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#ouat fanfic
queen-of-fanfics · 10 months
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I Told You To Stay
Pairing: Peter Pan x Reader
Prompt: Peter told you to stay.
A/N: Ayoooo lol I'm alive. Anywho Y'ALL I GRADUATED COLLEGE and the first thing I accomplished after was writing this fanfic. How have y'all been? Now I have some free time and a desk job so I have time to write more. I literally got the idea for this scenario from a dream I had. So... This one gets a little heated but nothing explicit.
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"Where do you think you're going?" Peter teases you as he grabs your arm to spin you around.
You were the second Lost Girl to have ever made it to the island. The first will always be Wendy. Wendy continues to be the mother figure around the island while you were free to run off hunting and exploring with the Lost Boys. You could never shake the feeling that either Wendy hated you or envied you. She would be stuck cooking and caring for the boy while you were almost like a sister. You two never got along too well, the feeling of competition was always there.
The second that you came to the island and met everyone, it was no surprise that Peter was the one that caught your eye. 
However, you were always hesitant to let any hope blossom in you since you thought that Peter and Wendy were together. And if they weren’t, she would have first dibs on him anyway. But that fact never stopped your crush and admiration of him from growing. Day in and day out, you were running through the forests with him and protecting the Lost Boys together. 
Tonight was a quiet and warm night and everyone had had their dinners and was heading to bed. Wendy had made dinner and stayed back at the camp to clean up. You were heading towards your cabin before Peter grabbed your arm.
“You aren’t going to bed already, are you?” Peter asked with his usual smirk.
“Why, huh? You got something in mind worth my while?”
“Only one way to find out, I suppose.” He hides his smile from you as he leads you into the forest. That leads to where you are now. Running through the trees and climbing up the cliff as Peter is bounding off in front of you.
Coming to a stop behind Peter, you drop your hands to your knees and your head drops to start gasping for air. “Are we there yet? I feel like my lungs are going to explode!”
All of a sudden you’re squealing in delight because Peter ran over to you and scooped you into the air, carrying you bridal style. He takes off flying and your arms shoot out and wrapped around his neck. 
“What are you doing?!” 
“Taking you up to see the stars!” He yelled over the whistling wind as you continued laughing until tears formed in your eyes. 
Daring to peek over his shoulders, you gasp at the beautiful aerial view of the island before he dives and does a giant loop in the air. Hugging him close, you shove your face into his neck and breathe in his scent. Though the night was cool, you felt warm against him. Wanting this moment to last forever but you know it can’t, you decide that you will hold this memory so you can always relive this happiness that you feel. 
Feeling dizzy either from the adrenaline or from him, you rest your head against him and press a soft kiss on his neck. 
Suddenly, Peter tosses you lightly into the air and you are airborne before he catches you but now your position has changed. Now you are sitting, straddling his hips, as his hands come to your behind to carry your weight. Your arms wrap around his neck again but now you are face-to-face with him. 
As a blush covers your face, you whisper, “Well hi there.” 
He gives you a small smile as he looks at your thorough hooded eyes, “Much better don’t you think? Now I can see you.” 
You sit there, chest to chest with breaths mingling, completely suspended in the air over a cliff. “What are we doing, Y/N?” His whisper caresses your skin and he leans in just a little bit closer.
“What do you mean?” You can’t help but do the same, almost like a spring pulling you to him.
“You know exactly what I mean. Have you casted a spell on me? Making me dream of you every night and thinking of you every minute the sun is up? Have you made yourself my personal magnet to me so I can never not be near you? Are you bewitching me?” He continues to whisper as one of his hands drags up your body and grips the back of your neck, pulling you in closer until your noses are barely touching. 
Your breaths are coming out shaking but your fingers find their way to his hand and you tighten your hold, desperately keeping him close. 
“What if it’s you that is playing with my head?”
Your lips are brushing against each other but not quite touching. Your brain fogs with desire but it’s all pulled away from you as Peter abruptly pulls away and starts flying back to land.
“Wha-” You’re dizzy from the sudden change but you aren’t able to be stable on your feet before Peter is hurriedly pulling you through the trees. Silently giggling and running through the forest, your heart is beating out of your chest. 
Coming to a clearing, you see a small and simple log cabin sitting by itself. There are a few steps leading up to a porch that surrounds the little cabin. 
“Where are we, Peter?”
“This is my place.” He finally slows down to a stop.
He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you as he shoves his face into the crook of your neck. The movement pulls a giggle out of your throat but you don’t take your eyes off the cute cottage.
“I thought you had a tent back at the campsite with everyone else, hm? Are you keeping secrets from us now?” You tease.
“I always have secrets, don’t you know. But this is my own quiet place. I come here when I need to think. Or when I’m scheming.” He tickles your sides and gives your neck a quick kiss before he straightens. “Come on, let’s go inside.” He takes your hand and walks you into the cabin. 
The inside of the cabin matches its look on the outside. Comfortable. Simple. Nothing extravagant. The main room is open. One side seems to act as a dining room with a large table with a few chairs beside it. The other side of the room has a matching large table but this table is covered in maps, scrolls, trinkets, and many other items you did not recognize. You see a door towards the back of the cabin which you could tell leads to a bedroom.  
“Here, let me get you some water before you pass out on me.” 
But before Peter could take a step or before you could even respond, a voice calls out from the back room.
“Peter darling? Did you just get home?”
The blood drains from your face and your eyes grow to saucers as you see Wendy walk out of the back room. Your ears started ringing and it feels as though everything is happening so fast yet so slowly. 
Peter marches over to Wendy and angrily argues with her though you couldn’t hear anything over the muffling in your ears. “What are you doing here? Who said you could be here?”
“What are you talking about, baby? Don’t be like that.” 
Wendy tries to run her hands up Peter’s front side but her hands do not get far before he grabs her hands and throws them off of him. 
Your eyes shoot back and forth between Peter and Wendy and you could hear yourself mumbling, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t-” You hadn’t realized that you were backing up until you felt the front door hit your back. 
Before you knew it, Peter was in front of you. All you could do was stare up at him with your heart ready to leap out of your chest. You were confused and hurt and scared and you wanted to be mad. But looking up at him. With his face soft and full of worry. All you could do was trust. Trust in what, you weren’t sure. But a wave of calmness fell over you as you looked at him and his hands came up to softly grip your shoulders. 
Peter was gently moving you through the cabin and you could hear Wendy protesting but you couldn’t clear your head enough to hear what she was saying. Peter leads you to the back room which is his bedroom. He sits you on his bed and whispers to you, “Stay here.” 
“Peter, I can go. I should’ve known you two were together. I shouldn’t be here, I can go.” But before you could make a move for the door, Peter grips your face gently but firmly, “I said ‘stay here’. I will figure this out. I’m not with her. She isn’t welcome here. You. Stay. Here.” 
Peter slammed the door behind him as he left and all you could do was sit on the bed as you were told. Looking around the room, there wasn’t much there to keep you entertained. There was a nightstand by the bed with a few nicknacks on it. A desk with papers covered in writing you couldn’t read. No pictures. No posters. Nothing. Twiddling your thumbs, you tried to not overthink. You sat as patiently as you could but as the minutes ticked by and their angry whispering didn't stop, your anxiety started to kick up.
