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vickypoochoices · 5 years

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Partner In Crime part 4 (A).

I've had to split it in two again! Second half is NSFW, so if that's not the kind of thing you want to read, then skip the second half! Also, big thank you to @emerald-bijou for reading over this and giving me all of the improvements!

[MASTERLIST.]

CHAPTER THREE.

A look of confusion and panic seemed to pass around the circle of friends.

“That was weird.”

“Right.”

“Uh huh.”

“Pretty much.”

Lyla had seemingly vanished into thin air after her descent downstairs, Dean doing the rounds by himself in her absence. A strong tug at Zig’s shirt sleeve pulled his attention away from his fruitless search.

“I assume my little distraction helped you out. You saw what I saw right?”

Zig took a step backwards, looking at Zack incredulously. “Did you know?”

“I don’t know anything for certain, but i’ve always had my suspicions. And now I have a terrible feeling I’m right.”

“Zack, what do we do?”

Placing a gentle hand to Zig’s shoulder, Zack looked him directly in the eye. “Zig I think this is on you. Go save our girl. Go get your girl.”

Before Zig could formulate any kind of response, Zack had disappeared into the crowd.

Running a hand through his hair, Zig let out a disgruntled sigh as his eyes wandered over the room full of strangers, hoping to fall upon Lyla. As he distractedly meandered through the throng of bodies, his shoulders clipped against someone.

“Ahh Zigmund, I see you made it at last.” Zig’s back straightened at the sound of Dean’s voice.

“Yeah it turns out that driver of yours isn’t all that punctual.” He spoke through gritted teeth, resisting the overwhelming urge to lash out at Dean.

“Really? How strange! Terry has always been outstanding at his job, I’m not sure what could possibly have gotten into him tonight.”

Fucking really?! His fists clenched at his sides, eyeing Dean cautiously as he took a step closer towards Zig, head dipping slightly, lowering his voice.

“Enjoy these last four weeks with her pal, once she’s mine I’ll make sure you never see her again.” Dean smirked, making a show of dusting off Zig’s shirt before swiftly moving on to his next victim.

That sly little... Zig shook his head slightly, knowing he was playing into Dean’s hands. His feet quickened, taking determined strides as he cased the imposing room, taking a few minutes to realise that wherever Lyla was hiding, it wasn’t here.

Zig side glanced the stiff looking man, stood directly in front of a door. That’s just weird, who does this jerk think he is, hiring people to guard a door like he’s that important. How many rooms must there be in this mansion? It would take him ages to search through them all, provided he could even make it out of there without getting caught.

A sudden guttural cry sliced through the loud room, and Zig caught sight of Zack in the middle, clutching fiercely at his chest.

“Is there peanut in this sauce? I’m allergic... Oh God, I can’t feel my lips... HEEELLLPPPPPP!” Zack whirled around for a flicker of a second, searching for Zig and looking pointedly at the now unguarded door, before collapsing in the middle of the floor. Zig took his chance, dashing out the door stealthily, certain everyone was suitably concerned about Zack and not paying any attention to his escape.

A dozen doors lined the hallway Zig now found himself stood in. He sighed, stepping towards the closest one to him, a wave of frustration overcoming him as he found it empty. He made quick work of the rooms, covering half of them in mere seconds, anxious to find Lyla. As he found yet another disappointingly empty room, he stopped to berate himself. If she was going to be anywhere at all she’d be in a main room at the top of that ridiculous staircase Zig you idiot! A small bang, followed by a muffled hiccup caught his attention, his feet already taking the lead, coming to a stop outside the furthest possible door.

The smell of freshly laundered clothes drifted over to Zig the second he peeled the door back, his nose twitching at the overwhelming, clean scent. His hands fumbled at the wall, hoping to find a light switch, but failing. He squinted as the flashlight of his phone illuminated the room, the contrast nearly blinding him in the process. And then his eyes fell on Lyla, crouched down awkwardly with a few empty bottles surrounding her and a towel half draped over her face sloppily. Zig lowered himself onto his knees, gingerly pulling the towel away from her face. Lyla’s eyes, wide with panic, softened the moment they found Zig’s peering back at her.

A tiny exhale of breath escaped her, relief written all over her face. “I thought he’d finally found my hiding place.”

“Lyla what the...” Zig struggled to find the right words as he surveyed their surroundings. A warm, cramped closet. Two neat piles of blindingly white towels were stacked in a corner, and not a lot else.

“No one ever comes in here anymore. The light broke a few weeks ago and they just stopped using it. It was the day of the engagement actually. Dean told his staff there was plenty more rooms to be used. Can you believe that? Like, how hard is it to just change a light bulb? Anyway i’ve been squirrelling expensive bottles of bubbly away since then, just in case. If Dean’s not staying at our place then he’s here, and apparently that means I have to be here too. But anyway, you know how alcohol makes me super chatty? I feel like that’s happening now. Is it? And also, hiiiii! You look cute in those smart clothes of yours.”

Zig chuckled, giving her a quick hug before pulling them both up to their feet, his knees already aching from the brief stint on the floor.

“And you look very...Formal?”

Lyla arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his choice of words.

“I mean...Majestic?”

“Zig, no! What are you saying? Can’t you use normal words?”

“Sorry, okay, yeah. I guess you look...” She swatted at his chest impatiently.

“Wait no, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever terrible excuse of a compliment was coming my way, do me a favour and forget it! Anyway, how do you like my digs?” Lyla raised a hand behind her, gesturing at the tiny closet. “This is where I come. To get away.”

“Why do you need to get away?”

He was almost too afraid to ask, his concern only increasing as she shook her head in response, offering him a half empty bottle of champagne instead. Zig looked her over, taking a second to assess the situation. He needed a clear head tonight, but he wasn’t about to let Lyla drink anymore by herself. And he knew he stood a better chance of getting her to confide in him if he just went along with it.

He took a small swig, before carefully placing it down next to the pile of towels, gently prising her own bottle out of her iron tight grip seconds later. Where did she even get that bottle from?

Taking both her hands in his, Zig pushed past the building rage as he felt her hands trembling against his. What has that prick done to her?

“Come on Princess, you gonna spill?”

Her eyes narrowed, hands roughly extracted from his grip. “Don’t call me that.”

He let out a low whistle of air, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I just figured that fitted in well with this new life you’ve got yourself here.”

Lyla lunged forward unsteadily, trying and failing to squeeze past Zig, her fingertips barely grazing the champagne bottle. A hand to either side of her shoulders stilled her, as she beat her fists against his chest frantically.

“Zig let go! Give me the bubbles!”

Lyla struggled against him for a few minutes, eventually admitting defeat, forehead slumping against Zig’s chest, and her shoulders heaving as sobs racked through her. She was in his arms, being rocked and shushed gently on the spot within seconds.

Eventually the sobs subsided, and Lyla surfaced from her little cocoon in his chest, eyes red rimmed and a few stray tears dripping off the tip of her nose. Placing his hands either side of her face, his thumb chased away a dark stream of make up, silently willing her to look at him. She nuzzled her cheek against his hand, eyes finally daring to meet his.

“I hate him Zig!”

“This little tiff of yours must be bad if you’re locked up inside a half empty laundry room declaring your hate for him.” Zig chuckled.

“I’m not messing. Everything about him...I fucking despise. He’s a horrible person and not someone I want to marry!”

“Wait, where has this come from?” Zig wondered out loud.

“I’ve always known he was a bit of a dick. You heard the guy out there, he only hired me because he thought I was a pretty face. And I was happy to go along with it at first. I needed the job and I guess in a way I liked the attention. It’s not like I was getting it anywhere else, figured I may as well have a bit of fun.”

His back straightened, suddenly angry with himself for ever letting Lyla feel this way. What a fuck up!

Lyla continued, the alcohol having loosened her tongue, unaware of his inner turmoil. “Somewhere along the way things started to change. I don’t even know when exactly. But recently things have spiralled out of control. And i’ve realised he’s not a nice man. He’s so convincing sometimes, he had me fooled for a long time. But when it’s just me and him behind closed doors...”

“I swear if he’s so much as laid a finger on you..”

“He’s never hit me Zig if that’s what you want to know.”

“But he hurts you?”

She hesitated, then slowly nodded her head. “He can be a little rough. Fingers digging in a little too hard sometimes, arm wrapped around my waist a tad too tight for my liking.”

Zig hissed out the breath he’d been holding. He was seething inside but he tried his hardest to reign in his temper, knowing it would get him nowhere right now. Offering her the previously confiscated bottle, he smirked as she greedily gulped down a mouthful.

“He’s possessive and controlling and I don't want to live my life like that. If I marry him I’ll be miserable for the rest of my life. And now he’s decided this wedding is just four weeks away! What am I going to do?"

“We can figure this out together, you’ll always have me.”

"How? My parents are besotted with him! They think he's the best thing to ever happen to me, to us. He's promised them things Zig, I can't back out of this and let them down."

"So money is more important than your happyness? Lyla, that's not right!"

"You really think Dean will just let me go that easily? He's not the kind of guy to give up, and he always gets what he wants, one way or another. I don't want to do this, but I don't know what other choice I have." Her bottom lip trembled as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her face.

"I'll find a way Lyla, I promise you. There's no chance in hell I'll let you marry a guy like that."

“Zig you...” She stammered, shaking her head before taking another drawn out sip.

“Go on.” He urged, gently taking the bottle from her once more.

Lyla peeked up at him, the look of determination on his face telling her everything she needed to know. He would get her to talk, one way or another.

“Fine. You’ll only tickle me if I resist.”

Zig shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She cleared her throat before restarting, edging a little closer to him. “I feel safe when I’m with you Zig.” Placing her hands flat against his chest, she peered up at him as he twirled a loose strand of her hair around his finger.

“You are safe with me, I promise.” His eyes flicked down to her full lips.

“I know I am.” Her voice came out as a whimper, her face closing in next to his.

Lyla’s eyes never strayed, lost in the depths of his dark brown eyes. Her fingers walked a path up his chest, before tangling into his wavy hair.

“Lyla.” He breathed, his hands resting on her hips, a futile attempt to try and stop her coming any closer, not trusting himself from holding back.

She flinched at the contact, her body involuntarily reacting the way it always did. But instead of the sharp pang of pain she was expecting to follow, she felt soft soothing strokes in it’s place.

