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shireness-says · 3 years

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The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor.

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic.

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too.

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates.

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise.

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until.

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him.

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping.

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out.

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?”

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes.

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen.

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up.

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still,

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays.

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt.

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now.

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes.

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside.

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door.

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before.

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves.

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds.

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple.

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it.

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips.

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

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daveword1 · 3 years

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Three years ago I was in a serious wreck that wasn’t my fault. It resulted in three horrible back surgeries that culminated with a 12 level fusion with rods and screws. I’ve been on narcotic pain meds the whole time. I’m finally experiencing exponential improvement. The struggle ahead now is getting off the narcotics.

I’ve been through this a number of times before with over 20 abdominal surgeries over a 37 year span of time. The older I get the harder it is to kick the pills. I’m 100% dependent on them now. I intend to chronicle the journey here.

The first thing it takes is an acceptance that some uncomfortable times lay ahead. Bouts of radical anxiety and insomnia. Mental toughness is called for along with the knowledge it won’t be fatal but there might be times I’ll wish I no longer existed. My goal however is to be free of narcotics within three months. At my age (67) it’s dangerous in Covid times as narcotics impair the immune system.

I’ll be updating this blog religiously and rereading my entries to affirm my commitment. I’m open to any advice or comments along the way.

Installment Two...

I picked up a script for valium yesterday and had my first night in forever without a pain pill. Only had two pain pills this morning instead of usual three. Went five hours before taking last dose of the day of two more at noon. Four a day, down from ten or twelve just a month ago. Picking up steam.

Time for some honesty here. Countless times I’ve feigned agony in order to get my wife (THE KEEPER OF THE PILLS) to hand me up to three early. Had nothing to do with pain but more just to feel centered and normal. This is your ultimate proof you’re snared and completely dependent. This is when you’re lying constantly.

I have an observation I don’t entirely understand. When my consumption of pills was ravenous I was always adamant about getting off them. When out of necessity the amount had to be cut in half I was longing for the previous higher amount. Confused opioid receptors talking to the rest of my brain.

One thing I’m completely mortified by is the way I subtly manipulated a few others into generously sharing their pain pills. I did it by lying that doctors refused to prescribe them to me. I even intimated a few times I was suicidal because of my pain level. Lies lies and more lies. I was solely after the buzz. I’ve heard other people on pain meds awhile say they had no affinity or attraction to them. They complained such things as they kept them sleepy or caused disturbing dreams. They were the people who never finished a script. I’m one of those who gets a switch thrown in my brain immediately that tells me all I need is a steady intake of more more more.

I guess that’s the defining characteristic of an addictive personality. It must be something you’re hard wired for. I find the disease concept of addiction laughable. I’ve only known a few others like me and when we’d get pills from each other we fastidiously kept track of what we were owed back. Loan shark collection tactics weren’t out of the question.

Next installment will have the story of a younger brother who was hopelessly addicted to narcotics and his tragic end.

The Story of Brother Kenny

I had a younger brother once who enlisted in the Army. He developed back issues while stationed in Germany and was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis. He eventually was awarded a full service related disability which payed him $3,300 monthly in the 90’s. Of course he opted not to work.

Back then you could still do a walkin off the street to most doctors offices and leave with a generous narcotic script. Kenny claimed his back condition was unbearably painful even though I read the condition usually only caused mild discomfort. He became a prolific doctor shopper. Eventually you could never see him when he wasn’t fully under the influence of huge narcotic doses.

I visited him one day and found him a blithering idiot. I told him I expected him to be dead within two months. He was visibly shaken. Nearly two months later I found him dead on his kitchen floor in his underwear. After the funeral people came for his body I found three different prescription pain meds from no less than five doctors. I’m convinced addiction runs in families. I, however, in many accumulated years of pain management never once od’d on pain meds. Kenny wasn’t so lucky and left us at age 47.

I took a large quantity of his meds home with me and hid them in my garage. I was very distraught over his death and someone gave me xanax pills which I took too much of. I decided to try and reverse the sedation with cocaine. My son later found me unresponsive and called an ambulance. I’m told I was comatose for three days during which my brother’s funeral had to be delayed. That was my greatest humiliating moral failure I’ve never forgiven myself for. I still believe I deserve a catastrophic event as punishment. I scarred my family and took years to rebuild trust.

Continuation...

