing the rest of his guards as he leads her to the table. He sets to making a cup of hot chocolate - ‘The best remedy for when my girls are upset,’ he used to say - and puts it down in front of her. She’s still crying and he’s looking at her like he doesn’t know what to do. It’s the first time in her life he hasn’t had an answer.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s going on?

“Are you going to execute him?” The thought is so horrible, the question so harsh that her fingers shake around the mug.

“I… no. No, we won’t do anything until we know what’s going on. But you have to tell me.” Emma takes a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. “You… You said you love him.” She can tell the sentence is hard for him, both to say out loud and to wrap his head around. She nods.

“Isn’t he a little old for you?”

“Dad.”

It’s his turn to take a deep breath. “But… When…How long has this been going on?”

“A year.”

“A year?” Emma nods and he runs a hand over his face, processing - poorly. Her father clears his throat, stands and digs out a bottle of liquor. “We might need something stronger than cocoa for this conversation.” He pours two generous servings and drinks deeply from his. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

She takes the second and nods. “He saved my life.”

***

Killian told her the story of how they met; how she’d fought a pirate twice her size and twice her age, how brave and strong she’d been as she held her own until the very end. He told her how he saved her and brought her back to his ship, how she’d stayed the night and then never left. He told her of the months they spent on the Jolly Roger, how scared she’d been of her own magic, how beautiful, and awe-inspiring it had been to watch her come into her power.

He told her how she’d been the one to kiss him first, and he told her of the fear and doubt that had held him back. He told her how Emma fought him, every terrible excuse he could think of, and then asked him to let her try and love him. And he told her how she had. He told her how he fell in love with her, how every moment he spent with her made him love her more.

He told her how they knew she eventually had to go home, and how it destroyed both of them to leave the world they’d created behind. He told her how they would meet every fortnight in a tavern near the kingdom, and how they sailed away whenever they could.

He told her about their last meeting, their last night where she’d asked him to run away with her, to take her somewhere she’d never be found, to love her and be with her and forget the rest of the world. He told her how they both knew that was something they could never have.

“The next time I saw her, she wasn’t her. She was another Emma, one from a world where she and another version of me had somehow defied the odds. They’re happy, together, in love.”

“Another her?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. “There were wishes and stars involved.”

“Would you run away with her? If she asked you again?”

He thinks for a long moment. He hadn’t wanted to make her leave her family, her home, her birthright. But ever since he thought he lost her, now that he fears he’s lost her again… “Aye. If it was truly what she wanted, I’d sail away with her in a heartbeat.”

“What if she asked you to stay?”

“I don’t see how that would ever happen.” Where he is now attests to that.

“But if she did ask, would you?”

He feels a slight tug at his heart. It’s something that’s bothered him since that first time Emma asked him to run away with her, the first time he’d kissed her on the deck of his ship - she’s never asked him to stay. Perhaps it makes sense, she fits better into his world than he does into hers. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t give up everything for her - the Jolly, his crew, his life at sea…

“I’d be with her anywhere she wished rather than spend another day not by her side.”

The woman behind the wall is quiet, and he lets the moment hang in the space around him. It’s strange, to have confessed so much to a stranger, to feel such a weight lifted from his chest for it. But he feels relieved, as she’d suggested, that someone besides the two of them will know their story, that his love for her was real, and true, and that he loved her until his last moment.

“It’s morning, you know,” she says softly and he looks up, no light in the dungeons apart from the burning candles. But his body can feel the change in time, trained the way it has been for centuries to wake on his ship, to keep track of days and years in Neverland, and he realizes he spoke all night. “And listen.” He does, but there are no sounds apart from the dripping of water somewhere in the damp caves. “No drums.” She’s right. There are no drums announcing his execution, no guards come to take him to the gallows. “It looks like you might get that second chance after all.”

He hears the clattering chime of keys, a lock being turned and then the door beside him swings open. The prisoner steps out, coming to stand before his cell. She’s older than he expected, long silver hair with only a few remnants of black, ivory skin still lovely despite the passing of time, and eyes the colour of sea glass.

The woman rests a hand on one of the bars, looking at him with an intensity that holds him in place, keeping him from reaching for the keys she holds so near. “If everything you said is true, Killian-” Those eyes bore into him, a kindness behind the strength… Emma’s eyes. “Then I’m glad my daughter found you.”

***

David and Snow sit in their chambers, at the small table in the sitting room they’ve always used for these kinds of conversations, the difficult ones that called for debate and decisions. The Arguing Table, the king had once dubbed it. But now neither speaks, both lost deep in thought at the revelations that have been brought this morning. Their daughter has magic, something she’d been so afraid of them learning that she ran away, terrified of what they’d do to her.

They failed her. Their own fear and trauma passed on to the person they love most in the world. ‘Emma is the product of true love,’ Blue had told Snow when she’d gone running to her after Emma - or, not Emma - had used magic and then disappeared two days ago. ‘That’s the most powerful magic of all, and it creates a light strong enough to vanquish any darkness.’

They’d been scared, of course they had, the sudden power unexpected and bringing back so many horrible memories. But the fact that she believed they would turn against her, fear her and not the unpredictability of magic, it breaks both their hearts. They swore that if they found her - ‘When we find her,’ Snow had insisted - they would make it right.

And she’s in love. Their beautiful, wonderful, perfect daughter is in love - and she kept it from them. Snow had feared Emma would never open herself up to love again, not after that horrible man had come and toyed with her heart when she was so young and left her without a reason, so heartbroken that David had nearly hunted him down and killed him himself. Snow had nearly let him.

Their stories match up; after hearing what Emma told David, Snow believes that everything Killian told her in the dungeon was true, right down to her wanting to run away with him. She loves him so much that she would give up her home, her kingdom, them for him. And it stings, of course it does. But she’s their daughter, Snow knew she wouldn’t need them as much one day, that she’d find her own happy ending apart from theirs. Her husband is still not as convinced, staring at the fire with his hand at his chin, oscillating between disbelief and indignation.

“I still want to kill him.”

“David!”

“I’m not saying that I will. I just don’t like the idea of some pirate twice her age coming here and seducing our daughter away.”