“Wait until I get my hands on that prick!” Zig kept his voice low in an attempt to keep his cool, a stark contrast to what he was actually feeling.

Zig's initial efforts of putting distance between the pair quickly forgotten, his fingers traced a line along her spine, their faces edging together painfully slowly, both feeling the same magnetic pull towards each other.

"What are we doing Lyla?" Zig panted, having Lyla here, exactly where he'd always wanted her leaving him breathless and uncertain. There would be no coming back from this.

"You don't feel the same way?" Her bottom lip jutted out, a mixture of embarrassment and pain swimming through her eyes.

And then their lips collided in a frenzy, neither of them sure who made the first move, past the point of caring. Zig’s nose squished against hers repeatedly as their lips smacked together messily, Lyla’s kisses quickly intensifying, her tongue insistently pleading with his, desperate for permission to continue. As her hands tangled further into his hair, Zig abruptly pulled apart, the look on her face nearly breaking his heart in two there and then.

CHAPTER 4 PART B.

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @littlegreenmoo @krsnlove @choicesthot

#choices #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #zig x mc #zig ortega

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greenxscarves · 5 years

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recruit me (unless its too late to do that meme

send ‘recruit me’ for Emily to try to persuade your muse to switch teams

“Hey, babe, you know how I told you I switched jobs a few months ago?” Emily called from the living room. Lena was just getting out of the shower, towelling off her hair into what was a rather good impersonation of a cockatoo.

“Yeah?”

“You ever think about switching jobs?” Emily stuck her head into the bedroom, covering her smile with a hand as she caught sight of Lena’s hair.

“What I do isn’t exactly a job, luv.”

Emily’s expression turned contemplative for a moment, and then she nodded.

“Alright. What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Babe... please.” Emily said, sinking into a chair next to Lena’s bed. There were few things Emily disliked more than hospitals, so Lena wasn’t looking forward to whatever was going to follow that tired, worn ‘please’.

“You’re getting sued.” Emily says instead of the lecture Lena was expecting. “But don’t worry about it- I’m... I’m using some work resources to deal with it, but I wanted to let you know before you left the hospital.”

Emily’s hand snaked out, reaching for Lena’s. Lena met Emily halfway, twining their fingers together. Emily’s hands were dry; but it was winter, and this was normal. Maybe she’d pick up that honey-scented hand cream she saw the other day.

“That bad?” Lena asked with a grimace. Emily cracked an eye, looking at Lena with tiredness radiating out. She offered a small, sympathetic smile.

“Yeah, babe. Listen- My employer needs a good pilot. Do you want-”

Lena shook her head, and Emily dropped the argument in favour of running her thumb over one of Lena’s nails, the motion repetitive and even. Slowly, Lena fell back asleep, more than happy to let the outside world settle down before she rejoined it.

“Lena, I was wondering. There’s a few spots, actually, that are opening up. It’ll be a lot like what you and the others are doing, so maybe consider it? My employers are really cool, once you get to know them, and I really think the new council is going to change the organization for the better.”

Lena sighed, sinking into the couch. It was one of those rare times when she had downtime and Emily did not.

“Didn’t you call it a corporate soul-sucking greedy conglomerate a few months ago?”

“Yes, but there was a takeover and you know how businesses go. Some people buy other people out and there’s some casual murder; feeding people to a paper shredder or tossing them off buildings. You know, just office stuff.”

Lena laughed, and after a moment Emily’s chuckles joined hers.

“I’m serious. New people are running it and I really think they might be considering options you and I might approve of. I mean, I will admit there are some policies I really don’t agree with, but the benefits are... worth it. And my coworkers are delightful. One of them makes the best enchiladas, like, oh my gods Lena. He is a fantastic cook, and the other programmer! Oh, my gods, I want to strangle and kiss her all at once. She’s brilliant. I haven’t had this much fun on a project in years.”

Lena smiled, encouraging Emily to talk about her most recent project. Half of it didn’t make sense to her, but Emily was bubbly with enthusiasm.

“Lena...” Emily continued combing her fingers through Lena’s hair, pausing only to lean down and press a kiss to her partner’s forehead. “I’m sorry the politicians were jackasses, but you’re kind of the only one they’re willing to talk to, you know? They’re not going to talk to Winston and heavens forbid they talk to Genji, and while I’d vote for Zenny to be head of negotiations, if only to diffuse things, you know the world leaders would rather crush him into scrap than deal with an omnic.”

‘I know, I just... It’s all bloody stupid.” Lena whined, tilting her head back for a proper kiss. Emily gave her one, although it was entirely too short for her liking.

“Ugh, does your group have to deal with politicians?”

Emily shrugged. “Yes, but we have special people for that. People who like doing that sort of thing. I go out to lunch once a month with one; he’s smart. A little... machiavellian, but I think you have to be if you deal with politics.”

“So, the likelihood of me being paraded around because of the chronoaccelerator-”

“-Would probably be zero, if you didn’t want it. They don’t make Mr. Spooky parade around in his gear for giggles, I doubt they’d make you.” Emily paused, taking in Lena’s confused face. “Mr. Spooky- Enchilada man.”

Lena’s face lit up in recognition.

“Oh those were bloody fantastic! Can you get him to make more? And bring them home? And share with your loving girlfriend?”

Emily laughed, leaning down again to kiss Lena.

“I’ll ask him.” She promised.

“Lena, is he okay?” Emily asked, nearly vibrating with nervous tension. Lena curled in on herself tighter.

“I don’t know. Angie said she’d look at him, but I don’t know.” She hiccupped, the tears getting harder and harder to hold back.

“Oh, babe- shhhh, no- It’s Winston. He survived a crash landing from the moon. He’ll survive this just fine- I- Come here.” Emily sat down, practically pulling Lena into her lap like she could shield her from the world.

“It’ll be okay.” Emily soothed.

Hours went by, and Emily was sure Lena was asleep when she fished out her phone.

“Heyo. Yes, it’s me. Yeah, we’re waiting to see how he’s doing, listen, can you- You already have? Thank you. I appreciate it. I know you’re not- Yes, but I’m still going to thank you when you do something for me. Yes, no, I haven’t asked again. I was going to wait until he’s concious before- Yes. Yes you can tell him- do you want me to call him? I’ll be more than happy to- Okay. Okay. Alright. Love you too, ta-ta luv.”

Emily sighed, setting her phone down and resting her head against the wall.

“Who was that?” Lena asked softly, startling Emily. She pressed one hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow down.

“I.. I was asking a friend for some help. A work friend. I wanted to make sure they had legal on the scene already. I don’t want another legal case like the last one, gods.”

“Legal?”

“I- yeah. Work... Work is good like that. They’re... gods, they’re not perfect, but they try to keep their employees and contractors happy. Hell, one of the ladies down in R&D also offered to stop by with some of their tech and see if it would help heal Winston faster. She also wanted to make sure we’re not holed up in some abandoned warehouse or something. Apparently, that’s a problem, which, I have an idea who that could be referencing.”

“and... what were you going to ask again?”

Emily chewed on a lip.

“I was going to ask if you and Winston wanted a job. A different job. I was going to wait until later, after he was better and I could... explain but... A few of my bosses very much would like you and Winston to join the organization. They’re trying to figure out the best way to recruit you two, but...” Emily shrugged. “They’re not good at recruitment. It’s why they hired me. Well, that and I’m a damn fine programmer."

“.... Tell them I’ll think about it.”

“Babe, babe. I’m fine. I’m fine-” Emily soothed, trying to convey how okay she was over the line. She could hear Lena’s panic still. “Babe, it’s fine. Someone from work came and got me. I’m alright. It’s alright. Breathe- Lena, luv, sweetheart, light of my sky and love of my life?”

“You- You were-”

“I know. I know. I’m alright though. The lady from R&D found me before anything got dire. She’s checking me over right now- and yes, before you ask, she is a doctor. I’m fine. Do you want to talk to her?”

Behind her, the other redhead shot her a look that clearly spoke of how much she was interested in that venue of action. Lena laughed on the other end of the phone, watery but sounding better than earlier.

“No, no I- I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I know, teacup. I love you.”

“Love you too, Emily.”

“Okay, I need to get off to go give my statement, but I’ll be back later tonight, alright? Mr. Spooky said he’ll make sure I get home safe, since apparently I attract trouble.”

“You do.” Said the doctor. Emily motioned for her to hush. Lena was laughing again though, so that was good.

“Alright, I love you babe. See you later.”

“Hey, babe, I’m back- I brought a work friend for dinner.” Emily called from the living room. Lena was just getting out of the shower, needing to wash the day’s stresses off and get herself presentable before Emily got home. She wasn’t quite quick enough though, only just towelling off her hair into what was a rather good impersonation of a cockatoo.

“Cool- I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Actually, before you do... do you ever think about switching jobs?” Emily stuck her head into the bedroom, covering her smile with a hand as she caught sight of Lena’s hair. Yep, still adorable.

Lena chewed on her lip.

“Listen, you don’t have to say yes, but I do think this would be good. You can make a difference, and actually have the support to do so. I- It’s not a perfect organization. And gods, it needs work, but.. I think you might be able to help with that, luv. There’s some really good people who work with me and I think.. I think we can change the world. For the better. Come on- Gabe brought Enchilada’s with him, and I think he has his own sales pitch for you.”

#the-english-cavalry #Emily: How can I make this organization sound not terrible #drabble #txt msg: the english cavalry

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swanderful1 · 7 years

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A Cold Awakening: Ch 14/?

Summary: Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Notes: Since today is my birthday I decided to update before the festivities later. I realize I didn't post last week so I made this one a bit longer than usual. I hope you all enjoy and thank you so much once again for the continued support and encouragement. It means everything. Feel free to like, comment, message, etc. I love hearing from people.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT.

Rated: M

Word Count: ~10,000

Whole story can be read on AO3 or ffnet

Saturday morning Emma awoke slowly. She hadn’t realized how tired she had been until her head hit the pillow after Killian left and she immediately fell into a deep sleep. Killian. Emma felt her body begin to tingle at the thought of her night with him. The whole evening had been rather PG, the food, the game, the talking, had all just been tame. Then why was she still infatuated with it? The mere thought causing her blood to flow faster. The delicate way with which he touched her was no less jarring than a few nights ago when he had fucked her up against a wall.