It’s six days till next pain management appointment. I’ve managed to sneak and coerce enough extra doses that I’m nursing along at 2 pills a day instead of 7. I know that if I manage to sneak more I’ll be in misery a few days before next refill. I’ll have to visit with the doctor in extreme discomfort it’ll take all I have to hide from him. Somehow that matters little to me. Soon as my wife’s attention is diverted I’ll grab extra pills. It’s what that switch in my brain compels me to do.

I’ve gotten to the point that every aspect of my life seems dependent on having narcotics onboard. Visiting family, playing guitar, picking up groceries, even having grandkids over all require narcotic doses. My life doesn’t feel at all normal without it. I’d rather spend the entire day in bed than to not be able to take pills.

I remember six years ago when we moved onto this rural street with fabulous neighbors. The first street bbq we were invited to I was in withdrawals from morphine. I drank a helluva lot of moonshine to feel comfortable in my skin. My wife had to lead me home. I later had to apologize to the host who laughed it off thankfully.

I eventually attained a few years of complete normalcy I remember well. I played music in public and was comfortable around people I didn’t know well. It was a great time. Then came a cervical fusion surgery and months later lumbar fusion after a car wreck. Back on pills I desperately needed for horrible pain. Back to the switch in my brain being thrown. I’m recovered enough now it’s an abject lie to claim I still need them. I long for the normalcy again.

A goal I have is to not take a handful of pills when I pick up next refill again. I seriously doubt I’ll attain the goal but have ascribed it as a benchmark I’ll have to meet if I’m to be successful getting off this nightmare roller coaster. I’m like a dual personality at war with myself. Neither has the power to overcome the other.

I’m waiting for a delivery of thc gummies a cousin is sending me from Michigan. I’ve used them before and had better pain control with them. I can cut pain meds dosage in half when combined with thc gummies. I intend to try a rapid taper by using thc which I could always stop with no issues. I know I’m gonna have lingering discomfort for awhile. I’ll likely end up getting xanax from my long time primary doctor for the anxiety, insomnia and restless leg that hangs around a week or two. We’ll see how this goes. Pain meds have been in my life too long. The pain from the fusion is at a level I think I can tolerate with mental toughness now. Here’s hoping.

April 22, 2021

Yeah I know... I’ve not written anything in awhile. Short whirlwind of activity. I got my accident settlement money and we bought a bus type motorhome and had a big pool installed. Also had to go out of state for a week for a family member’s funeral. That’s my excuse.

As for the pills... the last quantity prescribed was exactly half the amount of a few months back. I was still down to none by the day before the appointment just like the previous three times. Sneaking pills when my wife’s attention is diverted has become an art form. It’s compulsive behavior that embarrasses me but I seem powerless to overcome. At least the rapid tapering regimen is in full swing and being successfully adhered to. I’ll end this session by reiterating I’m tired of being snared by these fucking pills and look forward to the glorious day they are out of my psyche.

Long overdue update. In rereading this treatise I’ve realized my initial projection of being off pain pills in a few months is in serious jeopardy. The last dosage reduction caused me to hit a wall. The pain levels have increased and I’m walking like a bent over geriatric cripple again. I’m having to realize pills will apparently be in my future for an indeterminate time. That means the lies and stealthy thievery will continue. I so wish I could conquer this compulsion but the fact remains. I can’t feel normal without them, even though after so much time on them the relief is only very minimal.

I can’t stress enough how this is not where I want to be. I long for the time again when these fuckin pills are a distant memory. If not that then I long to take them responsibly. My brain won’t allow that. It isn’t even a choice available to me. The longing to simply cease to exist pops up now and again but thankfully I can’t do that to my family. I’m considering starting a podcast to address these issues. I know millions of people like me exist in this hell. I’m not sure if I could do it other than as an anonymous person. Who the fuck wants the world to know they’re stuck in this void?

#addiction

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pa-awesome · 5 years

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Small Lies That Escalated Into “This Is My Life Now”

• Found out a coworker was from the same city I grew up in. He asked what my "old man's" last name was. Being an unmarried woman, I assumed he was asking about my father to determine if he knew my family back home. Apparently he was asking about my non existent husband, so until he quit I carried on the facade that I had a husband from back home.

• My mom gave my sister a chocolate orange about 15 years ago and she kind of embarrassed the family by saying it was gross. I didn't want to make my parents feel bad so I said that I'd eat it. It was gross but I pretended to like it. Now every year for Christmas I get a chocolate orange.