“He’s not twice her age,” Snow says, as patiently as she can despite her exasperated sigh. “And she’s a grown woman, how old they are doesn’t matter. Besides, I think from what they told us, it was the other way around as far as who seduced wh-”

“Ah!” he grimaces, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Tough.” He looks up at her with those sad, hurt, puppy dog eyes he uses so well without ever meaning to. “He didn’t steal her away, Charming. He’s the reason she came home to us at all.”

Her husband, Prince Charming, knight and King of Misthaven, pouts, and slouches back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “So what, I’m just supposed to accept a pirate as a son-in-law?”

“If they decide that’s what they want to do, then yes. But this isn’t our parents’ generation, they don’t have to get married.”

“Oh, he’ll marry her,” David says and this time it’s a threat.

“Whatever they decide, I think we have to accept that he’s the one she’s chosen. And if we want to keep our daughter in our life, then he’s part of the deal.”

“But he’s a thief!”

“So was I.”

“He’s not of royal blood!”

“Neither are you.” He looks almost offended and Snow reaches for his hand across the table. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke about her, Charming… I think it might be true love.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging, turning his hand to hold hers. “I know.”

“You know what that would do to her if we tried to separate them - what she would do. We’ll lose her, David. I don’t want to lose my daughter.” He nods, squeezing her fingers affectionately and she knows he’s on her side. He always is - it just takes him a while to realize it sometimes.

“I suppose I could knight him,” David says, lost in thought again, clearly still not over the idea of having a pirate for a son-in-law.

Snow lifts their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to his thumb. “Whatever makes you feel better, darling.”

***

Emma hasn’t slept, up all night looking for Killian, then finding him, then losing him again and then sitting up with her father, telling him the story of how she met and fell in love with a man he doesn’t approve of. She knows he doesn’t approve. But he would probably never approve of anyone she chose to be with, overprotective since the moment the Evil Queen had threatened her, before Emma was even born. She fears what he would do to Killian if he knew about the baby.

Her hand settles over her stomach. He’d promised he wouldn’t harm him, at least not until they decided what to do about the situation, and he made her promise not to go looking for Killian. It was a promise she’d almost broken seven times in the few hours she’d paced her room before sunrise. What does he mean ‘when they decide what to do about the situation’? Would they send him away? Keep him locked in the dungeon for the rest of his life?

The relief she feels over her parents not fearing her magic pales in comparison to the anxiety that consumes her at the thought of being separated from Killian. She knows if they send him away, she’ll find him, and if they keep him in the dungeon, she’d get him out, or he’d get himself out and take her away. And her father knows it too. Which means the only true way to keep him from her would be - no. He promised.

It’s just after dawn when she’s summoned to the throne room, her footsteps echoing across the empty hall, no one but the King and Queen sat in their thrones, waiting for her. Her mother stands, crossing the room to take Emma’s face in her hands, kissing her cheek and then hugging her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry you were so afraid to tell us.” Her voice is choked with tears she always lets herself shed, mighty queen or not. Snow releases her, looking at her again, eyes watery as she strokes her cheeks. “We love you, Emma. You’re our daughter. And we want you to be happy, no matter what that looks like.” Her eyes dart up to her mothers, hope blooming in her chest where her heart beats rapidly. “I know you told your father, but I want to hear it from you. Is he really what you want?”

“Yes,” she says without any hesitation. “More than anything, Mom… I love him,” she pleads and the queen’s tears begin to fall as a smile spreads across her face. She looks back at her husband, nodding.

“Bring him in.” Emma’s heart jumps into her throat at David’s words, turning to the large doors that are being pushed open by two guards. Another two file in, followed by yet another two who lead their prisoner inside, each holding one of his chained arms.

“Killian!” His head snaps to her, looking stunned to find her there, the wind knocked out of him as she sprints across the hall to throw herself at him. He can’t hold her, not with his hands cuffed in front of him, but he tucks his chin into the crook of her neck, speaking into her hair.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, not ready to let him go. “Are you?” He nods as well, but grunts when she squeezes him tighter. ‘Six guards seems a little excessive,’ she hears her father’s voice behind her, but she’s too busy pulling back to look at him, the cuts and bruises she’d not seen in the dark last night. ‘It was… necessary, Sire.’

Killian smirks. “Don’t worry, love, I’ve lived through worse. I just don’t bounce back as quickly anymore as I did when I used to sneak into young lass’ bedrooms.” Emma shakes her head at him and lifts a hand to his brow, tracing the curve of his temple and cheek and lets her magic seek out his pain, settling on his chest where she lets it flow out of her and into him, healing them all. He breathes a little sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She can feel the way the guards tense at her display of power, inching back slightly.

“Release him,” Snow orders. “And leave us.” The guards do as they’re told, freeing his wrists and leaving the throne room, shutting the door behind them. Killian’s arms come around her immediately, holding her close until her father speaks again.

“Come forward, pirate,” he orders and Killian looks up over her shoulder at the king, then at her.

“It’s okay,” she promises, because for the first time since she returned from that other reality, she has hope it will be. Emma slips her fingers between his, walking by his side to the thrones, her father doing his best to loom over him, to intimidate him, despite the way his hand is grasped around his wife’s.

“My daughter says she’s in love with you.” Killian turns to smile at her, barely a movement but she catches it before he’s looking seriously at the king again.

“Aye. And I love her.”

“And I’m sure you realize why this might pose a problem for us, both as rulers and as her parents.”

He smirks. “Ah, yes, the pirate thing.” Emma nudges him with her elbow and he squeezes her hand. So not the time for snark. Her mother seems amused though, pressing her lips together in a telling way.

“Yes, that. Obviously we can’t have a pirate courting the heir to the throne. And as she’s so determined to be with you, and we don’t wish to lose our daughter to a life at sea, it comes down to one question. Are you willing to remain in Misthaven and give up your life for her?”

Killian speaks at the same time as she does, refusing to let them force this choice on him. “Wait -”

“- Aye.”