When she sat up in her bed she looked to the foot of the mattress and saw Killian’s dog Princess resting peacefully. A warm feeling spread through Emma. It was a nice gesture, a kind one. She reached forward to the dog and began to pet her. The dog picked her head up, gave a sleepy look to Emma, and then rested on the mattress again.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” she whispered to the dog before she got up to dress for the day.

By the time Emma had showered, blow dried her hair, and gotten dressed, the dog was waiting patiently by the closed bedroom door.

Ultimately the dog was a nice companion for Emma. She followed at her heels most anywhere she went. After breakfast Emma took the dog for a walk and let her roam around a bit. She was active and liked to play. So after Princess was done running around she decided to walk over to Neal’s to let the dog meet Henry.

Neal’s two bedroom apartment was on the second story of a building on Main Street. He had lived there ever since they had broken up years ago. It was smaller, it was simple, but that was Neal. He didn’t keep much around. Just enough for Henry to have his own space and some room for when Emma came over.

Neal had looked a little confused when Emma had shown up at the door with a dog. But he warmed up quickly when Princess was friendly with both he and Henry. Especially Henry, who was now sprawled out on the knit rug in the living room, playing tug with her.

“Where did she come from? Are we keeping her?” Henry was a little more enthusiastic than Emma had anticipated. She would have gotten the kid a dog years ago had she known he would be so excited.

“I’m watching her for a friend,” Emma said neutrally. Henry didn’t seem to notice but as she looked up at the brown leather couch on the other side of the room, she read Neal’s face… and it didn’t seem like he was buying that excuse.

“How long is she staying at the house?” Henry tugged against the rope Princess had her grip on. She was far stronger than the kid but she was still letting him win.

“A few days at most. I thought she might be good to have around after everything that’s been going on…” Emma pondered her next words carefully but inevitably said, “if it works out, maybe we can adopt a dog of our own.”

“Really?” Her son’s face lit up. Okay now she had to get a dog there was no way she could resist how happy that thought made the kid.

“Yes really, and if you want to come back to my house to help me take care of her now I think that would be okay.” Emma had been skeptical about letting Henry come back. The other night had been bizarre and unsettling, but after last night and knowing the dog would be there she felt a bit better. Plus she had no plans to leave Henry’s side so as long as she was with him it would be okay. Emma would like to try to see someone come at her son, whoever did would be gutted on the floor before they knew what hit them.

“I’ll grab my things.” Henry raced out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom. Leaving only Emma, Neal, and Princess.

“So,” Neal was the one to break the silence, “you’re watching her for a friend?”

A knowing look on his face told Emma he had a feeling the dog had not come from such an innocent source. But it broke into a smile a few seconds later that reached his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” she replied. Trying not to give anything away with her face, but after all this time Neal still knew her pretty well.

“It always is with you, Em,” he joked and stood. She shook her head at him, aware that he wasn’t trying to be nasty or nosy. He was just pushing her buttons, as you are allowed to do with someone when you’ve known them most of your life.

Henry returned to the room with his duffel bag over his shoulder. Princess stood up and went to his side immediately. At least they were getting along. That was a good sign.

“Are you coming to my mom’s tomorrow for brunch?” Emma asked as she, Henry and the dog were halfway down the hall. Sunday was Mother’s Day. A tough one for Neal, for many reasons. And for as long as Emma could remember he spent it with she and her parents and Henry. It wasn’t traditional, or normal, she understood that. But it was what they had always done.

“Yeah, do you need me to bring anything?” Neal asked.

“No. You know my dad, he’s got it all covered.”

“Alright, see you then, Em. Bye, Henry.” He waved and was closing the door to his apartment when someone enter the hall. Robert Gold. Followed quickly by his wife Belle.

“Hi grandpa, Belle,” Henry greeted the two but was immediately pulled by Princess’s leash as she lunged for Mr. Gold, releasing a wildly unfriendly growl.

“Hey!” Emma grabbed the leash and tugged the dog to her side. Having never seen the dog act that way she was shocked. “Sorry about that.”

“Never was much of a dog person, myself,” Mr. Gold said calmly as he looked down at the dog who was now under control but still baring her teeth. Belle looked entirely uncomfortable and her back was pressed firmly up against the wall.

The dog stilled at Emma’s side but she noticed that the fur on the back of Princess’s neck was standing straight up. She tightened her grip on the leash as Mr. Gold walked past them to get to Neal’s front door.

“I take it my son’s around?” the man asked before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket to unlock the door.

“Yeah, he’s there.” Emma turned and began to walk away. “Sorry about the dog, she’s a friend’s.”

“I’m sure.” Was the last thing Robert Gold said to her before entering his son’s apartment with his wife. Princess wasn’t the only one who felt unsettled by the whole thing.

The rest of the day was nice. Emma had her son back in their house and everything felt, for the most part, right. She was able to get some work done, mostly administrative tasks she had been too busy to look at. She opened all of the windows to let fresh air in, the light lull of birds chirping mixed with rustling leaves.

Henry and Princess played in the yard for a while, wearing one another out until they came in to relax. Her son on the couch by the window and the dog panting on the cool hardwood floor. They had hit it off pretty easily despite the minor hiccup at had occurred outside of Neal’s apartment. How Princess had been so quick to react to Neal’s father, when she had seen the dog be nothing but lovely to anyone else. It didn’t sit well with Emma. And it certainly didn’t help when the dog went back to being pleasantly loyal as soon as they left the building.

Mother’s Day had arrived. She didn’t love the holiday altogether but she did enjoy spending time with her family. Her father had organized a large spread at the Nolan farmhouse. The kitchen island was filled with pastries and eggs and bacon and pancakes. Flutes of champagne and orange juice were handed out to everyone but Henry. Neal showed up a few minutes after Emma did with a case of donuts. Princess stood at Emma’s feet trying to catch dropped bits of food. Her mother and father had looked questioningly at Emma when she had rolled up with a dog that didn’t belong to her. But she fed them the ‘dogsitting for a friend’ line and they took the explanation… at least on the outside. On the inside Emma read her mother’s face like a book and she could tell Mary Margaret was about to burst at the seams holding in what she wanted to say.

It was quite the scene. The five of them (well six if you include the dog) gathered around the table, laughing and smiling over a brunch they had every year together. But coincidentally it was also Sunday. The day Killian was supposed to return from New York. She thought about whether or not he would want to see her like he had said. Her mind wandered to that place, the place she had last been with him. Her porch the night she had come back to her home, after the craziest, most bizarre week he had eased the burden of it. That’s not to say she wasn’t also thinking about certain other activities with him.

It wasn’t fair. He was like a male lead from some sappy romance novel. All height and dark hair, thick and gorgeous accent, just open enough that you see he’s complicated, just closed off enough that he’s still a mystery. Everything about the man intrigued her, but if she let herself she could feel more for him and that was terrifying. The thought of placing her vulnerable heart in the hands of someone she had only encountered a short time ago. Sure she had known who he was growing up but that wasn’t like knowing him. Not the way she felt herself gravitate toward him now. Each time she was with him a deep pull from inside her made her want to be near him. With him. Ravaged by him.

“Emma, honey, pass the salt.” Her father’s voice, the one he used when he had to repeat things brought her back to where she was. Mother’s Day brunch in her parents’ dining room. With her ex-boyfriend and son. Now was not the time to be focusing on her most recent affair with Killian Jones, whose dog sat at Emma’s feet eyeing her like she knew what Emma was thinking about.

“Yeah sure.” Emma hurriedly reached out and grabbed the salt to hand to her father. Her skin warming as she did. Maybe no one noticed.

Later they exchanged gifts. Henry had gotten Mary Margaret a lovely necklace with a blue bird trinket on the chain. It was cute, it was quirky and ultimately something his grandmother would be proud to wear. She put it on immediately, asking for David the ever doting husband to help her secure the clasp.

“It’s lovely, Henry, thank you.” Mary Margaret beamed.

“And this one’s for you, mom,” Henry smiled as he handed Emma a small black velvet box and a card.

“Thanks, kid. You really didn’t have to get me anything.” She ruffled his hair and took the box, opening the card to find a heartfelt message from her son that made her tear up. And then she opened the black box. Inside was a beautiful but simple ring. Of faded metal and central pearl. The same one she had seen Henry holding in his grandfather’s shop. The one that had caught her eye. She smiled, she wore sparse amounts of jewelry but it was beautiful in it’s simplicity.

“It’s so pretty, Henry. Thank you.” As she slipped it on her finger she wrapped her arm around Henry and kissed his head, though now that he was older he didn’t find this to be as cute as she did.

“I know you don’t wear jewelry, but I thought it was small enough that it wouldn’t get in your way.”

He knew her so well.

Later that day she, Neal and Henry left with boxes of leftovers as they always did when coming from her parents’ house. Henry walked ahead of them with the dog by his side, not even using the leash, she just stayed with him. Emma’s heart warmed. The kid needed a dog.

“This kind of stuff could get weird if either of us ever decides to date anyone else…” Neal joked as they walked a few feet behind Henry and the dog.

“God forbid either of us ever get married. Then what do we do?”

“You guys are like family to me… I would probably still come.” He looked at Emma, his brown eyes kind with sincerity. If nothing else Neal was a wonderful father to Henry and a pretty decent friend to her as well. It was just a shame they were a toxic couple.

“You know you’re always welcome here. You’re like the son my dad never had.”

“And your mom’s been more of a mother to me than my own ever was.”

“Has she ever reached out to you?” They slowed a bit further, hanging back to not burden Henry with the topic of his absent grandmother. It wasn’t something usually brought up, but it was hard not to on Mother’s Day. A holiday solely dedicated to the woman who had abandoned him.

“Once or twice.” He kicked a rock with his foot as they made their way down the gravel driveway. “But it never amounts to much in my mind. She never did come back.”

“Maybe now that you’re older….” Emma didn’t know exactly what she was suggesting until she did. “You could be the one to try.”

“I have little to no interest in it.”

He was lying. She could tell. But she wouldn’t push him on the subject. It was entirely his decision as to whether or not he wanted to reconnect with Milah.

“Well if you ever want help finding her… I’m here.”

“Thanks Em.” He put his arm around her, they walked side by side, friend by friend behind their son… and Killian Jones’ dog. “Luckily, my own son has a far better mom.”

“Yeah, well. We have a good kid. He makes it easy.”

Later that night, Emma waited. She hadn’t waited on a man literally ever but she felt really unsure about what she should do. Killian had said he would see her when he came back, but in all fairness she didn’t know what time that was. Or if it was still happening. She hadn’t heard from him since he left her house on Friday (technically Saturday morning) and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit… on edge.