• Pretended to be a girl on World of Warcraft for a solid two years. I didn't actually set out to do it, just never corrected anyone when they assumed I was and by the time I thought to come clean it seemed too awkward.

• I convinced pretty much everyone in my life that I was allergic to coconut at a young age. I simply just didn't like it at all and it was a good way to avoid eating it (logic of a pre-teen mind). My mom played along. It wasn't until about 3 years ago when my mother in law had a surprise birthday party for her husband and she made a german chocolate cake. The kicker here: she did HALF of it coconut and half without so I could enjoy the cake and not have an allergic reaction to it. I broke down. Laughed. Told them it wasn't true and I actually am not allergic. Her face melted. I hadn't realized how long I had kept up the lie until that very moment.

• When I was 12 years old, I lied about my age and made myself older for about 3 years, so I could still be somewhat cool in WoW. Now some of my WoW friends settled over with me to other games, and whenever I meet someone new, they're likely connected to them. At this point it's too awkward to explain that I'm not the oldest, but in fact the youngest in our friendgroup.

• Told one guy i was canadian bc they asked why i apologized so much. That was in 1st grade, im now a junior in highschool and people are shocked when they find out im not canadian

• I dated a guy who's father was a minister. I liked this guy a lot. I knew their church was one of those loud, dancing talking in tongues churches and his parents asked me to come to church with them. The dad did this whole long ass sermon about premarital sex and being saved. The guy I was dating kept nudging me and his family kept smirking so when they asked who felt the Holy Spirit and wanted to be saved I walked up to the front, everyone was jumping around and people were getting popped in the forehead and going into convulsions on the floor. I pretended to feel it. They smacked my forehead, I fell back, I just laid there with a few other people on the floor with my eyes closed wondering if I should twitch or something. Afterwards everyone was hugging me and his parents were crying.....

• I was working at a small company about 10 years ago, around the holidays. It was approaching Thanksgiving, and the ladies in my department had organized a pot luck luncheon. I was adding my contribution to the sign-up sheet when I noticed that one particular co-worker had signed up to bring brownies. She was a nice, single, older woman who had many pets at home (2-3 cats and as many dogs) and was regularly covered in a layer of pet fur. The day of the party had arrived, and everyone was going around filling their plates. There they were on the dessert table - the brownies. I didn't want to eat any of them, but I also didn't want to be impolite - so I told her I couldn't have any because I was allergic to nuts. Fast forward 9 years, and I am out with a friend (who had also been a co-worker at this company) I had kept since that job. After a few drinks, I tell her, tearfully, that I have a confession to make - I'm not really allergic to nuts. She burst out laughing, thinking it was going to be something much more serious than that. She is the only person I have made this confession to.

• A dude I knew was giving this girl some shit and she kicked him in the nuts. Ok, extreme reaction, but such is life. He doubled over in pain, but since he was kind of a douche anyway, no one cared much. The next day (a Friday) his dad took him out of school for some reason. Then when he returned on Monday he learned that the big rumor was that his balls ruptured from the kick, and he had to get emergency surgery. Rather than correcting anyone, he went along with it. This went on for years. People made fun of him, and he just joked about it. There were idiotic songs people sung about him. He laughed about it. Never denied it once, in fact participated in some of the joking at times. Finally, one day about 3 years later he comes clean. She didn't even actually kick him in the balls, just in the gut and it really knocked the wind out of him. After all this time, the dude who got kicked in the balls was basically his identity. Strange turn of events.

• When I was 16, I humored some Mormon missionaries to make my best friend and his family happy (they were Mormon). So after a few home "lessons" about the LDS church I had already showed a lot of fake support and interest. Being awkward, I didn't want to admit to not being interested. When they asked if I wanted to be baptised weeks later, I said yes, imagining I'd eventually back out. I didn't. Became an athiest Mormon. After months of living this double life, attending church, etc, my mom decided to show support by becoming Mormon. I was mortified. My recovering Catholic dad pulls me aside and asks me if I really believe this stuff. I explained everything to him and he thought it was hilarious. I also made him promise not to tell Mom because, again, awkward and too far deep. She asked me to baptise her and I refused. This insulted her. Fast forward a year or so and I distanced myself from church people while still maintaining the close relationship with my friend and his family. It's been 12 years now, and we still hang out weekly and nobody considers me Mormon. I never explained this to him.