No, no this isn’t what she wants. She doesn’t want him to have to give up the life he loves for her, the only one he’s ever known, his home, the sea… His thumb brushes over the back of her hand when David presses him.

“You’d give up your title? Your reputation? Your ship?”

She knows her dad’s just testing him now and she opens her mouth to call him out on it - there’s no reason he can’t have a ship even if he lives here. But Killian turns to her, eyes so full of emotion it stops the words dead. “I already have.”

Her heart is pounding in her chest, in her throat as she stares at him in disbelief. What does he mean he already has? She doesn’t get a chance to ask, David slapping a hand down on the arm of his throne.

“Then it’s settled. You’ll be a knight.”

“Well, nothing’s been made official, yet. We can figure out what works best -” Snow starts but he continues.

“And you’ll get married.”

“Only if you want to. And only when you want to.”

“We’ll have to do something to make sure the story is told to the kingdom the way we want it to. Rumours could -”

“David.” He goes silent finally. “We have plenty of time for all of that. For now, let’s just give them a moment, alright?”

“I still think he’s too old for her.”

Killian is still looking at her, nothing but love and hope in his eyes and she doesn’t know what to say, what to ask. What does he mean he gave it up? She thinks of the Jolly, empty and abandoned in that port not far away. Killian is never far from his ship, never leaves her unguarded. He brings their entwined hands to his lips, kissing the back of hers and she hardly notices her parents leaving the room, the hall empty now, just the two of them and her voice echoes despite how softly she speaks.

“Killian… Did you give up your ship for me?”

He doesn’t break her gaze. “Aye.”

Her heart is racing again. “When? How? Why?” None of the questions seem big enough to capture the scope of what he’s telling her, what she can’t wrap her mind around.

“When you were ripped away from me and sent to that other bloody realm. It’s how we got you back. I traded the Jolly for a wishing star.”

Emma frowns. “Traded? To who?”

She can see the apprehension that creeps over him, but he doesn’t falter. “Blackbeard.”

“What? Why would you do something like that? She’s your home.”

“Don’t you know, Emma?” She only stares, waiting, aching with guilt at what he gave up for her, what else he’s going to give up. “My home isn’t the Jolly Roger. It’s you. She’s nothing but planks of wood and a sail. That ship was my home because the only life I wanted to live was aboard her. Now that life is here, by your side - if you’ll have me.”

She’s crying now, tears slipping silently down her cheek. “I didn’t think that you’d want to stay, not when it meant giving up a life of adventure for court politics and dances.” It was why she hadn’t told him about the baby either. She didn’t want to tie him to her, to land out of obligation.

He smiles softly at her and she can see the tinge of hurt in it. “You never asked.”

“I didn’t want you to have to give up anything for me.”

His smile is sweeter now and he reaches to brush away her tears. “You were willing to give up an entire kingdom, a crown, and your family for me. Is it so unreasonable to believe that I would do the same for you?” He leans in to kiss her but she stops him before their lips can touch, a hand on his chest.

“Wait. I want to say something before you kiss me and I forget everything I’m thinking.” He gives her an amused smirk but nods. “When I was in the other reality, I met another version of you.”

“Aye. I had a similar experience.”

“He told me something.” She remembers the younger Killian’s words, ones she’d been so afraid to believe. But he’s given up so much for her and she needs him to know that it’s not just him, that he’s not the only one who found his home. “He told me that I’m your happy ending. But before you say anything,” she cuts off the words that had started to come out of his mouth and he shuts it. “I want you to know… that you’re mine.”

His eyes water at her confession, smile wobbly as he beams at her. “Now can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” she laughs and he lunges forward, smile capturing hers in a way that she knows he’s here to stay. She never should have doubted it at all.

***

“I could get used to this, you know,” he tells her as they make their way up to her room, much to her father’s irritation - ‘We’ll get you set up in some quarters-’ ‘David.’ - and his amusement.

They’d spent the day patiently sitting through meals and plans and agreements with her parents, Killian constantly thrown off guard whenever a servant would appear, as though by magic, and offer him something to eat, or refill his cup when it was empty - something he would have to watch out for, lest he accidentally get sloshed in front of her father.

The halls they walk through now are ornate, carved stone and gilded windows, art the likes of which could buy a thousand ships decorating the walls. “I can’t believe you were going to give this up for a cabin and a galley.”

Emma snorts, hand holding his hook as they walk, swinging it between them. “One day in a castle and you’ve taken to the life?” she asks, parroting his words from so long ago. Killian only smirks.

“It’s a hard life to resist when it comes with such a lovely face,” he flirts and sees her cheeks flush even as she rolls her eyes. He reaches out and brushes a thumb over her blush. “And such a lovely colour.” He continues to trace along her jaw. “And such a lovely neck,” he says, fingers ghosting along the line of it.

Emma’s tongue slips out to run over her lip as her breathing shallows and he feels a pang of desire tug him closer. He’s not touched her, not properly, in over a week, and with the adrenaline of the last few days finally fading, he’s overcome with the need to feel her beneath his hand and mouth. He traces her collarbone, fingers inching towards the swell of her breasts, following the curve of the lace that hides her from him. “And such lovely -”

She pulls him down the hall, the last few meters to her bedroom where two guards stand outside, the same he’d done away with last night. “You can go, thank you,” she tells them, pushing the door open and dragging him inside. Killian can’t help the smug smirk he flashes at them before she shuts the door.

She grabs for him, tugging at the clasps of his vest as she scolds, “You can’t touch me like that in a hallway where my parents live and where there are a hundred guards constantly watching us.”

He raises an amused brow, shucking his coat and vest as she starts on the buttons of his shirt. “If this is your reaction, love, I think I very much can - and will.” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer, hooked arm wrapping around her waist, lifting her and spinning them so he can press her against the door. The wanton little gasp she gives when her back collides with the wood goes straight to his cock and he presses the hardening length into her as she wraps her legs around his hips, watching her bite her lip before claiming it for himself.

Gods he missed her. His mouth slants over hers finding her tongue and growling into her when her hands reach for his belt, tossing it to the floor and starting on his laces. This is hardly the way he’d intended for their reunion to go but her grip is already vice-like around him and he’s shoving her skirts up around her hips.