What if he is lying? Why would she just randomly be here? She’s comfortable enough coming in and out of his place like that. He could just be telling me what I want to hear. Of course, they’re together. Even a blind person could see that they were together. When did I become so dumb?! I need to get out of here. 
Your breathing starts to become more rapid as your mind starts spiraling. Looking around the room, there was only one door, and that led back to the main room where Peter and Wendy are. The only other thing in the room was a window that sat above the desk. That was your ticket out. You thank the stars that you weren’t on an upstairs floor or anything or else this escape plan was going to be harder than you thought.
Swinging the window wide enough for your body to fit through, you quietly climbed up onto the table, careful not to disturb anything, and started to push out. You managed to make your way out but you accidentally made a loud thump as your body hit the back deck. Before you could stop and think about what to do, you jumped to your feet and took off running into the forest. 
You ran until your lungs burned and ran some more. All around you were trees, trees, and more trees. Everything looked the same yet you didn’t recognize where you were. “Shit I should have been paying attention on the way here. Where the fuck am I?”
Coming to a stop, you drop your hands to your knees to try and catch your breath. After a few deep breaths, you stand up tall and prepare to take off again, at a more reasonable pace this time that you’re far enough away.
But before you could head off, something flies into you and you go slamming back into a tree. A warm, hard body pushes up against you and holds you flush against the tree with no room to escape. It’s still too dark in the night and the trees are blocking the moonlight so you can’t see what has you pinned. You start wiggling around and try to use your hands to push yourself free but a hand wraps around your wrists and pins them above your head. Something comes close to your ear and you could feel the anger radiating from this figure.
“I thought I told you to stay.”
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swanimagines · 1 month
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HER QUEEN | REGINA MILLS
Summary: Imagine working as a maid in the castle and having a crush on Queen Regina, and her developing a crush on you in Storybrooke.
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You always knew Regina wasn't the kindest person in the Kingdom - in fact, she was considered a monster by a lot of people. Which was why so many people were baffled how you weren't scared of her at all, you were even eager to see her and seemed to get along with her better than most of her other servants.
You didn't know yourself why were you so fond of her at first, before finally realising that you actually had feelings for your queen. And it was quite hard to hide, so much so that you had great difficulties with not confessing it to her - you knew she wouldn't react well. She practiced dark magic with Rumpelstilskin and she'd just think of you as weak.
That was why you forced yourself to keep your feelings secret, but every day they just seemed to grow, larger and larger, until you felt like you were going to burst unless you told her. But as you were still sure that you'd just break your heart, you chose to ask Regina for some time off from your duties. She had always given you more leash than she gave her other servants, so you knew she'd say yes.
So you traveled to the other side of the kingdom to your family and tried to clear your head while there - not knowing there was a curse coming to wash over you all.
---
"Hello again, Mrs. Mayor," your cheerful voice rang through the house. Regina's lips curled upwards upon hearing it and she walked up to her entrance hall, seeing you ready with your mop and rags with a bright smile on your face. "How are you today?"
"Good, thank you," Regina replied, her voice warm and happy. You were one of the only people in her Kingdom who she didn't doom to an unhappy ending - you were still sort of her maid, but she was always warm and welcoming to you. You seemed to genuinely enjoy her company and your presence made her feel things she didn't know she could feel - or maybe she had just hidden them from herself back in the Enchanted Forest.
"How is Henry?" You asked, curious as you started to clean the floor. "He is such a wonderful boy."
"Oh, he's fine," Regina said, smiling softly at your praise. "He got an A+ from the English exam this week."
"He is such a smart boy," you said, smiling. "So bright and happy, a joy to have around."
"Thank you," Regina said, smiling as she took a seat on her sofa. "He's growing up so fast. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to cherish the moments. It's just gone by so quickly."
"It has," you agreed. "I don't think I can imagine Henry being a teenager yet."
Regina smiled softly at that - it wouldn't be but another five years and Henry would already be a teenager. Eight years had gone by so quickly, even when time had partially frozen in place here.
And Regina didn't even really think - she just blurted her next words out. "Would you stay for a cup of something hot and a warm apple pie? It's getting chilly out there."
You paused at that, looking at Regina. She almost regretted her words for a moment, thinking she managed to weird you out, but instead you broke into a wide smile.
"I would love that."
---
Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)
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riordanness · 3 months
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better than revenge — [k.jones]
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wordcount: 2.1K
warnings: none???
requested: no
“C’mon lass, you get what you want, and I get what I want.”
I raise my eyebrows at this. “Oh?” I question, sipping from my goblet, keeping my eyes on him.
“What do I get out of this?” I ask, my voice hard and my gaze resolute. If I knew one thing, it was to never let down my guard, never show weakness.
The man laughs, tips his head back and gulps the rest of his alcohol down. He looks me in the eye. “I’ll let you live, lass… and I’ll even throw in a few pieces of gold for your trouble.”
I stare at him for the count of four.
“Deal.”
Hours later, under cover of nightfall, I tiptoe down the docks. My leather boots are soft and worn from use, and I have perfected the art of silent footsteps.
My fingers curl around the hilt of my sword, ready to pull it from its sheath the moment I perceive a threat of any kind.
I silently go through my mission once again, knowing full well a single mistake will result in my death. If the pirates aboard this ship don’t get me, the man who sent me on this mission surely will.
I have a simple goal: sneak aboard the Jolly Roger, find a magical compass, and get out alive.
My eyes rest on the ship itself, its name painted in cursive letters right on the waterline, so as the ship moves slightly on the waves, the words appear to dance.
I slip forward, seeing no one on deck. With one swift, fluid movement, I place my right hand on the starboard railing, then I use the momentum from a scissor kick to propel myself from the dock to the deck, dropping without a sound onto my feet.
I quickly shift my body to the shadows, crouching down and moving fast, getting to the doors leading to the lower deck.
Opening it, I slip inside, shutting it quietly behind me. I hadn’t spent the greatest amount of time on boats in my short life, and I haven’t the faintest idea of where to search for a compass of all things.
Luckily for me, I have a locator. I pull it from my pocket now, a shiny white stone, glowing faintly. Apparently, the closer to the compass I get, the brighter the light will shine.
I turn in a slow circle, and when I face the corridor to my left, the brightness of the stone becomes more obvious, in a way I can’t describe. It didn’t become literally brighter, exactly, but it was suddenly very clear which direction I should take.
I follow the stone’s magical light, until it leads me to a small desk inside what I think is the captain’s chambers. Luckily for me, no one is at home. I’m daft. the entire ship is empty. The crew must be out for a night at the pub, and good for me too.
I yank at the top drawer of the desk, its hinges crusty and rough. When the drawer finally slides open, my eyes come to rest on the only object inside.
A golden compass.
I smile, and reach towards the compass. The metal is cool to my touch, and my fingertips glide over it as smoothly as if it was polished merely moments earlier.
I lift it up out of the drawer, dangling it in the air in front of me. I stare in awe, watching as the compass catches the light, glittering and flashing. Rainbows dance across the chamber’s walls, filling the room with colour.