Henry went up to his room around 10:30 for bed, taking the dog with him. The two had taken to each other quickly. Emma wondered if Killian would want his dog back today now that he was back in town.

To calm her nerves she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She had settled into shorts and a white tank top as the weather had been warm today. Her hair, which was a bit wild from the heat, was knotted into a braid that fell down her back. Emma leaned back against the farmhouse sink, sipping her wine when there was a knock on the door. She stilled, knowing that it was most likely him. He hadn’t warned her he was coming but she had a gut feeling.

Walking toward the front door she realized she had been right. On her porch stood Killian Jones, still dressed in a full suit, this time with a tie, looking like a GQ model in his effortless handsomeness.

“Hi,” she said quietly when she opened the door. Emma wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet in any scenario but for whatever reason, there was a flutter in her stomach when she saw that he was smiling. At her.

“Hi, love. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“No, not at all.” The flush on her neck and cheeks was free for him to look at, being that her tank top did very little to hide her skin. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

The fact that he hadn’t even changed from his suit made her wonder, was he just as interested as she was?

“Aye, is that alright?” The way he asked her was measured, clearly he was still trying to decipher whether or not he was stepping over any boundaries she had set by being here.

“Yeah.” She smiled, and he did the same. His angular face giving way to a genuine grin.

“Might I come in then?” He wasn’t mocking her when he said it, she could tell, the inquiry was real.

She didn’t say anything back, simply stepping out of the way and opening the door further to allow him inside. Quietly she closed the door behind him, hoping he got the hint that she didn’t want him to leave just yet. He looked good in the entryway. His suit tailored to his thin but muscular frame. His hair tamed for once, slicked back into a mature style. His beard was trimmed but still evident and Emma wondered what the hairs on his chin would feel like between her thighs.

Killian turned to look at her. It was an odd situation they had put themselves in. They weren’t dating, it wasn’t like she could just leap into his arms cooing ‘welcome back, baby’ because he wasn’t hers. Yet they had been so intimate… so heated. The next move was not clear to either of them.

“Did you manage to keep my dog alive this weekend, Emma?” he joked, looking around and a bit concerned when Princess hadn’t run down to greet him.

“She’s fine… she’s upstairs sleeping with Henry in his room.”

“Your boy is here?” His eyebrow shot up, he obviously hadn’t expected her son to be around. Probably because she had kept that part of her life so private from him. And most people who weren’t her close friends. “Shall I go then?”

“What?” Emma was surprised, the idea of him leaving already, when she had… desires that needed taken care of, was not something she was willing to give in to.

“Emma, I’m not here to intrude… if you want to postpone this until a time when the lad isn’t upstairs I-”

She stepped closer to him. The hint of cologne on his clothes an intoxicatingly appealing smell. But there was something else, a scent entirely his own, that she had come to enjoy during their times together. Her hands drew up the lapels of his suit jacket. She didn’t miss the twitch in his demeanor as she did. The quirk of his lip.

“Do you want to leave, Killian?” She asked, moving her hands across him, doing her best to elicit the kind of reaction she knew she could. For once it wouldn’t be him who used smooth dialogue to effect her. No, this time it was her turn.

“No, I don’t want to leave.” His breath was caught as she touched him, though it was through his clothes he felt the natural pull toward her. The desperation he felt to be skin to skin.

“Then don’t.” She leaned in, taking the reigns, kissing him slowly but passionately. Melting their mouths together until she felt her core so built up she needed him immediately. “So why don’t you take me upstairs, and I’ll try my best not to scream your name.”

“Mmmm..” he groaned into her mouth, their lips not touching but close enough. “Lead the way, darling.”

Her hands fell from his jacket to his tie, pulling him toward the stairs up to where her bedroom was. Luckily her bedroom didn’t share a wall with Henry’s. She knew as much as she would probably try to keep quiet, there was only so much she could do.

Still leading him by his tie, she took him into her bedroom. Coincidentally she had changed her sheets that day and made sure her room was clean (coincidentally my ass, she thought to herself). The room was bathed in moonlight, the curtains of the windows entirely open on the warm spring night. She made it to the edge of her bed before she felt Killian behind her. Her back pressed to his front, his fully erect front.

“Lovely place you have here, darling.” His lips fell to her neck, a trail of kisses running over her exposed shoulder. The hair on his chin tickling her in the most erotic way. Her skin alight with desire, her center aching for him. This was not like the last time, there was no brick wall, no sense of urgency, no public. It was just he and her, in her room. The most intimate place to have him. And all she could think about was how badly she wanted him.

His lips went from her shoulder to her neck, kneading into her skin, his tongue painting her with arousal. She spun and wrapped her arms around his neck, meeting his lips with hers. Their mouths moving together in a hungry motion for each other. His hands went from her waist to her ass, giving a playful squeeze that made her gasp. Almost a little too loud. His touch traveled lower, with a look of victory on his face, grasping her thighs aggressively and pulling her up around him. Her legs wrapping around his waist so he was the only thing keeping her off the ground.

They continued to kiss fervidly, Emma’s insides feeling like they may explode if she kept all of these clothes on. His strong arms had her, so she released his neck grasping as the tie around his throat. In two quick moves it was off, giving her full access to the buttons of his white dress shirt. She began undoing them, hoping to reach his glorious chest, but ended up ripping the entire shirt off and half of the buttons flew in every direction. Hitting the hardwood floor one by one.

“Eager, are we?” he mumbled between kisses. In that confident voice she found so appealing.

“I just got tired of waiting,” she responded. Wrapping her legs even tighter around him, grinding her center against his to ease the ache she was feeling. The desire she felt for the friction between them. “I like… rough,” she said the word as if she were almost ashamed of it.

He ceased contact between his lips and hers to look directly into her eyes. He wondered if she had ever had a lover who had made her feel embarrassed for enjoying the rougher side of things. But her face fell a bit, she wondered if maybe she had taken things too far by saying that.

“Do you trust me, Emma?” His deep blue eyes, hooded and sincere met hers. Her legs still holding her up, his hands still under her thighs.

“Yes,” she whispered. And the truth of it was she did. She knew he could bring her to the fathomless depths of her pleasures. He already had before. And she knew he would do it again.

He didn’t say anything but his eyes didn’t leave hers as he set her down. Feet planted on the floor, his hands went to the hem of her tank top, tugging it slowly over her head. She was bare beneath it, not bothering to wear a bra… or underwear but he would find that soon enough as he moved to pull her shorts off of her. His fingers lightly brushed her skin and she felt she would combust.

“So beautiful,” he groaned, dragging a finger up her bare now bare body, slow enough that she felt every bit of it, fast enough that her blood raced along with it. “Rough, you say?”

“Yes.” She could barely get the word out. Every inch of her wishing it was up against him. Her folds dripping with desire for the man before her. He looked like a God. His white shirt open and flowing, revealing his chest, fully to her, for the first time. The dark hair on his chest trailed all the way down to the waistband of his dress pants. She was certain he caught her staring but instead he only said one thing.

“As you wish.” His tongue roved over his teeth beneath his lips. A dangerous look in his eye that both frightened and excited her. He slid the shirt off of his shoulders and it fell in a heap onto the floor. Emma’s eyes followed his hands as they began to undo his pants. Every motion deliberate as he removed his belt, the pants and underwear on the ground on top of his shirt. He was now bare in front of her. His toned body. His broad shoulders. His completely hardened cock that was… massive. She gulped looking at it. Wondering how in the world that had once been inside of her.

“Something wrong, love?”

“You’re huge.” She didn’t want to say it, his ego did not need any more inflation. But it was a fact. He was packin.

“It’s been in you before, Emma. No need to be nervous.” He stepped closer to her. Electricity between them. His face was mischievous like at any moment he would pounce. The anticipation was killing her. His fingers swiped across her aching center. Still wet with want for him, as it always was. He really did not have to do much to work her up. And he knew it. “Always so wet for me, Emma. It’s flattering really.”

She stood still as a sculpture, knowing he was going to do something, but not knowing what it was irked her. He was calculating. The tingle in her chest moving down to the place his fingers now were. Working her in and out, building the desire she felt for him.

“You’re so ready for me, love, I could fuck you right now,” he whispered in her ear. She felt her knees begin to weaken at the thought. She just needed release.

“So do it.” She ground against his fingers hoping to relieve the heat pent up in her body. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

He let out a laugh. A dark gaze on her. It was overwhelming. The way his eyes traced her body before slowly backing her against the post of the bed. She only realized she had hit the thick mahogany of the four post bed when the rolls of the wood dug into her back.

“Ooomf,” she let out a sound as soon as she hit the post. He stood inches from her. All dark hair and passion. She reached her arms up to place her hands on his bare chest. The thick black hair feeling electric on her fingers.

“Ah ah ah.” He grabbed her wrists and removed them from his chest. Emma bit back a moan at the loss of contact. “Allow me.” He took her wrists, delicately kissing each one, before wrapping them behind her back around the bedpost and securing them with a silk tie.

“What the hell?�� Her hands were literally tied behind her back. She struggled to free herself but she couldn’t. “Killian… what are you doing?”

“A taste of your own medicine, my darling.” His voice lingered in her ear as he kissed just beneath it. Following the line of her neck, working his mouth downward. Slowly, excruciatingly. She was completely at his mercy, entirely vulnerable. Naked. Tied. Wanton.

“Tease.” She groaned as his kisses made their way down her body. Slowing at her breasts, his mouth latching onto one while his hand worked the other. The pink buds fully erect in seconds, her chest heaving with want as his filthy mouth nipped, sucked, licked her skin as it buzzed.

“Trust me.” Was all he murmured as his mouth left her nipples, now fully hard and wishing he would go back. But as his mouth got closer and closer to her core, she moaned. “Your body seems to.”

He wasn’t wrong. Every limb of hers curled in toward him for some form of contact. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. His mouth finally reached the top of her thighs. The apex now dripping in anticipation. His lips met her folds, plundering without much warning, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

Emma’s leg rested on top of his shoulder. His mouth invading her most intimate place with such confidence and such force she could barely hold herself up. His beard scratched at her skin. Her other leg found its way to his shoulder so he was the only thing holding her up.

“You taste delicious, love.”