She strokes him hard, as though she can read his mind when she says, “we can go slow later.” There’s filth in her eyes and in her promise and he’s going to bloody lose his mind if he’s not inside her another moment. Killian takes her hands, forcing her to release him and pinning them above her head with hand and hook, the motion so familiar, too familiar.

He stops, memories of her - another her - splayed out on his desk while he fucked her like this and he knows she said Emma wouldn’t mind, but he does. His desire is replaced by guilt, and fear of her reaction when he tells her. Because he has to tell her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sensing his change in mood.

“I…” He looks away, releasing her hands and they settle on his shoulders to steady herself as he lets her down carefully. “I have to confess something to you.”

“What is it?” Her voice is full of concern, for him and only for him, her hands gentle on his cheeks, stroking through the silver patches in his beard she knows better than him now. “You’re scaring me a little,” she says and he makes himself look at her, heart heavy.

“When the Emma from the Land Without Magic came here in your stead, she sought me out for help and I... I thought she was you and we shared… a dalliance. I’m sorry, love. If I’d known - I should have known.” He expects anger, fears hurt, but instead she sighs in what sounds like relief, a small smile at the corner of her lips before she rises on her toes and presses them to his. “You’re not angry?” he asks, pulling back in surprise, and relief.

She shakes her head. “You thought she was me, didn’t you?”

“Aye.”

“And you had no reason to think she wasn’t - I mean, she is me.” But she wasn’t. And that was what tore him up inside. “And, it would be hypocritical of me to be jealous.” He looks at her in question. “I thought… I thought you’d been cursed, given fake memories by the Evil Queen.”

“The Evil Queen?” She nods, his heart frantic at the thought of what danger she might have been in.

“I was terrified, and he - you - made me feel safe,” she says, hands gripping the collar of his shirt. “Like you always do.” He strokes a hand through her hair, glad that there was a version of him there to help her, to make sure she came back to him in one piece. He wouldn’t trust her safety to anyone else. “So if you’re guilty of something, then I suppose I am too. But I’m glad she found you, that she had you by her side because I don’t think I’d have made it through that ordeal without you either.”

“Emma,” he says softly, cupping the side of her face and kissing her brow. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And neither did you,” she says firmly. “I think that maybe you and I, Killian and Emma, are meant to find each other, to save each other, to fight for each other, no matter what world or circumstances we’re born into. We belong together. Always.”

His chest feels as though it was going to burst, swelling with the love he has for this woman, love that no time or place or distance or curse could ever falter. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good.”

He kisses her again, softer than before, hand gentle as he explores the length of her arms and back and waist through her dress. They have time for slow now. “You’re entirely over dressed,” he tells her and she nods, smiling as he reaches for her laces and begins to pull them free, mouth at her neck and then her breasts when he sends both dress and shift to pile to the floor.

“Now that,” he comments, looking over her shoulder, “is the biggest bloody bed I’ve ever seen in my life.” Emma laughs, one of the favorite sounds he knows he can draw from her. He scoops her up again, hand and hook wrapping her legs around his waist. “I say we make proper use of it,” he suggests, crossing the room.

He drops her on the mattress, watching her practically disappear beneath the thousands of pillows scattered over the blankets. He crawls over her, tossing them all aside one by one as he digs her out and she giggles. “First thing to go when I move in are these bloody pillows.”

Emma raises a brow, biting back her smile. “When you move in? That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

He narrows his eyes playfully, dips his head to nip at her shoulder. “I believe I’ve all but been ordered to, love.” He nips her again, lower this time, teeth grazing over the swell of her breast. “And if there’s one thing a captain knows, it’s that orders must be obeyed.”

“Well, if they must, they must,” she says, long suffering and he kisses her quickly before sitting up to shuck his shirt, reaching for his brace. “Wait.” He stops and finds her watching him nervously, face flushing and he knows that expression. She wants something and she’s too embarrassed to ask for it.

“What is it?”

“I… Killian told me something else.”

He almost expected to feel jealousy, her blush and her hesitation making him think that he told her something in a very similar position to that in which they find themselves now. But he only finds curiosity, realizing it’s a rare and intriguing situation he finds himself in for her to have been with a version of him who didn’t share their history, who may know things about her that they’d not shared yet or that Emma doesn’t even know about herself. He remembers the ‘yes, captain’ that had fallen from the other Emma’s lips, something he’d not known he wanted to hear or that he would enjoy so much.

“I imagine he told you many things, he’s a very wise man,” he teases, lowering himself back down over her. She rolls her eyes a little but some of her anxiety wavers. He kisses her, chaste and sweet. “What is it, love? I’m not jealous.”

“He said that you take your hook off because you think I won’t like it - that most women are afraid of it.”

“Aye.” Insightful bastard, isn’t he?

Her eyes soften, fingers tracing the silver in his hair she’s so fond of as she brushes it back from his face. “Killian,” she sounds almost annoyed. “I’ve never been afraid of your hook. It’s as much a part of you as your hand or your wrist, or… any other appendages,” she flushes again and he smirks. Emma brings a hand to his cheek, eyes soft, serious. “I love every part of you, alright?”

He nods. “Alright.”

“Good. So only take it off with me if you want to. Not because you think I do. I know it makes you feel safer to have it on.” He was touched that she’d noticed, though he ever said anything, but after so many years of living at sea, at risk of attack at any moment, being caught without his brace and hook left him feeling vulnerable in more ways than one.

He leans down, lips falling over hers gently. “Thank you.” Emma reaches for him when he breaks the kiss, pulling him back down to her and presses her mouth to his. She kisses him slow and deep, mouths wide and tongues searching, Killian lowering himself over her as he tries to get closer. His stomach tightens at the small sounds she makes when her breasts press against his chest, when his hips lie flush with hers, the long, low moan she lets out when she feels his cock hardening against her.

He trails his mouth along her neck, tongue hot and wet against her skin as he tastes every inch of her. She gasps when he rolls his tongue over her nipple, pulling it into his mouth to nip and suck slowly, lazily and he can feel her growing more frustrated beneath him, clinging to his hair and back. Killian smiles against her skin, he knows that when she gets like this it’s so easy to make her come, that he’ll be able to do it again again on his fingers and tongue and cock. And it makes him wonder.