I am just about to drop the compass into my dress pocket, when a voice behind me scares the daylight out of me.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
I whirl around, shoving the compass into the deep pocket of my skirts. It was safest there; the pocket easily missed due to the many folds of my skirts. I draw my sword, and stare at the dark figure lurking in the doorway.
Shadows dance across his face, distorting his features. He’s tall, and I can tell his sword is also drawn, the blade catching the light of the only lamp in the room. My eyes drop to the lamp on the desk beside me. Without thinking, I blow out the flame.
It’s completely dark. I use this to my advantage, running fast at the doorway, crashing into the figure. We both land hard on the floor, and I scramble to my feet, ready to run.
But then, hands grab at my waist, hold me fast, and my hopes of escape crumble.
“You aren’t getting away that easily, love,” an accented voice whispers in my ear, before something hits my head, and I remember nothing else.
•••
My head pounds, and I dread opening my eyes. When I do, I immediately cringe in pain as light seemingly floods my vision, increasing my headache by tenfold.
I push myself up to a sitting position, taking in my surroundings. I’m in a bed, a simple woven blanket over me. I’m still in my normal clothes, which means no one changed me, thank goodness.
With a slight gasp, I hastily check my pocket. Of course, no compass. I shouldn’t have even dared to hope it remained in my possession. Of course that pirate would have taken it back.
Speaking of that pirate, I frown. Turning over all the events of last night (or what I assume was the last night; I’m not sure how much time has passed since I was knocked out; or even what time of day it is. Whoever’s cabin this is, they clearly hate windows), I shiver slightly. The memory of that voice in my ear, whispering seductively…
I shake myself, and climb out of the bed. I must find that compass, even if I am now a prisoner on this bloody pirate ship.
I leave the cabin, finding my way down the corridor, trying to find the familiar door that leads to the upper deck. When I finally find it, I can hear voices from outside. Pirates laughing and shouting and jeering at each other. At least half of the voices are obviously drunk.
My choice is a simple one, but I still hesitate. Remain a prisoner on this ship? Or risk dying in the battle across the deck?
My father always used to call me his little daredevil, before he died, so I decide to live up to his nickname for me, and push open the door.
The moment I step onto the deck, into the harsh sunlight, the chatter all around me stops. A dozen pairs of pirate eyes gape at me in curiosity. I wonder how often a woman has been on this ship.
Suddenly, someone drops down in front of me, swinging off a top with one hand, and landing on his feet. Startled, I take a step backwards, almost losing my balance.
The man straightens, and locks eyes with me. He smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. I mean, it’s nice. He’s fairly attractive, but his smile leaks devilishness.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, love,” the man says, and I would recognise that voice anywhere. He’s the man from last night, the man who knocked me out.
“I’m Killian Jones,” he continues. “Or as I’m not commonly known as, Captain Hook. To whom do I owe the honour?”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. I am a girl who has tried to steal from him, and yet he seems unaffected by this fact. My guard is instantly up, and I prepare for a fight.
“You are going to let me go,” I say stubbornly, wishing badly that I had my sword. I hadn’t noticed it right away when I’d awoken, but they’d taken it from me. “And I require your golden compass as well as my freedom.”
Killian Jones stares at me for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs.
His crew joins in the laughter, some pointing their fingers at me, some jeering and making stupid noises and gestures.
I roll my eyes at them. I have no time for men who aren’t my father. They’re a troublesome species that require a great deal too much effort for my own personal liking.
The captain gains his composure, and stares at me, rather dumbfounded.
“Love, there’s no way in hell I am giving you this compass, just like that.”
I narrow my eyes. “Then fight me for it. A duel. Winner gets the compass.”
Killian Jones raises an eyebrow at me apprehensively. “I don’t fight women. At least not with a sword.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Then this’ll be an easy win.” I step quickly towards one of the crew members, elbow him in the chest and pull at his sword at the same time, yanking it from its sheath as he stumbles backwards.
I launch an attack on Killian, my sword coming down on his head. In a flash, he brings his arm up to stop my blade.
My sword clangs against metal, and I stare in shock at what should be Killian’s hand… but isn’t. Replacing his hand is a shiny hook, which has caught my blade mid-air.
I blink in surprise. “You…”
“Yes, I know,” Killian sighs. “Captain Hook isn’t just a catchy nickname.” With his other hand, he gently pries my fingers off the hilt of the borrowed sword.
“Now, love, you’re going to stop attacking me, and do what I say. Or else you’re not going to get a very happy ending.”
I stand, deflated, and watch as he tells a crew mate to tie my hands together, and lash me to the main mast. I slump to the ground, a heavy feeling of defeat clouding over me. I watch in silence as Killian and his crew go back to their loud, joyful drinking. I seem to be forgotten, just like that.
I grit my teeth in frustration, but am suddenly aware of how loosely my bonds have been tied. Clearly, the crew member Killian Jones elected to tie me up was more than a little bit drunk. I smirk to myself as I wriggle my fingers, working at the poorly made knots.
Once my hands are free, I still, watching carefully, planning my escape. Most of the crew have wandered below decks now, and only Killian Jones and another man with a red beanie over his messy hair (who I guess is first mate), stand against the ship’s railing across the other end of the Jolly Roger.
Killian seems to bore of the first mate, and dismisses him, waving his hand at the man. The man disappears into one of the doorways at the back of the ship.
I wait, silent, hoping Hook will follow his mate. He doesn’t seem to have any plans of doing this. For a while, I just sit and watch him as he leans his back against the railing, picking at his metal hook, running his forefinger up and down it, tracing the sharp edges.
“You alright there, love?”
The break in silence startles me so much I barely hear the question. “I–what?”
Kilian looks up, meets my eyes, and smirks slowly, his chin tilting up a little as he does so. His tongue traces his upper teeth, his eyes studying me hard.
“I can’t let you go, you know,” he says.
“Why?” I refuse to believe him. There has to be a way for me to get out of this. Silently, I curse that random, awful man in the tavern for getting me into this mess. Even for a bit of gold and my life, I doubt this is worth it. A whole lot of hassle for not much gain, it was starting to seem.
“Because,” Hook replies, apparently not wanting to elaborate.
I roll my eyes. I am done with this rubbish. I stand quickly, my ropes dropping to the deck.
Killian’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t seem especially surprised at my escape. “What exactly are you going to do now?” he asks me, a glint in his eyes. Whether it’s from amusement or pure evil, I don’t exactly know.
“Get out of here and kill you,” I say, eyes narrowed.
He laughs. “Okay, love. You do that.” For a moment, he does nothing but play with the hilt of his sword. Then he looks up at me. “You know, you could always join my crew.”
I frown immediately. “What do you mean? Why on earth would I do that?”
He smirks. “Because… I want you to.”
I stare at him, unsure if he’s serious or joking. Then, I make a dumb decision and decide, “Why not.”
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Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee | Missing Person
Chapter Sixteen | Masterlist
Summary: You recently moved to Storybrooke and began working the morning shift at Granny’s diner. Meanwhile, Killian Jones has been working the night shift on the docks of Storybrooke for years. When his routine gets turned upside down, he begins to understand the simple joy brought by an early cup of coffee, as long as you’re the one pouring it.