“Killian… please…” she begged as he continued to work her, but not letting her fall. Teetering her on the edge as his tongue explored her. Sucking on the juices pouring from within. “Killian…. My god…”

It was enough to fuel him. Her begging. His hunger. Killian rose from his knees to stand in front of her, fully hard. His pink lips puffy from his kisses, his hair disheveled. She thought he would untie her, take her to the bed to fuck her. But instead he readied himself and grabbed her legs. They wrapped around his waist instinctively. Her lack of release still built inside of her. She thought she may come just from their centers meeting. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to grab onto his hair, to touch every part of him she could but her arms were still tied.

He aligned himself with her dripping folds, the tip teasing the entrance. He groaned though it was the barest of touches. His eyes fluttered closed, he seemed to be composing himself. His handsome face twisted into a devilish smirk as his baby blues revealed themselves again. Without warning he plunged deep within her. Emma cried out not thinking. The sensation at first shocking but then immense. He bottomed out immediately.

“Though it would have been a pleasure to make you come with only my mouth, I couldn’t spend another second without being inside of you… so bloody tight.” As he spoke he took a second to let her adjust to his size. Emma eyed him. He had the oddest ways of displaying how he was a gentleman.

“Just fuck me, Killian. I can’t…” all of her strength was currently dedicated to holding her legs around him. Her back pressed against the post. Her body ravaged with passion. Her breath heavy, chest heaving, hair falling from its braid. She must have looked a mess. His hands found her ass, caressing the skin there.

“You’re being awfully loud, darling. Perhaps a punishment is in order.”

Before she could respond, her wit not as quick when she was on the cusp of climaxing, he removed one hand from her ass and brought it back down with a smack. Her head fell back against the post. The pain and the pleasure so overstimulating. His lips found her neck, licking over her. His hand smacked her again causing waves of sensation through her.

He pulled out and slammed back in again, her body shuddering as he found his rhythm. Fucking. Grinding at her center. No holds barred. Rough. Sex. The friction on her clit causing her eyes to roll back into her head. It was so much. It was too much. But she wanted more.

“You have a fantastic ass,” he whispered as he continued the aggressive roll of his hips. He bit her earlobe, and her neck. Most certainly not being gentle. Her ass would be red for days, the bruises on her hips from his hands would appear.

His hand slipped from her ass to her core, teasing her. Emma’s hands pulled at the ties, those would bruise too. But she didn’t care. He ripped her hair entirely from its braid, setting it free around them. Running his fingers through it. Only to pull it into his hand and wrap it around his own wrist.

“I like something to hold onto,” he thrusted, so close, “My beautiful, Emma.”

His stubble brushed her chin as his lips met hers in one final surge of passion, a bruising kiss, as she reached her peak. The pleasure so intense and so overwhelming she could hardly breathe as she ground into him while he released himself into her. They fucked each other through, not stopping until the throbbing ceased.

Emma felt like she might faint. Never having experienced passion like that, her body so overcome by it. Her legs fell from his waist too weak to hold the position any longer. Blood coursed through her veins, heart racing, his release dripping down her leg.

“Emma, love, are you alright?” His face had gone from devilish to concerned in a matter of seconds as he realized she couldn’t stand on her own. He untied her, her wrists stiff and sore from being wrapped for so long. And he caught her as she stumbled.

“Sorry, I’m just not…” She couldn’t even remember if she had ever had sex that good. “It’s never been that…”

“I’ll take your speechlessness as a compliment.” He was still holding her. Such a chaste gesture after such raucous behavior. She looked up at him and smiled a bit, a little embarrassed at just how good he had been. “Here, lay down.”

He scooped her up in his strong arms and laid her down on the sheets. Leaving the room only to return with a wet washcloth to clean her off.

“Well aren’t you a gentleman,” she joked as he carefully wiped away the evidence of their encounter.

“I’m always a gentleman.” He smirked.

“Do all gentleman tie women up in their own homes?”

He leaned down close to her face. His features dark and stormy. God was he attractive. “Only when the woman begs for it.” He winked before rising back up and picking up his previously shed clothes. Killian began to redress himself and as Emma watched him she considered asking him to stay. After all, if she could get another round like that out of him he could stay for a whole week.

He caught her staring at him… again. “I’m just following the rules,” he said straightening the collar of his shirt. Though he couldn’t button it, and he shot her a sardonic look when he remembered all of the buttons were dispersed on her bedroom floor. Once sufficiently clothed he leaned back down to her, without hesitation, and kissing her. The hunger beneath his lips evident as he begged entrance to her mouth. She moaned, grabbing his hair, as she had wanted to do the whole time.

When he pulled away they were both out of breath. The sexual tension still there though they had just thoroughly fucked one another.

“Remember, darling. No sleepovers.”

Her mind cursed her own rule she had given him, wishing he would stay for another round. But her stubbornness and sheer exhaustion took over. She remained silent as she watched him leave her bedroom, not even staying awake long enough to hear him start his car to drive off.

It was like that for two weeks. He never asked to stay over, though they were together almost every night. The floodgates had opened. Each night with him was different, unique in and of itself. Her sexual experiences with him unlike any she had ever had. It had been so long since she had had good sex, it wasn’t something she was willing to back down on. And he didn’t seem to want to back down either. Spending hours lazily kissing one another in bed, alternating between positions, taking turns pleasuring one another until they could no longer breathe.

During the day she would work. Fully focused on the task at hand. Doing her best not to reveal to anyone else she worked with what was going on between she and Killian. Emma researched as much as possible. The clues at a standstill since the one at her door. Sometimes after they finished having sex, the two would lay together for a while just to talk. He often spoke of his early years, his childhood far different from hers. Killian always expressed wanting to help find the murderer of his parents but some things were far too personal for him to dive into. It provided a closeness between the two. A foundation for conversation that would allow them to get to know each other better.

But this was not always the case. There was one night in particular where she went over to his hotel for their nightly encounter, and not one single word was spoken between the two before fucking.

It was late, as it usually was with them, they hadn’t seen each other the night before because Emma had fallen asleep. The combination of long nights with Killian and long days spent on the investigation taxing her body relentlessly. But she wanted to see him again, the thought of missing another night in his bed upsetting her more than she would ever admit. So nonchalantly she had told him she would come over that night.

The man at the front desk of Killian’s hotel had come to recognize her by now, giving her a subtle wave as she made her way to the elevator that would take her to his penthouse. Anticipation bubbling within her as the pleasure that was to come.

The elevator dinged and let her out in the foyer of his hotel suite. A large empty space, dimly lit by the overhead chandelier. She wasn’t two steps inside before seeing Killian descend the spiral staircase, looking more like a royal than a man. His gaze pointed, piercing. Heat boiled within her veins, her stomach, her aching core. With purpose he crossed the floor to where she was, not wasting another second before mounting her on the circular wooden table central to the room. The vase of flowers atop crashing to the floor as he pushed her over the surface. Thrusting into her with all of the force her body could take. His lips all over her, trailing her skin, fucking her wordlessly. His hands rough on her hips, his cock pumping into her. She could barely catch her breath.

“Already so wet for me, Emma. You’re just as filthy as I am.” He breathed into her ear, continuing to fuck her through to her peak. “Say my name, love.”

“Killian…” she moaned. Weak to any command he gave her at this point.

“There’s a good girl.” The more she cried out for him the harder he thrust, until finally the table beneath them gave way. Collapsing from the passionate tryst it had been subjected to. Killian caught her, not missing a beat, before continuing his motions on the marble floor.

Emma boldly flipped over so he was on his back and she was on top. Still fully sheathed inside of her, Emma began to grind her hips, taking control.

“That’s it, darling. Ride me.” His eyes shut, allowing her to fuck him, his hands on her hips steadying her, keeping pace with her. Emma could barely contain herself anymore.

“Killian… I’m gonna…” was all she was able to croak out as she reached her peak. The wave of passion crashing through her body. She shook as she climaxed, and felt him do the same. Her pussy milking his cock of its seed as he too fell. Kissing her breasts, neck, arms, mouth, anything he could reach.

She stared at him breathlessly in the wake of their passions, wondering if she would ever in her life find another man who could even compete.

“Emma, love, what have you done to me?” he asked in the afterglow. Expressing once again how all consuming their encounters had been.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

And now, two weeks from that night in her bed when he had tied her up, they lay together amongst ruffled sheets. It was a Friday night. Henry was with Neal for the weekend fishing. She had the house to herself. Well that was, until Killian came over. Tonight had been different. Emma wasn’t sure if it was because they had the house to themselves or because it was a Friday and neither of them had to be at work in the morning, but the entire encounter had been so… slow. And not in a bad way. Their usual biting had become kissing, scratching had turned to caressing.

From the time he walked in the door there wasn’t a striking urgency to fuck each other into oblivion. They took their time. Eventually making their way to the bedroom, where they fucked long, slow, excruciating. If she didn’t know any better she would call it something else entirely. Because it felt less like fucking and more like… well like something else.

“You know, I haven’t had anyone in this bed… ever.” Emma didn’t meet his eyes as she said it. She was curled up against his chest. His arm hanging loosely on her hip. His other bent to hold his head up. Post sex. His seed dried between her thighs, sweat coating both of their bodies. She played with the hair on his chest, probably one of her favorite features on him. Or at the very least it was in the top 5. “I don’t know why I said that… it probably doesn’t reflect too kindly on the kind fuck I am.”

His hand went from her hip, reaching up to cup her cheek. The motion so gentle, as if she were made of porcelain. “Darling, you are a phenomenal lover.”

Lover. Was that was this was now? The title not the worst thing in the world. But the use of the word ‘love’ so foreign to her.

“And it’s an honor to be in your bed.” His gaze finally connected with hers. She tried to find the slightest bit of deception. Of mockery. But came up with nothing. He was being honest. He always was with her. Killian bent his head down and kissed her forehead. So lightly. But she felt it all over.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked, walking outside of her comfort zone to learn a bit more about him.

“Excuse me?” He was confused, such a light and simple question not usually in their vocabulary, the circumstances of their time together heavier than usual small talk.

“Your favorite color, I want to know what it is.”

He smiled a bit, almost like no one ever took the time to know such a small thing. Meeting her eyes directly he whispered, “Green… and yours?”

“Blue,” she said without hesitation.

“People don’t really ask me questions like that,” he offered honestly. Just as she had suspected. “I think I may come off as a bit… intimidating.”