The high, choked sound that leaves her when he glides the rounded curve of his hook over her breast makes him growl low in his throat and he does it again, dragging the sharp tip in a slow circle around her nipple. She hisses out a ‘yes’, writhing slightly beneath him and gods he doesn’t think his cock has ever been so hard in his life.

He slides the edge over her stomach and watches her press her lips together in anticipation, nodding when he hesitates above the apex of her thighs. ‘Please’. The sight of her seaking her release on his hook is something he never thought he’d crave so desperately, and it drives him almost mad with lust.

His mouth closes over the peak of her breast again, hook between her legs, rolling over that sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the desperate rocking of her hips as he brings her to the edge once more. Her mumbled, incoherent pleas of his name and for more nearly make him spill himself in his leathers like a still wet-behind-the-ears lad. She’s always had this effect on him, the only one who seems to be able to defy his age and his experience and make him so bloody quick off the mark.

When he can see she’s nearly found her release, just at the crest of that clifftop, he slides between her thighs, thrusting into her and feeling her come on his cock. “Gods, you’re bloody brilliant, Swan,” he curses, rocking into her and relishing every exhausted little moan of pleasure that she lets out when he pushes back in. He can feel the ripples of aftershocks trembling around him. “Can you keep going, love?” he asks, watching the lazy way her back arches under him, her brow pulled low over tightly shut eyes, not wanting to push her past her limit with how tired she no doubt is.

He’d not meant it as a challenge, but he can see the way one flashes in her eyes when she opens them, narrows them at him, and then she’s pushing at his shoulder. He lets her roll him onto his back and he sits up when she falls over him to capture his mouth with hers, holding them both upright as she glues herself to him and kisses him until she draws a low moan from his chest.

She ruts her hips against his, a strangled cry falling from his lips as she smirks. “Can you?” He’s at a loss for words when her hand wraps around his length, rising and sinking down over him. His hand fists in her hair, drags her mouth back down to his and kisses her as she rocks against him. They pant and moan and gasp against each other’s lips, breaking away only enough to curse or speak words of praise and encouragement and pleas into the air between them as she moves over him.

He can tell that she’s close, the sounds leaving her faster and she pushes him down onto his back, leveraging herself on his chest as she rides him towards her release. She’s not a princess, she's a bloody goddess, golden hair falling around her shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she takes her pleasure, bringing him to the brink of his own.

He can’t not touch her, sliding over the length of her stomach, feeling each rise and fall of her ribs, closing his hand around the soft skin of her breast, thumb rolling over her hardened nipple. He traces up her neck to cup the back of her head when he feels her start to tremble around him, pulling her down to slant his lips over hers as he comes, hard and sharp and leaving him shaking, tasting her release on his tongue as she follows him over the edge.

“Gods, I missed you,” he breathes as she collapses over him. They lay panting for a long time, Emma’s weight a pleasant comfort over his chest and hips as he draws patterns over her back. When she eventually rolls off of him, he pulls her to him, tucking her back snugly against him and pressing a kiss to her ear.

“I think I’m a fan of this whole confession thing,” she says, still breathless and exhausted and he laughs. “Anything else you feel the need to get off your chest?” Emma teases.

“Not at the moment, love, but I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something once my heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest.”

“I have one,” she says after a long pause and he can feel the shift in her mood. “I may have accidentally stolen the Jolly Roger back.”

“What?” He lifts his head and she looks over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah. I came back on board and it was empty and I brought it here to find you.”

“Bloody hell.” He wants to laugh. No doubt he’ll probably have to face Blackbeard at some point over it, but he’d not gone back on their bargain. Blackbeard had left the ship unattended and so it was taken from him. He beams at her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re unbelievable.” His heart feels lighter. While he’d have traded it a hundred times over for the woman in his arms, he can’t shake the joy at having his ship back.

“Does that… change anything?”

“Like what?”

“Do you still want to stay? You have a choice now… more than you did when you said yes and I-”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Swan? There was never any choice. It was always you. I told you a year ago. I’ll be here until you send me away.”

A tear slips down her cheek but he knows it’s a happy one so he only kisses the trail it leaves in its wake. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Then I have something else to confess.”

“Oh?” he asks. Emma nods, reaching for his hand that’s still wrapped around her, resting over her heart. She draws it down until it rests low on her stomach and folds both her own over it. It takes him a moment, a heartbeat where he looks at her in confusion before it clicks and his heart doesn’t beat at all for a second. “Swan?” He looks up at her, searching her face for answers, not able to believe it, but she nods, lip caught between her teeth. “Are you sure?” His voice is rough, tears caught in the back of his throat.

“Yes.”

Killian shifts so she can roll onto her back, spreading his hand wider over her still flat stomach. He looks at her in awe more emotions than he has names for flooding through him as he leans down and kisses her belly. A child. His child, something he never thought he’d have. Milah hadn’t wanted any others after Bae and there’d been no one he’d wanted to share that with after she died. Until now.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m bloody terrified,” he laughs, unable to look away from where his hand rests over the life they’ve created. Terrified and happy, the happiest he’s ever been in his long, long life.

“Oh, good, me too.”

He kisses her stomach again and then takes her face in his hand and kisses her the way he had when she told him she loved him, the same overwhelming joy and disbelief and honour. “Thank you.”

“I mean, you did half the work…”

He shakes his head, laughing as he kisses her again for her cheek. “For everything. For loving me, for fighting me on it, for bringing light and laughter and hope back into my life, Emma. I love you. So much. And I promise I’ll be there for you and for her,” he says, hand settling back over her stomach, “for the rest of my life.”

“Her?” she asks, her smile wet with tears that he wipes away.

“Aye. A little girl, strong and powerful like her mother, and born of true love like her as well.”

Emma pulls him down to her, kissing him hard and fast and he’s not sure whose tears are dampening their cheeks but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” She says it with so much certainty, a deep smile pulling at his lips. “But you remember that whole true love thing, okay. You’re gonna need it.”