Pairing: Killian Jones x Reader
Warnings: mentions of death, PTSD
Word Count: 3K
Extras: Playlist – A playlist for two idiots in love: a gruff outcast who hates coffee but now drinks it every morning because the waitress at the diner keeps smiling at him as they pour it.
Author’s Note: So this chapter is about a month late (life really had other plans for me), but I think this one will be worth the wait. Let me know what you guys think. I’m excited for you all to read it.
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“If you stare at that booth any harder, you might burn a hole into it.”
Your head snaps toward Ashley who just broke you out of your trance. You don’t know how long you were staring at the empty booth near the corner of the diner; however, it was long enough to garner a comment from Ashley. Attempting to shake off your thoughts, you roll your shoulders back and turn to face your colleague and friend. 
“Sorry, Ashley. I’m just a little distracted this morning.”
Ashley nods at your words. She seems to hesitate for a moment, as if she’s deciding her next words very carefully. For a second, it seems as though Ashley isn’t going to say anything at all until she meets your gaze.
“I didn’t see Killian come in this morning. Is he working the night shift today?”
You knew this was coming at some point. Even though you tried to let it go, the fact that Killian Jones has been missing all morning has thrown you off. You like your routine -- in fact, you live for it -- waking up early, opening up the diner, pouring Killian a cup of coffee before his morning shift. It’s not even the fact that he didn’t show up that has you worried; there have been plenty of mornings since you met him when Killian didn’t come in for a cup of coffee, but in all of those instances he’s sent a message letting you know. You’ve spent all morning casting glances toward your phone on the counter and there is still no message from your pirate. 
You shrug your shoulders at Ashley’s question which causes her to furrow her brow. Ashley doesn’t know Killian very well, but she knows you and she’s witnessed your budding relationship with Storybrooke’s resident bad boy firsthand. She knows he stopped coming into the diner for coffee ages ago -- she’s not even sure if the need for caffeine was ever the reason why Killian was in that booth every morning. So, the fact that he’s not here is odd and the fact that you seem confused by his actions is a bit troubling.
“Is something going on with you two?”
You let out a long sigh, dropping the towel you were holding onto the counter in front of you. Ashley crossed her arms, waiting for you to continue.
“I don’t know, Ash.”
Ashley takes a second to scan the diner, the two of you were already done with the morning breakfast rush so there are only a couple of morning stragglers left in the booths. The few patrons seem to be content for the time being, so Ashley takes your hand and drags you into the back of the diner away from the prying eyes and ears of Storybrooke’s curious residents. 
“Okay, spill.”
You roll your eyes at Ashley's antics, but you can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. After glancing over your shoulder, making sure that no one is watching, you explain the situation to Ashley. Her face lights up as you explain your ‘almost kiss’ from last night. 
“I’m just afraid that I scared him off.”
Ashley shakes her head furiously.
“Absolutely not. Killian is so into you. Maybe he got switched to the night shift and forgot to send you a message?”
You know that Ashley is trying to comfort you and you wish that her words settled your nerves, but the entire situation is so unlike Killian. Ever since your conversation with him after your trip to the emergency room is been much better at communicating with you. You nod your head, but Ashley can tell that you’re still anxious.
“Have you talked to Emma or David this morning?”
You shake your head.
“Maybe you should stop by the station. Who knows, maybe he got caught up with David or something?”
Her words give you a little relief. Although you don’t know for sure, it is totally plausible that Killian met with David this morning and lost track of time. 
“I can close by myself, if you want to head over there right now.”
“Are you sure?”
Ashley places her hands on her hips before answering.
“Of course. Go find loverboy.”
A small chuckle escapes your lips at the nickname that Ashley has decided on for Killian. You don't waste any time -- unwrapping the apron from around your waist and throwing Killian’s heavy hide jacket around your shoulders. You’re about to exit through the back door when Ashley’s voice stops you in your tracks.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“When you find Killian, just kiss him already.”
You flash her a bright smile before opening the door and heading out.
Lucky for you, it was a slow day at the station. When you arrive, David is sitting with his feet kicked up on his desk. The case file in his hands distracts him from your entrance. You call his name from the door, hoping not to startle the sheriff. David drops the case file in his lap and glances toward the door. When his eyes meet yours he smiles brightly. 
“Hey, Emma has the day off if you’re looking for her.”
“Actually, I’m here to talk to you.”
David straightens himself, removing his feet from his desk and motioning to the chair a few feet away from him. You move further into the station and sit in the chair.
“What can I help you with?”
“It’s about Killian.”
David nods, but stays quiet, letting you continue. 
“Have you seen him today?”
David lets out a soft sigh and his shoulders slump forward ever-so-slightly. His reaction causes your nerves to spike and begin to wring your hands together. David senses your nerves and reaches out to you. His hands grab yours and stop your anxious movements.
“He’s okay. Today just happens to be a really traumatic anniversary in his life and every year he just disappears for the day. I don’t know where he goes or what he does, but he always comes back the next day.”
This time, you nod at David’s words. There’s a part of you that desperately wants to ask him for details, but you know Killian Jones. He’s a guarded and cautious man. Although he’s slowly let you break down the walls he built up to protect his heart, you are not naïve enough to think that you know everything about the man. However, you do know that although Killian Jones is familiar with solitude, it is not his friend. Right now, you’re worried that he is drowning and without any help in sight, the waves of guilt and grief that he must be experiencing might swallow him whole. 
“Do you think he should be alone right now?”
Although you’re aware of what you believe, you also know that David knows Killian better than anyone else in this town. If he believes that space is what is best for Killian right now, then you’ll leave it be. But, if David agrees with your line of thinking, then you’ll confidently spring into action.
“I think Killian believes that he has to go through this alone, but we both know he doesn’t.”
You nod at his words. That’s all you need to hear.
“I think I know where he is. Can I borrow your truck?”
David doesn’t even think about your question. He reaches into his pocket, grabs his keys, and tosses them to you. He looks at you, a passionate ferocity burning in your eyes for the man that he calls his best friend, and fondly smiles as he is overwhelmed by a feeling of relief. He’s watched Killian close himself off from others for years. Although he let David and his family into his life, there are still parts of him -- the parts of him that feel suffering and fear and loneliness -- that he conceals in order to protect the ones he loves. He’s managed to push almost everyone else away, but here you are -- prepared to move heaven and earth just to make sure that Killian isn’t alone tonight. 
“Good luck.”
You give David a curt nod and head out of the station. Once you get into David’s truck, you take out your phone and punch in the coordinates you’re heading to. He may be able to disappear on David, but you know where Killian goes to escape Storybrooke. You know you’ll find him at the state line.
It takes you several hours to reach the state line, which gives you time to rethink your decision several times over. You almost turn the truck around multiple times. A part of you worries that Killian will be angry when you arrive -- maybe you’re overstepping one of the invisible boundaries you created over the past several months. However, when you spot Killian’s truck, your concern for Killian’s well-being outweighs the anxious pit growing in your stomach at the prospect of making him uncomfortable. 
Killian is sitting on the tailgate of his truck. At the sound of another car approaching, his head turns. Reluctantly, he slides off the tailgate and begins walking toward David’s truck, which you parked several yards behind his own truck on the side of the road. 