“You? Never!” she joked. Remembering the first day she had seen him in the office. His suit. His smoldering frown. He came off hard. But she assumed that was from years of closing himself off to survive the aftermath of losing his parents. “It’s okay. No one ever asks me that kind of stuff either.”

“Aren’t we quite the pair?” the air of his voice when he referred to them as a pair was so light but quickly his face darkened. “Emma I didn’t mean to insinuate that…”

“Why don’t you stay tonight?” she blurted out.

“Emma...” He seemed a bit hesitant. Maybe she had read him wrong. Maybe he didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with her. But then his face softened and a smile that reached his eyes overtook his features. “I would love to.”

He grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her into a kiss that turned heated in mere seconds. Tangled together in the sweat stained sheets, they lazily kissed for what felt like hours before he took her again. Bringing her to completion before they fell into a deep and comfortable sleep. Wrapped in his arms, her back to his front, she felt safe.

Saturday morning Emma awoke expecting panic. She expected the usual anxiety she felt when she slept with a man. But this wasn’t just any man, this was Killian. He was still fast asleep in the early morning light. Handsome as ever. His face looked young, relaxed. His dark brows, hair and beard unruly with sleep. Her hand absentmindedly went to his cheek.

“See something you like, love?” his voice was scratchy with morning, accent thick. Her breath caught at the sound. How was it possible his voice was even more gorgeous in the morning?

“Good morning, Killian.” She smiled. His eyes slowly opening to look up at her. They were both still naked from the night before. But she didn’t feel exposed.

“Good morning, darling.” He sat up. His hair stuck out in all directions and Emma had to fight back a laugh at how disheveled he was.

“Last night was…” she didn’t know what to say. Because it was everything. But she didn’t want to say that, at the risk of sounding like a maniac. “Amazing.”

“Aye, it was. My life has been far more…. Pleasurable with you in it.” He was holding back too she could tell. Two incredibly stubborn humans. She didn’t have time to say anything more because her phone was ringing. Looking at the screen it was Henry. She had been adamant about him checking in during his weekend away. She hadn’t spent much time apart from Henry since the day he returned after the mysterious note distributor had paid a visit to their home.

“I have to take this, it’s Henry,” she said to Killian.

“Of course, love, mind if I put on a pot of coffee?”

“Sure, filters are above the fridge, coffee’s in the cupboard next to it,” she finished explaining to Killian just as she swiped to answer the phone.

“Hey kid, how’s fishing?” Killian left the room, slipping on a pair of briefs before heading downstairs to make the coffee. Henry launched into a detailed explanation of the entire 18 hours since he and Neal had arrived at the camp. Everything from the weather to the cabin to the morning they had spent at the lake. On and on. It was amusing to Emma, but eventually after 3 minutes of straight talking Henry told his mother he had to go. That they were going back out on the boat.

“Alright, kid call me later okay?” She managed to get out before they hung up. As she set her phone back on her nightstand she reached for Killian’s button up that was strewn on the floor. It smelled like him. Slipping it on it felt nice. Her calmness was short lived when she heard a voice calling to her from downstairs. Her whole body went still. The hair on her arms standing up.

“Emma. Marie. Nolan.” Her father.

Emma moved quickly. Once the shock to her system had settled in she needed to get downstairs as quickly as possible. Because if what she thought was happening in her kitchen was actually happening, then Killian Jones was standing next to her coffee maker on a Saturday morning in nothing but his briefs. And her father was there too.

Which was exactly what she walked into when she came down the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen. Except it was worse. Much worse. Because not only was David Nolan standing there, grocery bag in hand. To his right was her mother, whose face was visibly red. And last but not least Killian who was, in fact, right next to the coffee pot. Shirtless. Pantsless. Looking like a deer in the headlights.

“What are you guys doing here?” Was the first thing out of Emma’s mouth when she had her bearings.

“We thought it would be nice to come over and cook you breakfast…” her mother spoke. David on the other hand was staring at the half naked man in Emma’s kitchen. He looked so mad she was certain fumes were coming from the top of his head.

“You didn’t think to call first?” Emma responded. She glanced at her parents, then to Killian, who had never looked so shy in the entire time she had known him.

“We, uh, we didn’t think we had to.” Mary Margaret, clearly not knowing what to do with herself, began fiddling with the bag in her hands.

“Dad…?” David finally looked at her. His face a wash of anger, disappointment, protectiveness. In all fairness, her father had only ever seen her with one guy. He was in no way used to the notion of her having a man in her life. If that’s what Killian could be called. “Why don’t you guys start breakfast, and give us a minute?”

It probably didn’t help that Emma was obviously wearing a shirt that did not belong to her and had a hickey the size of a chicken nugget on her neck but her father didn’t say another word. He just set the bags on the counter, getting ready to cook breakfast. Mary Margaret looked over at Emma, her mother not nearly as angry as her father. She watched her mom grab her dad’s wrist, and whisper something that apparently eased his temper a bit. Because the redness faded from his face and he came off a bit lighter than when she had first entered the room.

Emma motioned for Killian to walk over to her. Mr. Suave had completely lost any bravado in this compromising position. He walked over to her, a sense of urgency in his step as they tucked themselves in the hallway to have a private moment.

“Emma, I tried to.. They came in without knocking I couldn’t hide fast enough,” his speech was frantic. It was endearing. How nervous he had gotten at the sight of her parents. Killian had met David plenty of times before, but not in this kind of scenario.

“Shh, it’s okay. It isn’t your fault. I’m sorry, I really didn’t know they were coming here. You can leave if you want.”

But just as she gave him the way out she heard her mother call from the other room. “Killian, honey would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Emma’s head fell back and hit the wall. The torture being inflicted on her right now was most certainly karmic repayment for letting him sleepover.

“Perhaps, we should go get dressed, love.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt that she was wearing. When she put it on she assumed it would be like a fun, sexy, normal thing to do the morning after sex. But again. The universe had slapped her in the face for it. “Though I must say it looks better on you.” He winked at her. The embarrassment leaving him the more time they were out of view.

“You can’t do this right now…” she put her hands on his bare chest. Trying to push him away but found herself drawn to how warm he was. Fuck.

“Do what?” He inched closer. Eyebrow up, tongue exposed.

“Flirt with me… they’re right there.”

“I hate to break it to you, love, but I think our cover is blown,” he whispered. How he had gone from shy, blushing, Killian in the kitchen to this insatiable flirt she would never understand.

“Just… let’s go get dressed. We don’t need to make this any worse than it is.”

She pulled away from him, wishing she didn’t have to. While against the wall she wondered whether or not he would have fucked her right there if her parents hadn’t crashed their morning. Something she would never know, she thought, as she walked up the creaky wooden stairs to her bedroom. She and Killian did their best to appear presentable for breakfast but it was truly a lost effort. Mary Margaret and David knew what was going on. Even as they tried to ignore the elephant in the room, sitting around the kitchen table eating breakfast.

Emma’s mother, at the very least, spoke to Killian. Clearly trying to make him feel more comfortable. Mary Margaret far more open to this situation. While David just frowned, eating his pancakes bit by bit. Emma’s spine felt like it had a rod through it, she was so stiff from the tension between she and her father. For the first time in a very long time he was not pleased with her.

After breakfast, Killian dismissed himself. Telling everyone he needed to get back to his hotel and to his dog. Mary Margaret and David both looked at each other, knowingly. Probably putting the pieces together about the dog that had been at their house on Mother’s Day two weeks ago. If Emma melted into a puddle right then and there she truly would not have minded. It would save her the task of having to talk to her parents after Killian left.

She walked him to the door. Feeling far too embarrassed about the way their first overnight visit had gone to even hug him. Luckily he took his own liberties with her.

“I’ll call you later, darling.” His hands went around her waist. Pulling her to him. She couldn’t help but feel the charge that surged through her.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Ah but I want to. That’s the thing.” His smirk challenged her. As much as she tried to fence herself off she knew Killian Jones didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.

“This morning was kind of… weird.”

“Interestingly enough I don’t blame you for that.” He reached up, twirling a piece of blonde hair between his fingers. “Besides, I think your mother is starting to like me.”

Him making light of the situation made her feel the slightest bit better. But she still wasn’t thrilled. As much as she wanted to use this morning as an excuse to never have him stay over again, she knew 99% of their night had been… incredible.

“Emma, I don’t want to upset you… or make you uncomfortable. If last night was too much we can just go back to-”

She cut him off with her lips. Kissing him as she had wanted to since she woke up. His soft mouth moving with hers. Emma hoped this gave him enough of an answer without having to say any more.

“Alright then.” When he pulled away his hand found his lips, certain he felt the buzz she did when their skin met. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thank you for staying, Killian!” Emma’s mother’s voice came from the kitchen. There was no way the woman hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Thank you for having me!” He yelled back. An amused look on his face as he slipped out the door.

When Emma walked back into the bright kitchen her father was at the sink washing dishes and her mother was sitting at the table setting down her mug of coffee. A massive grin on Mary Margaret’s face.

“There’s an envelope on the table for you. It arrived this morning,” David said, finishing up the last of the dishes. The air seemed to lighten between the two of them. Whatever was inside the envelope a peace offering from her dad.

Emma’s eyes scanned the package, relief washing over her when she realized it was a real piece of mail. From a real person. Not some manipulative coward who dropped clues on her porch instead of just coming forward. No, this was exactly what she had been waiting for. The drawings Archibald Hopper had promised her. The ones Moira Jones did during her sessions with him.

“It’s the sketches,” Emma said aloud to no one in particular. Tearing through the seal to reveal a stack of art.

“I’ve looked through them but nothing stuck out to me. I figured you have a better eye than me.” Her dad looked apologetic as he said it. Neither one of them could stay mad at the other for long. They were too similar. “Take some time, look through them, see what you think.” David put his arm around her, kissing her forehead before leaving the house with his wife in toe.

To say Emma was relieved was an understatement. The morning had been… trying. And now she had some time alone to focus. She could get some work done, look at Moira’s sketches. Take in all there was to analyze. Enjoy the quiet. She almost wished Killian was still here so he could see the talent his mother had. Chances are he had never seen any of her work.

Emma posted up at her table, flipping through the stack of drawings. The morning and afternoon went by slowly as she picked through the art. Amongst them were sketches of their home. The flowers that lined the driveway in full bloom, an antique car parked in front. A picturesque scene. Two little boys running through the landscaping, an image of innocence Emma could only assume was a depiction of Liam and Killian.