Killian raises a brow. “Why’s that?”

“My dad might actually try and kill you for this.”

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mie779 · 1 year

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His Forever Girl -Chapter 1

Chapter 1 is up

It's 12 years later, and we dive into Emma's world first, seeing what she's been up to and how she's been dealing with the heartache from the prologue.

Enjoy it here: FF.NET and on AO3

Thank you to all who read this, reviews are always a pleasure to find in my inbox.

#ouat #once upon a time #killian jones #captain swan #fanfiction #emma swan #my writing #writers #writers on tumblr #ouat fanfiction #inspired by driver's license olivia rodrigo #inspired by a song #angst #romance #second chance romance

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anmylica · 1 year

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Like Slow Spinning Redemption Chapter Four

Tagging the Usual Crew: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit

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Catch Up Here: 01 02 03

Liam moved through several rooms, shuffling papers and opening doors. He had walked into a couple of rooms where one of the others was also searching, and so he couldn’t move outside to destroy the pages yet. The only person he hadn’t met was Emma, but he knew that she had stalked off into a completely different area of the manse so as to avoid everyone else. He smiled slightly at Henry, which Henry returned as he moved into a new location. Liam watched Henry leave, and then he listened for the sounds of any of the others.

Hearing nothing, Liam decided that this was the best time to finish what he had started. He moved to the window facing the back yard, and noted how close he was to a door that led to the yard. Looking around him once more to check that he was alone, Liam slunk off towards the exit that led outside. He moved as quickly as he could without making much noise. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He opened the door as quietly as he could and closed it without pulling the latch; he didn’t need the door to make any extra noise. He didn’t know how much time he had, so he crossed over to the well quickly, stopping at the edge and pulling the pages out of his pocket.

Hades hadn’t left any specific instructions on how exactly to destroy them, but he did say that all the waterways led back to him. Liam decided that the best way was to follow Hades’ orders was to throw them into the nearest waterways. Remembering the well he had spied as he came into the mansion, he supposed that he could throw them in there and that would be enough. Moving fast, he managed to avoid everyone else searching and got to the well without anyone seeing him. He quickly took the pages out of his jacket and let them fall into the well. He watched them fall into the water and sink to the bottom almost immediately upon touching the water. It was done. He was free, finally free at last, of his secret’s hold on him. This was it, the whole reason he was still in purgatory. He could finally move on from this place. The regret at betraying his brother was outweighed by his singular relief at getting away with keeping his treachery a secret. He sighed as a weight lifted off his shoulders.

—————

After the altercation with Liam earlier in the day and her quasi-argument with Killian about whether Liam was hiding something, the last thing Emma felt like doing was searching for the missing pages. She actually felt more like hitting something (or someone, or possibly even multiple someones), an emotion which was apparent in the way she threw open doors and slammed them shut, roughly yanked open drawers and caused their contents to rattle, only to throw them shut in the same aggravated movement. Without Killian around her to see, she let her emotions reign as she stomped around, on her face a screwed up scowl, and she didn’t linger in any place for long.

She knew that Liam was wrong in his assessment of his brother’s perceived lack of heroism, just as he was wrong in his villainized judgment of her. She just didn’t know how to get Liam to see that there was more to Killian than that supposed “darkness” and view his younger brother for the hero that Emma knew him to be (and she also didn’t know how to get Killian to see that same fact for himself, only she was beginning to suspect that somehow Liam, himself, had to be the key to that’s endeavor). She couldn’t care less whether Liam Jones’ opinion ever changed of her; she just wanted to change his opinion of Killian (and of Killian concerning himself).

She wandered into another sitting room and paced through the length of it, scanning absentmindedly for any sign of the torn pages of Henry’s storybook, Underworld Edition, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She stopped and turned her head back to where she had caught it and realized she was seeing through a window into a yard just beside the house. She stepped closer to the window, her brow furrowed in confusion and suspicion as she realized she was looking at Liam. His back was to her; she couldn’t see what it was he was doing, but why would he be out in the yard when he had sworn he wouldn’t stop looking until they were successful in locating the lost pages?”

Making a split-second decision, she hastily left the room and made a beeline for the nearest exit that would get her to that yard and into yet another confrontation with Killian’s older brother. Her inner lie detector had been going off ever since their first conversation, and she was going to find out why it was alerting her to something being off with Liam. She owed it to Killian to investigate his brother’s shady actions, even if he wouldn’t appreciate her for it.

————-

Liam rubbed his hands together, watching as the pages floated down into the well and disappeared into the water, wishing that the ink hadn’t stained his hands so badly, and he heaved another sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been since seeing his brother once more. But all would be well. He would not have to answer Killian about what he had done, and Killian would never find out about his mistakes. He would remain a hero in his little brother’s eyes. They could move on from this place together. He would finally have his brother back.

He was just about to turn to find a place to wash his hands of the ink that had stained them when he heard Emma’s voice.

“I thought you were inside looking for the missing pages,” she called. Liam whirled around to face her, balling his hands into fists so as to hide the stains and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he did so in order to further conceal his treachery.

“Emma,” Liam replied, a bit breathlessly. “I thought a bit of fresh air and a change of scenery would get the inspiration flowing.”

Emma didn’t respond. She just smiled slightly, preparing to lay her trap though Liam didn’t know it. “Find anything?”

Liam shook his head minutely. “I’m afraid a ship’s captain can only be cooped up for so long. I had to come out and get some air. What brings you out here?”

Emma wondered if Liam realized how hollow his words sounded to her ears, how tinny they were with his lies, but, of course, he didn’t know about her super power. She walked closer to Liam so that he could get a good look about what she was going to show him. She hoped that the way to breach Liam’s lies was to use Killian to do it.

“I wanted to show you this,” Emma responded, pulling the chain out from under her shirt that had the ring Killian had given her in Camelot. She held the ring out as far as it would go to Liam to allow him to see what it was she beheld.

Liam leaned in a bit to look closer. “Oh. It’s the ring I gave Killian. I noticed he wasn’t wearing it.”