“Listen, David, I don’t know how you found me, but--”
The words get caught in Killian’s throat as you step out of David’s truck. He shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone was going to find him, it was you. But there is still a small part of him that doubts just how much you care about him. And that small part of him, made him believe that you wouldn’t notice if he went missing for a day. But here you are. 
“You’re not David.”
A small smile spreads across your face at his words. As you approach Killian, you take a moment to look him over. He’s in his usual dark jeans, leather jacket, and black work boots. His obsidian hair is more disheveled than normal, most likely due to his nervous habit of running his hands through it. And his eyes are tired. You’re used to  a hardened and weary Killian Jones, but today he just looks exhausted -- as if he didn't sleep at all last night.
“No, but I could go get him instead.”
You’re joking, he knows that, but he couldn’t help the panic that spiked in his chest. His mouth opened before his head could catch up.
“No, no, I want you.”
In that moment, Killian wants to take a shovel, dig a hole and fall into it. The panic in his chest begins rising to his throat as you just stare at him. He takes a moment to collect himself before speaking again.
“I mean, I want you here.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here.”
Killian can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as you repeat his words back to him. He remembers the day he picked you up from the emergency room and promised that he wouldn’t disappear on you again -- which is exactly what he did today. And with that thought, the panic that once filled his chest is replaced with guilt.
“I’m sorry. I should have at least sent you a text that I wouldn’t stop by the diner today.”
“Killian, I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you. David didn’t tell me anything, but if you want to talk about what’s going on in that head.”
Killian lets out a heavy sigh and leans against his truck. You don’t follow him, you let him have his space as he works through the thoughts running around in his head. 
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Killian looks up at your words. His eyes are glossy and your heart aches as you realize that Killian is on the verge of tears.
“I was engaged. Years ago.”
Killian notices a look of confusion and curiosity flash across your face, but you stay silent, allowing him to continue if that’s what he wants to do. And he does. He wants to let you in. 
“Milah. Her name was Milah.”
“What happened?”
Killian drew in a painful, shaky breath. It’s like he was back there all over again. He can feel the heavy rain against his skin. He can hear the sirens in the distance. Hell, he can practically see the steering wheel of his old Mustang. And then he could smell it, the blood. It’s all over his dashboard, and his clothes, and his hands. His hand…
“Killian?”
Your voice replaces the sirens. It washes over him, wraps around him and pulls him out of that night.
“I was in an accident -- before prison, before I started running with Liam. We were coming back from a dinner and I was driving. We were fighting and it was raining so hard. I didn’t see the other car in time. They blew a stop sign and…”
Killian’s voice trails off. He doesn’t have to finish -- you know. 
“Killian…”
You want to comfort him, but you know that there isn’t anything you can say that can help him. There isn’t anything you can say that can bring Milah back. Killian shakes his head vigorously, as if he’s trying to physically rid himself of the thoughts inside his head. 
“I blamed myself for years. Punished myself for not expecting the unexpected. I damn near drank myself to death because I couldn’t justify how the accident killed her, but I walked away with only this to show for it.”
He pushes his left sleeve up, exposing the scarred tissue that encompasses the skin of his entire hand and wrist.
“I didn’t even lose my hand. The doctors said it was a miracle. I thought I was cursed. Everything I touched, I ruined.”
Killian’s eyes close as he remembers the darkest period of his life. As he remembers everything he did -- everything that he’ll be atoning for, for the rest of his life. There was a time when he thought the guilt of who had become would eat him alive and swallow him whole. But that was before David, and Emma, and Henry, and you.
“I didn’t think I deserved to be happy for a long time. And then I met David and he gave me a second chance. He let me into his life and into his family. He let me live again.”
He lets out a shaky breath as he prepares himself for what he’s about to say next. He’s about to cross the invisible line that the two of you have created throughout the span of your friendship. And although that terrifies him to his very core, Killian Jones is sick and tired of being afraid to live.
“And I never thought I could allow myself to open my heart up and love someone again. That I was too bitter and bruised.”
For the first time since he brought up Milah, Killian fixes his gaze on you.
“Do you think you could let yourself love someone now?”
“Aye, I do.”
He doesn’t look away and neither do you. Your heartbeat is ringing in your ears as you ask him the question that could change everything.
“What made you change your mind?”
“You.”
You aren’t certain what gets your feet moving -- maybe the ferocity in his eyes or the sincerity in his voice. You don’t tell your legs to move, they just do, as if it is instinct that draws you closer to Killian. Throwing caution to the wind, you follow your heart instead of your head and take several long strides toward Killian until you’ve closed the distance that you created.
As you stand in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body. It draws you closer to him, into his orbit. You take a breath and study Killian’s features, looking for any sign of doubt. But, instead of doubt, all you find is adoration. 
You take a leap of faith. 
You reach up, wrapping both of your arms around Killian’s neck and pull him toward you. You stop just for a second once your nose brushes his, his lips just a breath away, giving him the chance to pull away. Killian notices your hesitation and backs away slightly so he can meet your gaze. His hands move to envelop your cheeks. His grip on either side of your face is gentle.
“If this isn’t what you want…”
The smile that graces your lips is sweet as honey -- just like when he first walked into the diner. 
“Killian, just kiss me.”
You don’t have to ask him twice. He closes the gap between you and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is tender and sweet, until you let go of Killian’s neck and slide your hands down his chest. You grab onto either side of his leather jacket and pull him closer. Just like yesterday, when Herc called Killian, he lets out a low, guttural growl that reverberates in his chest. He moves his hands down your body until he’s got a tight grip on your waist. The kiss turns into something desperate and needy. 
Eventually, you both have to break away and take a breath. Killian presses his forehead against yours as the two of you attempt to control your breathing and settle your nerves. You move a hand up to cup Killian’s cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. He lets out a tired sigh as he just enjoys the sensation of your skin against his. His eyes flutter open and he presses a soft kiss into your palm.
“Stay with me. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me.”
Your words begin to stitch up an old wound, deep inside of him that he’d long forgotten. He steals another kiss from your lips, leaving you breathless, before wrapping both of his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a tight embrace. His head burrows into your neck as you wrap both your arms around his shoulders. In the comfort of your arms, Killian’s lips twist into a small smile. When he woke up this morning, he was prepared for yet another painful day of remembering all that he’s lost. Ready to drown his sorrows with a bottle of rum. But right now, with you in his arms, Killian Jones finally feels alive again.
Taglist:  @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @alexa-fangirl-forever @mossnomori @captainamericasinnocence @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @ceruleanrainblues @lily-d247 @victoria-a567 @drinkfantasy @thisismelayla @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @rinymichelle321 @aesteticthotiere @popcrone818 @helplesslydevoted @limelightliterature @unlikelyandrogynousghost @theslytherinwriter @no-soup4u​  @scaraza​
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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 4 months
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Burn The Ships (3/?)
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A HUGE THANK YOU TO @snowbellewells FOR THIS INCREDIBLE ART. I wish I knew how to best express how amazing it feels to have someone make art for something I wrote. It is just the best feeling in the world. <3
THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ???
Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)
Exhaustion did not lovingly pull Emma into a peaceful oblivion where she could rest and forget. Rather, it dragged her into a brutal storm - the howling winds tore at her, the thunder rumbled threateningly deep in her bones, and emotions best forgotten rained down on her. She was alone, abandoned on the edge of a forest. The cold rain seeped into her bones, having already soaked through her clothing, as she stumbled forward toward… nothing. She had no place to call home. 
In the way of dreams, Emma blinked and was on a beach. Her body ached as if she’d been walking for days. She wasn’t sure where she was going but walked on as waves pummelled the shoreline. It seemed she wasn’t alone, apparently, the storm would accompany her through these strange dreams. 
She turned toward the turbulent waters and her next step landed on a wooden board. Her stomach plummeted as the ship was thrown from the rolling sea. Emma desperately reached out, trying to find something to keep her on the deck as the ship leaned dangerously into the water. The boards were too wet, the sea too hungry for new souls… Emma was being sucked under the water, lungs screaming for air. 
I’ve got you. 
Cool, crisp air filled her lungs. She was back on the deck of a ship, once more. The angry onslaught of violent waves had given way to playful swells that lapped gently against the hull. No other soul was aboard the ship, but Emma felt contented rather than alone. A word, a feeling, that had never carried meaning to her wrapped itself around her heart followed by a consuming fear - panic - it would be taken away.
You’re safe, love.
The softly accented voice reached through her dreams again, wrapping around her as warm and comforting as a well-loved blanket. Emma yearned to snuggle into the melody of that low voice. In that strange way of dreams, she suddenly felt certain that the voice could protect her from the painful reality that waited to greet her upon waking. If she could just melt into it, maybe it would prevent her from losing that feeling she’d spent a lifetime chasing. 
Rest now.
And, at long last, with that voice and that feeling wrapped around her heart, Emma rested. §§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§
The white wolf had been stunning, her fur seemed to shimmer with its own light source. But the woman who stormed out of his cabin the next morning was a sight to behold. 
With her blonde waves flowing behind her and her emerald eyes wild, this wild woman charged onto the deck armed with only his letter opener and a lot of swagger. She acted as though she were a rival captain set on commandeering his ship rather than a damsel recently rescued from Pan’s clutches. She had taken the liberty of procuring clothing from his wardrobe before launching her assault, the deep plunging necklines of his shirts and the way his soft leather trousers wrapped around her curves distracting him long enough for her to strike out with her borrowed weapon. 
Killian captured her wrist and forced her to release the letter opener in a quick motion. He’d offer to teach her how to properly wield any weapon of her choosing once they were better acquainted. Perhaps sometime after he was certain that he wasn’t in danger of finding the weapon buried somewhere in his flesh. 
 Sighing at her newest attempts to claw at his leather coat, he pulled her closer.
“I’m not your enemy,” he murmured to her as he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side to prevent her from continuing her attack. He tried to focus on calming her and gaining control of the situation rather than the way she felt in his arms and the way her scent stirred something deep within him.
“You’re safe, love,” he soothed. The woman stilled. 
Her frantic breathing slowed and the tension slipped from her limbs. The ocean lapping on the hull and their breathing were the only sounds for a few moments. It could have been romantic…if the situation were entirely different. 
“If you promise to behave, I will let you go.”  
She stared at him with frustration burning brightly behind her eyes. Her wildness and defiance stoked a desire in him - and his wolf - that he was becoming more difficult to ignore with every minute he spent in her presence. 
After a moment, during which she held his gaze with hers as if trying to determine the trick in his offer, she nodded in agreement with his terms. He reluctantly released her. 
The loss of contact left him desperate for any excuse to hold her again. He suppressed the whine his wolf let loose with a clearing of his throat. Then, with a bit of a flourish, he introduced himself to her. 
“I am Captain Killian Jones and you’re aboard the Jolly Roger. You are welcome on my ship for as long as you wish.” 
“HOOK?! You’re Captain Hook?” She wasn’t afraid of him, which seemed promising. Doesn’t mean she will love someone like you. Killian shoved away the taunting voice of his father and smiled at her as if she had said something particularly flattering. 
“Ah, so you have heard of me.”
She looked at him flatly, clearly not impressed with his antics. “Is this ship enchanted?” The abrupt question was a bit unexpected. Of course, the Jolly Roger was enchanted - to keep a course he set, to alert him of guests aboard his ship, to hide treasures from unwelcome eyes - but the enchantments were subtle and not something that should be so easily detected. 
He cocked an eyebrow to conceal his surprise. “I’m not giving secrets away to a lass who hasn’t given me her name.”
“Oh, so it is enchanted.” She looked around as if the spell work would reveal itself to her. She took a few deep breaths, frowned a bit, breathed in again, and turned back to look at him. “Emma Swan.” 
“Why are you sniffing my ship,” he hesitated before deciding with certainty, “Swan?” He smiled, the name fit her perfectly - and felt so right leaving his lips.
“Better question. Why would you use magic to make it smell so… incredible?” 
Killian scratched a spot behind his ear. What was the correct way to tell someone who woke up on a strange ship and wasn’t sure if you were another threat in the never-ending nightmare of Neverland or a possible ally that the scent they thought was part of a strange enchantment was a sign that they were in the presence of their mate? It seemed a lot to ask of anyone without adding that she had been Pan’s prisoner for some length of time before becoming the target of the most recent hunt. 
“The incredible smell of salt and fish?” Smee grumbled. A few of the crew laughed. Emma looked thoroughly confused. Killian wasn’t sure if her confusion was at his comment or at the sudden realisation that they had an audience for this little episode. 
Seeing as he’d completely forgotten his men still on the deck, he figured it was likely a bit of both. He did not want an audience for whatever was to follow.
“That’s enough from you, Mr Smee. There is a deck that needs to be swabbed.” Hook growled out. Grumbling, Smee stomped down the stairs to the main deck. The other crewmen fell into their own tasks and responsibilities understanding the example being made of the first mate. 
Emma watched all of this with a small frown on her face.
Once they were alone on the quarterdeck, she focused her piercing emerald gaze at Killian. “Do you think he really doesn’t smell that…?” 
Killian shook his head and answered softly, gently, “No, love, I don’t believe he smells anything but the sea.” 
She narrowed her eyes at him, “But…you, you smell it?” The words sounded as though she were begging him to confirm that she hadn’t taken leave of all of her senses. 
“Aye.” He confirmed with a small smile. 
Her eyes widened, panic flashing momentarily before several other emotions followed in quick succession. “Oh.”
Killian winced. “Aye.”
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intrepidacious · 1 year
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lavender's blue
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summary: If there was one thing Jefferson could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.
pairing: jefferson x f!reader
word count: 6.4k
warnings: canon-typical angst?, reader with unspecified magical abilities, reader is alice-in-wonderland-appropriately weird y'all (affectionate); kind of open-ended but in a hopeful bc canon-compliant way <3
please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.
a/n: i started this as a submission for @sparkledfirecracker's cheesy writing fest challenge, but it didn't turn out very cheesy or even remotely on time. still, thank you for the wonderful prompts your wheels of fate gave me, and congrats on your follower milestone 💛
prompts used: jefferson + friends to lovers + forehead kisses
masterlist | read on ao3
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What Regina couldn’t have anticipated, what no one ever could have, really, was that you had always been unpredictable. A loose end. A ticking time bomb. An unlocked door.