Another showed a tea kettle, atop an antique stove, spouting steam. A simple mug shadowed in the corner. The attention to detail in each picture astounding for someone who managed to do these during weekly therapy sessions.

The last drawing in the stack showed hands. Four to be exact. Two dainty, soft hands resting over a belly. A simple wedding band on the left hand. Slightly covered by the rough hands of a more masculine entity. It looked like a close up of a maternity photo shoot, the shading of the belly appearing rotund. But there was something on the other hand. The right hand of the woman had a ring in the mirror position of the wedding band. She had to look once, twice, three times to ensure what she saw was correct. Holding her own hand in comparison, the ring in the drawing was the exact same ring she wore on her own finger.

The simple, unique pearl ring Henry had given her as a gift for Mother’s Day. The ring that had come from Neal’s father’s shop…

Emma gulped. It added up. The odd behavior, the constant arrogance associated with the investigation, the reclusivity from society. Emma did the math in her head, the ages were certainly plausible. Moira Jones would have been almost identical in age to Mr. Gold had she still been alive. She thought back to the way in which Killian’s dog had reacted so negatively to the sight of only one man. The same exact ring that had been in his shop, was the one in a drawing from over twenty years ago. And she had her suspect. Robert Gold.

#captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #cs ff au #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #cs fanfics #cs modern au #cs crime au

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ryujin-zanba · 7 years

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chapter 3, sorry it’s late~ as always i’d like to shout out @imagine-some-fluffy-asks (*´∀｀*）

tw; for panic attacks & very mild suggestion toward previous thoughts of suicide ((yikes this sounds like it cant possibly be happy right??)) the good news is,, actual appearance of reader finally!! ( ＾▽＾)

ch 1, ch 2~

The feeling comes back to his feet when his heart starts to pound and his breath comes in short pants. Clearly his body knows he needs to get out of here right now before he makes a scene. People are already staring; he can feel their eyes on him, and so he finally acts and pockets his phone before darting out of the rental shop and doing what he does best: running. He runs as fast as he can, faster than he’s ever run in a game, and he keeps going and keeps going and keeps going until he is so out of breath that by the time he has to stop, he doesn’t know where he is. The streetlights are sparse here; it isn’t as well illuminated as the high streets, and even though it is dark there is usually a lot of traffic, but not in this place. ‘What neighbourhood is this?’ He wonders to himself, panting before he wipes the sweat off his brow and looks around keenly for a road sign or something. There’s a huge open expanse across the road. It’s hard to make out exactly, but judging by the fence that encircles it and the closely planted greenery, he’s near a park. He doesn’t think he’s ever been here before, but he recalls something that brings him comfort, and he’s already heading over there to find a bench, thinking about the picture you sent him with the owl. He sits heavily and hunches, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. Having practically run away from a breakdown, he’s feeling pretty exhausted, and also cold without a jacket and just his school shirt on. He rubs his arms anxiously, looking around in the bleakness for any sign of direction to home, but he really doesn’t know this place. He could be one street over from his own house, or he could be half the city away. With no sense of direction, he does the sensible thing and takes out his phone. His battery is low, but that isn’t the most imminent problem.

Rather than searching GPS maps, he finds himself opening the message from his ex… His eyes sting even before he begins to read it again and he knows perfectly well that the words won’t have changed, his partner won’t have thought twice or texted, ‘hi,’ telling him that it’s all a cruel joke but they still love him and want to be with him. That doesn’t stop him from wishing for it though. He runs his middle finger over his bottom lip thoughtfully as his index finger rests in the perfect divot under nose and his thumb frames his chin, and slowly his hand comes to cover his mouth as the lump in his throat starts to waver under the pressure of a sob that he desperately bites back.

The relief of running away is so very short-lasting, and he’s crying again now, even after all that. Loneliness is hardly an unfamiliar feeling to Ebumi, but this is a kind of pain that has coupled itself with his most bitter emotions, and it is making them stronger than they’ve ever been before.

He really could do with a cigarette right about now, he thinks. The pain is unbearable, even to the point where he wonders, for just a brief second, about something he is sure he’d talked himself out of years ago.

But who is he living for? Who would miss him? He has nothing. He is nothing, and he’s convinced he won’t find anyone to love him the way he loved his only partner. As if God himself is telling him just to do it, the heavens open and it begins to rain, soaking the poor lost boy in seconds. He’s grateful though. With the sound of the falling sky and no one around to hear him, he can cry his eyes out, where the tears will be invisible in the raindrops, and his broken, pleading voice will be drowned out by the clattering of heavy downpour on concrete. Maybe he’ll get washed away; swept up by a flood and swallowed by a storm drain, he hopes anyway. His phone is dead now, and he is so cold on this bench in the darkness and the wetness, but he simply doesn’t care, and he almost thinks he’s slipped out of consciousness when he hears it. “Ebucchi!” Someone calls out, louder than his harrowing thoughts and stronger than sound of the rain. “Jesus Chr— how long have you been out here?!” You exclaim. Your voice is coarse and almost chastising with panic as you reach him. You immediately take off your coat and wrap it around the listless boy, but it isn’t until you crouch in front of him and hold his arms firmly, gazing up at him with bright and brilliant eyes even in the darkness, that the blond actually sees you, and begins to cry harder as he throws his arms around you. “Come on sweetheart, we have to go inside right now,” you instruct, guiding him to his feet and keeping a strong arm around him as you march him back to your apartment across the street. The difference from cold, howling, stormy weather to the peaceful, dimly-lit ambiance in the safety of your house is almost overwhelming for Ebumi, and he stumbles a little on his way over the threshold. You catch him with ease, and hold him up. “How long were you just sitting there for?” You ask, your voice drenched in pity just as he is drenched in rainwater. You speak softly though, able to communicate sympathetically now that you’re out of immediate danger and in the solace of your living room. Ebumi can’t reply; he’s too tongue-tied trying to stop himself from crying in front of you and feeling like an idiot. It’s quieter here and compared to how he howled outside along with the wind, it’s hard to rein it in. “It’s okay,” you assure him, sitting him down on the couch and snatching two towels and a blanket out of the nearby basket of freshly dried laundry. They’re still faintly warm, and it’s nice for him when they replace the heaviness of your damp coat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you out of your wet clothes or you’ll get hypothermia. I’ll go and run you a bath while you warm up, okay?” You reason with him, slipping his open school shirt off his shoulders and attempting to lift the hem of his undershirt that is plastered to his body. “No!” He suddenly cries; his cold, trembling fingers desperately gripping your hands. “Don’t make me take it off— p— please don’t!” He wails, starting up into full hysterics again. “You can do that, angel. You can do it yourself,” you promise, rubbing up and down his arms to both soothe and warm him. “I won’t undress you, sweet pea, you can do that bit. But you need to take off these wet clothes or you’ll get sick.” The appeal of such cherishing, kindly worded insistences and terms of endearment seem to soften him a little, because he nods in understanding, but then he looks at you almost helplessly and shakes his head immediately after. “I can't— t— take— it— off,” he sobs, hiccupping between breaths as he struggles to even get the words out. “Why not sweetheart?” You sympathise, every ounce of patience and understanding that you can fathom swimming in your gaze. “It's— gro— it’s ugly! It’s t— too— they didn’t like it! They said it’s not— normal!” He begins to cry, stumbling over himself as he covers his face and breathes erratically, his hands running into his hair as he tugs at his dyed tresses and fails to keep the wretched, straining sounds of a sob inside. You frown at this, starting to get an idea of why Ebumi is suffering such a drastic attack.

He’d kept it quiet at first that he’d started dating someone, but he became far too proud of the situation not to celebrate, and soon word spread when he began boasting how lucky and how in love he was. Everyone was happy for him; seeing a wild card like Ebumi, who usually had terrible luck with getting anyone to consider him romantically, now in a serious relationship, was genuinely adorable and something you were all eager to support. That was until you met them. When his partner showed up to a rugby match, Ebumi had begged to be put on so that he could show off to them, but it was hard for anyone but him not to notice that their interests weren’t on how well he had played, or how many tries he had scored, but in the stoic captain who had little interest to give them. From there onward Ebumi started telling stories that he laughed at and regarded with good humour, but for those not blinded by love, it was clear that his partner was not a kind person, and their affection for the blond seemed to be motivated largely by gifts and persuasions. You have to remind yourself not to let your fingers dig in as you gently support his elbows, but thinking about how badly Ebumi must have been treated is absolutely heinous. You can’t let yourself get mad though, not now. This is a time where you should focus on making things better… you can tackle his ex later… metaphorically and, at this rate, literally.

#my wriiting #all out!!#ao!! fanfiction #ebumi masaru #gender-neutral reader #long post #Mar 17

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howellrichard · 4 years

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How to Be More Productive in Work and Life (5 Stress-Free Tips!)

Hiya Gorgeous!

Please be unproductive. Ha! Has anyone ever said that to you? I certainly haven’t received that luxurious request. Quite the opposite in fact. Google “how to be more productive” and you’ll get over 200 million results!

We all want to increase productivity because we think it will help us be successful, make an impact and have more freedom. If we could just be more productive, we’d finally be able to finish that project, get that promotion and do everything we’ve always wanted to do but never had time for. Right?

This probably hits especially close to home if you’re an entrepreneur like me. We’re always looking for new ways to optimize how we use our time—it’s not easy to grow a business while maintaining some semblance of a life outside of work! As a result, we often push ourselves way past our limits, sacrificing our well-being in the process.

Look, I’m all for being driven as long as it doesn’t drive us into the ground. But between the pressures coming from our work hard, play hard society AND the high expectations we have for ourselves, we simply create more than we can process. So we’re left wishing we had another hour, day, week, month, year… life.

Hmmm, there’s obviously something wrong with this picture.

Remember—we’re humans, NOT conveyor belts! Whaddya say we take a step back and look at productivity from a different angle? It’s meant to simplify our lives after all, not make them more exhausting and stressful.

The 5 practices I’m sharing today have helped me accomplish everything from simple daily tasks to building a thriving 7-figure business, all while maintaining a good work/life balance. They’ll help you use productivity to make space for pursuing your deepest desires and doing what makes you happy. Because what’s more important than that?

Here’s what you can expect to learn:

How to be more productive at work AND at home—you can apply these tips in all areas of your life!

Simple ways to maximize time and headspace for better focus, faster results and more joy.