Emma smiled softly and played with the ring in her fingers. “Because he gave it to me,” she confirmed. “And you know what he told me when he did?” She paused and waited for Liam to shake his head before continuing. “That it belonged to a much better man than him. You’re his hero. He doesn’t think you can do any wrong…”

Liam squirmed uncomfortably, moving to scratch behind his ear in the same mannerism Killian had when he was uncomfortable. “Yes, well…” Liam tried to respond before falling silent, not knowing how to respond.

“Which is why,” Emma continued with no great concern about Liam’s feelings, “I can’t figure out why you would lie to him.” Emma stopped speaking and stared at Liam, a serious expression on her face.

Liam stared back, struck speechless by how blatantly she had called him out. Emma could tell he didn’t know what to say. He stared at her a moment before looking at the ground out of shame, and in that action Emma knew she had him. She just didn’t know what the lie was.

Before Liam could stammer out a reply, Killian joined them outside. “Liam? Emma? What’s going on?” he called out as he joined the two by the well. Killian looked between his brother and his lover, trying to puzzle out the tense air between the two people he loved most.

Liam looked to Killian and then Emma. Emma seemed as if she was content to let silence ring, so Liam responded to Killian’s question. He swallowed before saying, “She thinks I lied to you.”

“What?” Killian said under his breath, not sure if he had heard Liam right. He instinctively looked to Emma.

Emma nodded once to Liam. “He took the pages. I can prove it. Ask him to show you his hands. He’s been hiding them from me since I got here.”

Liam’s heart stopped, but he knew a way out of this trap. “Look,” he shrugged, “if it would help to clear things up, I’d be happy to.”

Emma shot him a look of challenging disbelief, but before she could accept his proposal, Killian spoke up.

“That won’t be necessary,” Killian said as he shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t need proof to know what’s really going on here. Emma, when are you gonna admit that this isn’t really about my brother?”

Emma looked taken aback, Liam noticed. Hadn’t the thought occurred to her that Killian would automatically assume that? It seemed Emma didn’t know Killian as well as she thought, Liam smugly thought to himself.

“What else would you think it’s about?” She asked slowly, confused about why Killian was questioning her motives.

Killian gestured between him and Emma with his hook. “Us,” Killian said plaintively. “You think if you can prove that Liam is a villain, then I’ll somehow feel like I was less of one. That you can convince me I’m worth saving and that we’ve got a future together.”

Liam glanced between his brother and his brother’s lover, wondering if she caught the same rough edge to Killian’s voice at that last bit that Liam had. Liam felt a surge of guilt go through his stomach at the thought that Killian’s hopes were being dashed, but Liam knew that it was for the best.

Killian walked closer to Emma, almost unconsciously, Liam noted. It seemed to him that Killian couldn’t break himself away from her no matter how much he said he wanted to. It suddenly struck Liam that he wasn’t the only one lying in this yard. In fact, Liam wondered if the only one of them telling the truth at this moment was Emma. He wondered if she were the only one who could possibly tell the truth now, as caught up in his mistakes as he was and as disappointed in himself as Killian was.

Emma’s face turned down and sadness peppered her voice. “You agree with him?” she whispered, and Liam’s heart lifted that their scrutiny seemed to be off of him and onto each other. Selfishly, he had no thought for Killian’s discomfort.

Killian shrugged. “Why bring me back if I should just love on? After we defeat Hades, I won’t be returning with you. My fate isn’t in Storybrooke. It should be determined here.” Killian’s eyes kept shifting back and forth from her eyes to the roofline of the house. He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he said his words.

Liam saw how much it hurt Killian to deny Emma the one thing that she wanted most. He wondered if she knew Killian was lying as well as Liam did.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Emma responded, tears welling in her eyes. “You can come home. You just have to forgive yourself.” Emma sighed and paused, trying to catch Killian’s eye, though he stubbornly looked over her shoulder. When she wasn’t successful, she continued, “Thing is… no matter how many times I tell you, or anybody else does, you have to do it yourself.” At that, she turned and walked past Killian towards the house.

Killian turned and shouted, “Emma!” When she didn’t stop, he made to follow her, but Liam grabbed his arm before Killian could take more than a step.

“Let her go, Killian. It’s for the best.” The sooner Killian could let Emma go, the sooner he could move on with Liam. Liam knew that desperately holding onto the ties to the Living was the reason why so many people down here couldn’t move on. Killian going after her would only delay the inevitable.

Killian sighed in frustration and looked down at the hand restraining him. He loved his brother, but he was really getting annoyed with the man. If he were to move on, he didn’t want things between him and Emma to have ended in strife and pain. He was just about to retort this to Liam when his eyes processed why Killian hadn’t looked back up to his brother’s face. Liam did have ink stains on his hands. Ink stains that Killian knew hadn’t been there when they arrived at the mansion. Ink stains much like the ones he himself had incurred when he rifled through the book’s pages in search of Hades’ story.

“Your hand,” he mumbled, dumbfounded. “You are hiding something.”

Liam tried to jerk his hand back, but it was too late. Killian grabbed Liam’s arm and held it up so he could check to make sure he had seen ink stains.

“It’s nothing,” Liam halfheartedly to excuse.

Killian stared at his brother’s hand uncomprehendingly. “It’s ink from the pages. Emma was right,” he said softly. Killian swallowed and looked up to stare his brother in the eyes. “Why would you lie to me?!”

Liam tried to find the words to explain, but his voice died in his throat. To be honest about this would mean admitting to what he had done, to the deal with Hades, all of it. Liam didn’t have it in him to admit to those failings, but how could he lie to Killian otherwise?

“Because…” called out a voice. Liam and Killian both turned to see their old captain, John Silver, approaching them with the rest of their old crew. “He’s got much bigger secrets than what’s in some book. Like the truth about what he did to us.”

Killian turned to Liam, his eyes blazing with a hard, desperate look. “What’s he talking about? What did you do?”