It was a curse in and of itself, most of the time, albeit one with a lowercase c. You’d always craved a normal life, but that didn’t mesh too well with your impulsiveness. Normalcy craved planning, devising, executing, in that order, precise decisions and arrangements that weren’t to be changed at a whim.
You were as wild as a flower in spring.
It was what Jefferson liked most about you when you first met, back when he was still jumping worlds like one of them would give him an answer. Instead, he found you, back in the Enchanted Forest you both called home, on a day that had started out like any other.
You were smack dab in the center of the meadow the hat spat him out on, and you were spinning around yourself until, he supposed, your skirts finally circled just so, and then landing on your back, laughing. Your feet were bare and dirty from stamping the ground like you were proving a point.
When he stepped closer, you propped yourself up on your elbows and blinked up at him with a grin. The sun cast his shadow in such a way that his head seemed to touch your heart. Jefferson noticed that, even then.
"Is there a reason you’re trampling on the dandelions?" he asked.
"Some people don’t deserve a wish," you simply said.
He couldn’t argue with that.
"And what about you?" he said instead.
"Well," you mused, closing your eyes, the tilt of your lips unwavering. "I think I already got my wish for the day."
"And what was that?"
There was magic brimming within you, and a lot of it. It made Jefferson’s hands shake and the hat cough out trails of smoke, even though it didn’t need to go anywhere, but you … you didn’t even seem to notice.
"Something blue," you answered.
Curiouser and curiouser, just like your smile. That was the thing that kept him distracted long enough for you to anticipate his next question, to point, still without looking, back at the hat and the purplish haze it had wrapped itself in.
"Lavender’s blue, dilly-dilly," you continued before he could voice his confusion. "I mean, I wanted flowers. But I suppose one doesn’t argue with chance, don’t you think?"
There was an almost dangerous glint in your eye when you faced him again, and that settled it.
"Why not?" he asked, and held out his hand.
You stared at it in amusement. "Are you in the habit of challenging fate, stranger?"
"Only if I know I can win," he said. "And the name’s Jefferson."
You took his hand, then, and he could never be sure if it was meant as an introduction or a leap of faith. It didn’t matter, really, when it ended up being both. When he’d pulled you to your feet, there was a small bottle in his palm, its contents glittering like liquid stardust.
He blinked.
"You can keep that if you want," you said, turning your skirt pockets out and carelessly dropping the rest of their contents on the ground. "It’s all too heavy."
Jefferson watched as you plucked a single dandelion and shook it until the wind did the wishing part for you. Then you turned without another glance at him and walked away humming, your magic patting the hat like a pet and then vanishing with you.
He’d spend weeks thinking about you simply handing him the very potion he’d intended to steal, and he still couldn’t figure out how you’d even known.
***
In this life, there are several things you know.
You know you’re a florist. You know you’re well liked, which is nice and feels new, even though you’ve lived here all your life. You know your hands can fabricate the most splendid arrangements, bouquets and wreaths in all the colors Maine has to offer, and most days, you know you’re perfectly content doing just that.
Other days, though, you know you want to see every single petal turned to ashes.
Because you also know this voice deep inside your bones, not quite your own but almost, too familiar with your habits and routines and endless, endless smalltalk. You know it keeps telling you that something is missing, something you might find again if only you set this whole damn place aflame.
So you think, what’s the harm.
And as the flames lick at your window settings and burn the roses to a crisp, you tilt your head slowly and something inside stirs, like a sleeping dragon twitching as it wakes. You realize then, that in between all the things you know, you almost missed something quite important.
Tea.
Thankfully, no else one gets hurt. The building barely even carries any damage.
When Sheriff Humbert finally lets you leave, it’s already dark outside, far too late for a neighborly visit, but you go anyway. You should have driven, but by the time you think of that, you’ve almost climbed up the hill already. The forest seems to whisper to you; you ignore it.
It’s a grand house, and you can tell it’s empty by just looking at the front of it. Not without furniture, but without a heart. You knock, knock, knock, and the sound seems to echo through the whole forest.
When the door opens, it’s with a creak that almost sounds like a yawn, and Jefferson freezes, his eyes widening as they meet yours. They’re more tired than you remember.
"I didn’t forget," you say before he can get a single word out, handing him the small parcel. The paper has worn wrinkly in your sweaty palms. "I just burned down my shop today."
If he’s surprised, or concerned, he doesn’t show it. He hovers in the doorway, his fingers carefully unwrap the delicate teacup, and there’s a wisp of a smile of his face as they trace the tiny, nonsensical little spout.
"What’s this for?" he finally asks, his voice strangely raspy.
"Don’t you remember?" you say. "It’s your unbirthday."
He lets you in, then, and your boots sink into the carpeted floor, like the ground is trying to swallow you up. The front door clicks shut.
"Tea day is Tuesdays and Thursdays," you continue on, wandering deeper into the house, making a wrong turn and taking a few steps up the stairs before suspecting—recalling—that the kitchen is to the right. You huff frustratedly. "You didn’t remind me last week!"
"Well," Jefferson calls from somewhere out of your sight. "One never knows with you."
Dark wooden cabinets. Checkerboard tiles in the kitchen. You decide you’ve broken enough rules for a day and cross them strictly diagonally until you hit a corner cabinet, pulling it open. Empty, empty. "It’s my unbirthday too, you know," you say when you hear his steps approaching again.
"What are the chances?" His voice is still hollow, in a way, as hollow as this house, and you feel like you’re missing something, but it’s so, so tiresome to think about.
"Look at that," you say, shaking the last couple of crumbs out of a crumpled up, sad-looking biscuit wrapper. "I should have come up earlier."
Jefferson sighs as he leans against the counter, watching you continue to rummage through the shelves, drawers, cupboards, trays.
It’s the saddest tea you’ve ever prepared, without a single thing to nibble on and the tea leaves trapped in silly little cotton bags, but you move opposite each other like you’re playing a game of chess, which consoles you a little.
He wins, you think, but you don’t actually know how to play.
***
Jefferson was never entirely convinced you were from the Enchanted Forest. It didn’t suit you, the dirt of this world, the whispered promises of happily ever afters and wishing upon stars so your dreams came true.
You went for the things you wanted without an ounce of remorse and without a single glance over your shoulder.
Then again, none of the other worlds he’d passed through seemed to fit you, either. Wonderland might have come closest, but you lacked its shrillness, the blunt terror in its colors and way of life. And you hated playing cards.
He wasn’t sure how you kept running into him whenever he least expected it, but you seemed to make a habit of doing just that. You seemed to enjoy pretending not to notice him staring whenever he did find you, mesmerized as if it was that first time all over again.
There was something about your presence that made any room you inhabited feel different, and the woods and sky and earth would all vibrate at a different frequency whenever you were around. It wasn’t just your magic, it was all of you.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
"See something interesting, dearie?" a voice laced with insanity asked from behind his shoulder.
Jefferson’s eyes never left you, even as he felt Rumplestiltskin’s gaze bore into his neck. You appeared to be counting the toadstools, reciting something in sing-song he couldn’t make out from where he was standing.