• The second or third week of college my freshman year I stumbled into a room where a newly acquired friend and his roommate were playing kingdom hearts. We briefly talked about how much they loved the game, etc. Eventually, I fall asleep on their futon from general college induced exhaustion. An indeterminable amount of time later, I wake up to them quietly talking about what to do with the person napping on the couch. Not wanting to be rude, I tell them "Oh sorry - I wasn't really napping" They call me out on my buffoonery, and I decide to double down that I WAS NOT NAPPING. We get into a pretty heated argument about what constitutes a nap and the specific things that I was doing if it were not napping. I do not back down and start essentially yelling at them that I was not napping. This grew into an uncontrollable inside joke where whenever I would go anywhere with these guys they would say something like "man, its a good thing bendernas doesn't take naps", he'll be the life of the party. Or some shit. This slowly spreads to basically everything we did (small school of ~ 3000 students, where most people had some sort of obscure connection to most other people) and I eventually became known as the person who didn't take naps. (edit: i love naps) A few years later we became roommates and the proceed to wake me up basically every single day whenever I took a nap.

• When I got out of college, I got accepted in an internship. After that internship, they hired me. When they asked about my diploma, I said the truth, that I needed a few more general classes(French and PE) to finish and get my diploma. They said: No problem, but you have to get your diploma. I said(the beginning of the lie): It's alright, I'm already registered for the classes next semester. They said: Ok but make sure you get it soon! Then never asked about it again, even after changing HR management twice since then. I've been working here for 10 years now, never went back for my diploma. I know it's stupid, but let's hope I end my career here or something.

• Living in a College Town, every year around spring graduation there's one or two "I'm here to see my kid graduate, but I haven't been able to locate them" families. Usually kids that stopped going, pocketed their parents money, and/or just gave up and couldn't handle telling the family. It ends sadly sometimes. That's a big lie/deception to deal with and maintain. It almost always comes to a head.

• My first relationship. A few days in, then-girlfriend tells me she isn't ready to go public just yet and if we could just pretend we weren't together for a few days then she would be ready. Six months later, I had lied to so many people for her I can't tell whats real anymore and any time I asked her if we could stop because it was messing with me she refused and argued her way out of it. Looking back on this fucks with my head to this day. Amazing how much things like that can snowball.

• One time someone who I wanted to be better friends with showed me a metal gear solid meme and me being me I pretended to understand it. I then was forced to research all the games and their plots, Easter eggs, quotable characters, and other memes to better fake understanding. I still have never played a metal gear solid game.

• My fiance has a great one. She's a picky eater, and rather than tell her best friend that she doesn't like bananas, she told her "I'm allergic to bananas." For YEARS, her best friend would make sure everything was banana-free. From cakes, to desserts, to even clearing her house of anything banana related. After close to 15 years, my fiance finally told her "Hey, I just don't like bananas." Nervous, thinly veiled hatred in the form of laughter ensued.

• One teacher at school said my name wrong and I was too anxious to correct him. Long story short it’s almost been a year and I’m in too deep to say anything else.

• I live in Cambridge, UK and my go to answer to those "interesting-facts-about-you" moments (you know, corporate icebreakers or interview stuff) is that I got knocked over by Stephen Hawking whilst on the pavement near my house. Partly true as in he lives in the city, travels out and about on said streets. Truth is I just saw him on a path once. I was driving. People love that it's a bit different so imma keep using it.

• A buddy of mine's dad had a funny ongoing joke of sometimes referring to his son's friends by similar, but incorrect names. Trent became Trevor, Scott became Sam, Ethan became Eric. Just silly stuff like that. So in that vein he starts calling me 'Donald' (jesse is my middle name, my first one starts with 'D'). At first I thought he was joking, but he just. Didn't. Stop. Its been years, and now that we're all moved out and on our own I rarely ever see him. But he still calls me Donald whenever I do, and at this point its way too late to correct him.

• This is a small thing, I don't go by my full name but when I sign up for classes at my gym, it's done through an app and shows up on the roster as my full name. I never thought that anyone there would eventually know me by name, so when the instructor would take attendance I just never corrected in. But now I'm a year in and I'm casually friendly with most people there and I'm in way too deep to correct them now. It's not that I mind my full name that much, I have just never really gone by it.

#repost #liar #lies #story

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