Liam looked back at his brother, pain and tears in his eyes. He stuttered, trying to find the words that could somehow both explain and excuse what he did, but they wouldn’t come. He knew that nothing he said would mend what was now breaking between them. Killian, in spite of his quick temper and tendency to seek vengeance as retribution for wrongs committed against him, had always had a very healthy streak of justice running through his veins. Perhaps it had been because their mother had died young and their father had abandoned them, perhaps it had been because the navy had given him purpose; Liam didn’t know. What he did know was that Killian had always, always believed in good form, in helping others less fortunate than they, in always making the right choices, in fighting against tyranny and those who would mistreat others for their own gains. And this, Liam was ashamed to admit, was the very opposite of good form his brother had always believed in, and that he, Liam, had tried to foster in his younger brother as they had grown up.

Liam had sowed the seeds long ago, and now he was going to reap the benefits, no matter how hard and difficult.

“Your brother made a deal with the devil,” Silver answered when it looked like Liam would say nothing. “He allowed us to die in that storm that sank our ship in exchange for the Eye of the Storm. Hades struck that deal with him to save you and condemn us to die.”

Killian stared at Silver in shock before turning to Liam. “Is this true?” Killian asked, shock and disgust coloring his voice. As he looked at the anguish on Liam’s face, Killian knew it was true, and the image of his brother, his unfailing, strong, heroic brother, began at last to fracture and crumble.

Liam swallowed and nodded once. “It’s true.”

Liam watched as awareness of just how wrong about h is brother Killian had been made its way into Killian’s eyes. There was no going back from this. He stood staring at his brother helplessly, not knowing how to right the wrongs, only stirring when Silver spoke.

“Tie ‘em up and take them away, boys,” Silver demanded.

Before he could utter a word in protest, Silver then signaled to the rest of his crew to carry on with binding them up with rope. They took Liam’s hands and bound them behind his back, and he watched helplessly as they did the same to Killian. Killian tried to fight them off in typical Killian fashion, but there were too many of them. Killian had always been more of a fighter than he; Liam had always been more of a pacifist, only fighting when absolutely necessary but reluctant to stir up the status quo when it wasn’t.

Liam had always believed that there were certain facts that were incontrovertible, certain situations that one couldn’t change, so fighting them was pointless. It felt to him as if this situation they were in was one of the latter ones. What was the point of fighting now? He deserved whatever fate that his old crew members had in store for him. He just regretted that Killian had been dragged into this and be made to pay for Liam’s own follies.

Killian continued to struggle even as the men threw bags over their heads. Liam wondered whether Killian, as a pirate captain, was plotting out a violent and bloody way out. He thought not, as he rather got the impression that Killian didn’t actually want to hurt the men. When they had successfully bound Liam and Killian, they began frog marching them to Hades only knew what destination. As they tripped and stumbled along, Silver began to talk.

“Imagine my surprise when I came down to the bar for my nightly drink, Liam, and saw that Hades had paid you a visit. Up until that point, I had no idea what had transpired to cause our deaths. I have to hand it to you, you sure did manage to cover up your tracks. I never would have suspected it if I hadn’t heard Hades allude to it.”

“Hades wanted you to hear it,” Liam muttered resentfully.

“It is a rather juicy detail, you have to admit,” Silver retorted. “If it were your death, you’d be interested in it, too.”

“I can’t believe you sentenced them to death all because Hades wanted you to,” Killian gritted out towards his brother, ignoring Silver’s words.

Liam gritted his teeth against his brother’s censure, desperately aware of the audience they had. “Don’t deny you would have done the same thing! You always talked of getting vengeance,” he deflected.

Killian snarled. “Justice! I always talked of justice! But what you did wasn’t justice; it was vengeance.”

“Oh what’s the difference, Killian? They deserved what they got in the end.”

Without quite realizing it, they had arrived at the entrance to the building that housed the entrance to the Boiling Sea where final judgment occurred. Everyone stopped as two of the crew members went to open the outer doors, though Killian and Liam could not see this.

“The difference?” Killian echoed in amazement. “Only innocent lives, Liam! That’s the difference! How many of these men deserved retribution? How many of them directly attacked us? I only remember one who did. I can’t believe you would condemn them to this hell.”

“You have no idea what it was like, always having to look after both of us, not having someone else to bear the burden of making sure that we were clean or had food. Of making sure you didn’t succumb to the darkness inside you! I gave up everything to make sure you had a future! I was more a father than a brother to you, and because of that I did what I had to do.”

“I didn’t ask you to be that! You took that burden up all on your own! And what did it get you? I still succumbed to my darkness, and you blackened your heart for yours!” Killian shouted, enraged at Liam’s pigheaded attempts at justifying his actions. “And what’s worse is you lied about it. You looked me in the eye and lied. You hurt Emma, damn near convinced me that my future wasn’t with her, and you took away our best chance of defeating Hades.”

“I did everything I did to save you!”

“Well, congratulations!” Killian snarled in response. “You did an excellent job of it! And to hell with everyone else in the process!”

“It was worth it to have a chance to save you from the darkness,” Liam protested once more.

“You didn’t save me from my darkness; I saved myself! I took it in and damn near destroyed it for good!”

“All because of her! Emma doesn’t are about you, only herself! She is the absolute worst thing for you.”

“Milah, my ex, was the worst thing for me! She encouraged the darkness inside of me. Emma has been the inspiration for me to be better, to be the man I want to be. But you’ve never had that kind of influence, so you just keep giving into your darkness! You lie and you let others die for you and your selfish desires! When does this end Liam?! You’re the one who’s endangered me this very moment!”

Liam stared towards Killian helplessly though he couldn’t see him, knowing that he was right. Liam was still succumbing to his inner darkness. Killian surely hadn’t fed his own to the extent that Liam had his, even through all his years as a pirate hunting down the Dark One. But Liam didn’t know a way out. Liam didn’t see a way to stop this. As sure as the world, he was about to pay for his sins, and Killian was about to pay the price for a crime he hadn’t committed.

The crew finally wrenched the heavy doors open, and Silver pushed Liam through the threshold. The last thing he saw before the crew members finally wrenched open the doors was Killian’s anguished blue eyes staring back at him as if he didn’t know him. Liam knew with absolute certainty that his story ended here.

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