Why it’s even more essential than you might think to get clear on your priorities (and how to do it).

What time off and self-care have to do with productivity.

How to build in time for the unexpected challenges so they don’t throw you off course.

How paying people to take care of themselves supercharges your own productivity.

Ready to discover these surprisingly simple, joyful productivity tips? Let’s dig in!

How to Be More Productive: 5 Stress-Free Tips

1. Design your ideal week.

If you want to learn how to be more productive, you’ve gotta start by examining how you manage and use your time. Because even if you have all the time in the world, it’s still possible to be unproductive.

When I say design your ideal week, I’m talking about more than just blocking off space in your calendar (although that IS part of it!). It means looking at the week ahead holistically—including your responsibilities and commitments, AND the stuff you do to support your mental and physical health—then laying out a schedule that optimizes the time you have.

Ask yourself these questions when designing your ideal week:

What times do I want to go to bed and wake up? (A consistent schedule can help improve your sleep, too… win-win!)

What days do I want to work, and what should my stop and start times be? (This one is especially key for all of you entrepreneurs and self-employed folks out there!)

What existing commitments do I have that I can’t change? Are there any I can adjust to make room for new priorities?

What does a productive day usually look like for me? When do I usually feel most alert and focused? When do I tend to get tired or have more trouble focusing on more complex/creative tasks?

Where in my schedule would it be most beneficial to have breaks? What should my breaks look like (taking a walk, meditating, stretching…)?

What tends to distract or pull me off task? Is there anything I can do to avoid or better manage those distractions?

Where am I most productive? How can I set myself up for success with my work environment (consider lighting, noise, decor, how you sit/stand at your desk and so on).

Put together a first draft of your ideal week and try it out. Stick with it for at least a couple of weeks before you decide something needs to change (change often causes discomfort, so give yourself a chance to adapt). Then, don’t hesitate to make adjustments if something isn’t working or your needs change.

Remember, this is YOUR ideal week, not your boss’s, partner’s, kid’s, etc. It won’t always be perfect or easy, but it should be in alignment with your natural flow. Following your routine should give you a sense of security and freedom. *Queue deep sigh of relief… ahhhhhh.*

2. Take a “less but better” approach to your to-dos.

In our quest for productivity, we often end up piling more onto our plates before we’re able to metabolize what’s already there. Tell me if this sounds familiar: One day, you get a lot done and feel great about yourself. The next day, your list barely budges and you feel sucky. I think we’ve all been there.

Or maybe this scenario sounds more like you: If you have three things to do and you manage to accomplish them all, you feel awesome and do a happy dance. But if you have 15 things and only get those same three done, you feel like a bum who can barely make a dent.

You’re not the problem here, toots—it’s your to-do list. Forcing constant accomplishment is like expecting yourself to be an assembly line. So let’s talk about how to be more productive with a less but better mindset.

This practice is based on a concept from Greg McKeown’s book, Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less (which I highly recommend, by the way… it changed my life!). He talks about doing less, but better, so you can make the highest possible contribution.

Keep your to-do list short and sweet, it’s that simple! Rather than loading it up with a mess of tasks you can’t possibly complete, focus on the stuff that really matters and moves the needle on your Big Sky Goals. A more manageable list = less stress = more energy for productivity in the areas you care about!

A less but better approach is about aiming for the big wins that create a domino effect in all areas of your life and/or business.

And if you need some help getting your priorities straight, you’re gonna love my new ebook…

Do you have dreams you want to explore (hobbies, side hustles, going back to school…), but can’t seem to find the time or headspace?

Do you have a full-fledged business idea that sets your soul on fire, but you think it’s too risky, too hard, too far out of reach?

Or do you already have a business, but you feel stuck and don’t know how to reach your ultimate potential?

If any of these sound familiar, you’re going to LOVE my new ebook, How to Build Your Business without Burning Out: 10 Keys for Avoiding the Mistakes Most Entrepreneurs Make. And you don’t have to be an entrepreneur to benefit from it—this resource is for anyone with an idea they want to pursue (no matter how big or how small) while balancing a day job, family commitments and staying well.

This free ebook covers the most critical lessons I’ve learned during my 15+ years of owning and operating a thriving business, including…

How to overcome fear of failure so you can finally take the leap and start the business or project you’ve been dreaming about.

What to focus on in the morning so you can prioritize the work that actually impacts your bottom line (and sideline the tasks that don’t!).

How to grow your audience and customer base without breaking your back OR the bank by understanding what they really want and need.

Do yourself a favor and learn from my mistakes. The world needs you to share your magic… I can’t wait to see you shine even brighter than you already do!

3. Build in buffer time.

We can’t be productive 100 percent of the time. We also can’t will ideas and solutions to come to light just because we want them to! In fact, sometimes the harder we try, the further our productivity (and good ideas) plummet. It’s not convenient, but it’s the truth.

That’s why we need to build in buffer time—for when we’re stuck, things don’t go as planned or the crap hits the fan (trust me, it will)! Having buffer time is a way to give your brain SPACE. Like brainstorming without a looming deadline, doodling your way through a challenge or just resting. Good ideas have a way of bubbling up when you just let your smart noggin relax and do its thing. Haven’t you ever wondered why you get your best ideas in the shower?

So next time you feel stuck or stagnant, don’t harass yourself for not being productive enough. Instead, step away from the task at hand and breathe. And if you want to take it a step further, proactively work buffer time into your schedule. That way, it’ll be there when you need it (and you probably need it even when you don’t realize you do, so give it a shot!).

Buffer time is also a must for when life throws you a curveball, because if you pack your schedule too tight, one small hiccup can turn into a full-blown disaster. For example, let’s say you’re on a team of people preparing for a new product launch. You map out your timeline leading up to the big day and divvy up the tasks with respective due dates. Then, one of your teammates gets sick and misses a deadline by a couple of days. And of course, the next step is contingent on the previous one! Without buffer time, a small blip quickly creates a domino effect that pushes back the whole launch. Ouch.

On the other hand, if you plan for the unexpected, productivity doesn’t suffer if someone falls behind. Your buffer is your safety net—it’ll help you bounce back quickly if you miss the mark for any reason (which is normal because we’re human, remember?!). Let your buffer catch you, then jump right back in.

4. Prioritize simple self-care.

Sometimes we’re so busy thinking about how to be more productive, we forget to take care of ourselves in the most basic ways. I’ve been there! But you know as well as I do that when you throw yourself out with the bathwater, it all goes to hell. Your ideas dry up. Your relationships suffer and so does your health (mental and physical). To avoid that hot mess, commit to supporting yourself through simple, consistent practices.

These are some of my personal favorites:

Wind down earlier: I know what it’s like to try and cram in a bunch of tasks at the end of the day, but getting enough quality rest is essential for productivity. Start your nighttime routine a bit earlier to prepare yourself for sleep—put devices away and wean yourself off the late night putter! For more sleep tips, check out my Ultimate Guide to Better Sleep here.

Center yourself: How you start your day sets the tone for your overall success. Doing just 10 minutes of mindful meditation in the morning (or during a midday break) can be a game changer for productivity throughout the day. Check out my video on how to make meditation easier here or treat yourself to my Self-Care for Busy People meditation album here!

Protect time off: You can’t maintain a high level of productivity if you never take time off! For me, that means planning for at least three week-long breaks throughout the year. They can be vacations or staycations, but it must be time to disconnect and refuel. Find a balance that works for you and whatever you do, schedule and protect it like your life depends on it!

These are just ideas from my toolkit. Try them out or use the self-care practices you already love! Whatever you do, it doesn’t have to be complicated. Self-care comes in many different forms—yours doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s as long as it replenishes and grounds you.

Psst.. If you’re an entrepreneur, self-care should be a part of your business plan. That’s what I call holistic entrepreneurship. Your business is an extension of you—if you’re not healthy, it can’t be either. And at the end of the day, your well-being is far more important than any amount of productivity or success.

5. Pay people to take care of themselves.

While I couldn’t do this in the early days of my business, I’m so grateful I have the ability to do it now. This tip is especially critical for all of my entrepreneurial friends out there, so listen up! I know from personal experience how easy it is to fall into the do-it-all-yourself mentality. Your business is your baby, so relinquishing control can be really uncomfortable. But you can’t be your most productive self if you’re trying to do it all.

The trick is to hire folks you trust so you can be at ease with sharing the responsibility. My Crazy Sexy Team consists of full-time folks, freelancers and consultants—all of that unique experience and perspective makes for a top-notch crew if I do say so myself! I wouldn’t be able to be as creative, focused and productive as I am if it weren’t for my incredible team.

But while saying how much you appreciate your team members is valuable, it’s not everything. So at Crazy Sexy Wellness, we make sure that sentiment also comes through in the way we pay and treat our people. That means offering competitive salaries and benefits packages, plenty of perks and, perhaps most importantly, LOTS of paid time off (remember what I said about protecting time off in tip #4?!).

Productivity doesn’t appear out of thin air—it grows where people feel valued, rested, secure and inspired! If you want people to thrive, set them up for full-body, holistic success. Listen to their ideas, respect their independence and show them how much you appreciate them by contributing to their self-care.

This tip isn’t just for work teams—it’s really about getting comfortable with delegating in all areas of your life. Your team might include your babysitter, hair stylist, therapist, partner, moving company… you get the idea. Whoever helps YOU be more productive needs your support to be productive (and happy and healthy!) too.

There you have it, my take on productivity!

I hope these tips help you get more done without creating more stress! Keep in mind that there’s no one-size-fits-all productivity plan. Your ability to get ‘er done will shift as life shifts. Babies change the game and so does sickness, family needs, unplanned renovations and car troubles. Our lives should be able to expand and contract based on what comes up. Be kind to yourself. Less but better. I love you.

If today’s tips resonated with you, don’t forget to grab my free ebook, How to Build Your Business without Burning Out: 10 Keys for Avoiding the Mistakes Most Entrepreneurs Make! It’s a must-read whether you’re already an entrepreneur or have always dreamed of starting a business, or if you have a burning passion you’ve been waiting for the right time to pursue (hint: the time is now!).

Your turn: What are your favorite productivity hacks? Or if you’re feeling unproductive these days, what’s standing in your way? Let’s support each other in the comments below!

Peace & simplicity,

The post How to Be More Productive in Work and Life (5 Stress-Free Tips!) appeared first on KrisCarr.com.

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