"Did you make a deal with her, too?" he asked, voice carefully neutral because you never knew what the Dark One would pick up on and use against you. He already had more on him than Jefferson liked.
"Oh, no. All magic comes with a price." The same phrase, a thousand times, accompanied by the same shimmer in his eyes. He didn't have to look to know it was there. "Just because you’re yet to pay yours doesn’t mean that’s true for everyone."
"So she’s mad?"
"What’s mad?" Rumplestiltskin tutted. "We’re all mad, in our own way. The most powerful most of all."
You lifted your head to look at the two of them and waved. Jefferson lowered the hat over his forehead, finally turning away.
"Then it surprises me you don’t seem to use that to your advantage," he said, crossing his arms.
The Dark One’s grin spliced his mouth with gold. "I like the result of my bidding to be as expected."
It seemed as good enough a cue to leave as any. He didn’t come very far, though, had barely taken the hat off to embark on his next journey before you caught up to him.
"Where are you going this time?"
He smiled to himself, because even with all your whimsical moods he knew you well enough by then to understand you hated being ignored. "Camelot," he answered just as the hat began swirling.
You stepped closer, bare feet crunching the fall leaves on the ground, and when he turned to meet your gaze, the curiosity in your eyes made his heart stumble over itself as he held out his hand, again.
You took it without a moment’s hesitation.
***
There’s a road that leads into town, but it doesn’t lead out. You like how this doesn’t make any sense; it almost feels normal.
Jefferson hates it, of course. It’s easy to read on his face, contempt tinting his every look and gesture an unbecoming shade of green. He hates this world and this wrong life and the fact that everything he wants is right under his nose and yet so far out of reach.
You get that, you really do. But the constant worrying and thinking just drags you down, doesn’t it? No. Ridiculous. So you decide to make a change.
Or rather, things fall into place again.
You work at the library now. People don’t like you as much, but it’s not like that thing at the flower shop was your fault, so they get over it. You love books too much to even consider setting them on fire, and there’s a lot less customer interaction involved, which minimizes the smalltalk. You’ve never liked smalltalk.
You’re perfectly content with your life.
That Friday you find Jefferson hunched over yet another map of the area, tracing the paradoxical routes that should lead onto the interstate and yet never do. Cars break down, bikes crash into trees that appear out of nowhere, and hiking somehow just leads you to walking in circles until you find yourself on main square once again.
It’s a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces, and you’d care about it more if you had any intention of leaving.
"Where do you want to go so badly, anyway?" you asked him once, when his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep and that desperate determination.
"Home," he said, and the finality of that word made your insides twist.
Food and drinks are strictly forbidden in the reading hall, but you sneak him a thermos filled with coffee, anyway, the time for tea long passed.
He smiles at you tiredly as you take a seat opposite him, frowning at the pile of books you’re going to have to sort back onto the shelves past closing time. "Who are you today, then?" he asks, his voice hoarse as if he hasn’t talked all day. He hasn’t taken his scarf off, either, so maybe he’s getting sick.
You squint your eyes at him. "If you’re coming on to me, it’s not working."
Jefferson huffs, and then turns back to his maps. "Not at all."
Maybe it’s working a little, you think as you continue to watch him. After all, there’s method to this madness of his, passion to his pursuit, even though you don’t really understand it.
If he notices you staring, he shows no sign of it, and you’re not about to make him aware of it, not when you’re just starting to get to know each other. Besides, the longer you ponder the possibility of him, the stronger your head starts to pound.
You need to lock up at nine and Jefferson leaves you with another crooked grin that suggests more familiarity than there should be between the two of you. You return it with a bump of your shoulders, and then you watch him walk down the street with his hands in his pockets until he rounds a corner and you roll the shutters down.
Once again, you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.
Because of your migraine, you spill the leftovers of the coffee over a particularly rare collection of fairy tales later that night. The gold-edged pages bleed ink all over the maps, rendering them essentially pretty trash for the perfect townsfolk of Storybrooke. You fold them up as a gift, and then you put your keys into the letterbox for them to pick up on Monday.
***
For a while, it was the two of you on his travels through the different realms, exploring and stealing and doing the unexpected. It was your specialty, after all.
And then, just like that, for a whole while, Jefferson didn’t see you again, not until after he’d met and lost Grace’s mother. It was a particularly cold night in December when he woke to his daughter tugging at his sleeve and a strange noise from outside.
It was rhythmic, swooshing, almost like the wind but accompanied by something like a hum. When he stepped to the window, though, there was nothing outside but darkness and whirling snowflakes.
He managed to get Grace back into bed after some crackers and tea, her eyes drooping closed as she huddled up with the corner of her blanket in her mouth. Jefferson watched her drift back to sleep, and then he returned to the window, because he had this feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. Like someone was calling for him without ever saying his name.
He found you clearing the path leading up to the cottage with your bare hands, the frilly cloak around your shoulders not nearly warm enough to keep out the icy sting of winter. Your fingers were already starting to turn an unhealthy color, and a thin layer of snow sat at the crown of your head like a frozen hat.
Jefferson cursed and grabbed his coat from the bench next to the door.
"What are you doing?" he hissed when he reached you, wrapping you up within seconds. You blinked up at him. Your lashes were glittering with ice.
"It needed cleaning," you said matter-of-factly, without keeping your voice down.
Quickly, he ushered you inside and made you sit next to the fireplace. You only seemed to realize the oddness of your situation now that warmth was returning to your limbs, looking around the room in slow confusion, like you were trying to piece everything together.
Jefferson was putting the kettle back into the fire when you got up again, his coat still draped around your shoulders, and stepped closer to the bed.
"You had a daughter," you said, peering at the sleeping toddler with something almost like a frown. "She’s beautiful."
"She looks like her mother."
"Nonsense. She looks just like you."
The red on his cheeks felt almost like a betrayal, but you didn’t mean that, anyway, so it didn’t count. Still, he was stunned enough to drop his mug, and the sound of it shattering on the floor woke Grace up again. She would be three in spring, then, and she was a smart girl, but she’d stopped talking months ago, instead resorting back to the wails of a much younger child whenever she was upset, and she was hard to calm.
He couldn’t blame her.
Whenever he held her like this, he felt as helpless and alone as he did that first time when she was crying for her mother and there was no one there but him.
Except this time, Jefferson wasn’t alone. To his surprise, you stepped closer and started humming, and then singing under your breath.
To his even bigger surprise, it seemed to soothe Grace.
It was an old song, a familiar song, and you placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he cradled his daughter until she finally fell asleep again. You were still cold enough he could feel it through his shirt, but your voice carried a warmth he wasn’t used to anymore.
You took your tea in comfortable silence, and when the first rays of sunshine started creeping through the branches outside, you told him that you had to leave again. He almost asked how long it would be this time.
Instead, he led you to the door and shook his head as you tried to slip out of his coat. "The weather is supposed to turn again," he said, looking you up and down because he didn’t know when to expect you next. He never did.
"You’re different," you said, and even though you didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt at those words, they still left their mark.
"You’re not," he said, and meant it as a compliment. Somehow, when you met his eye, it didn’t seem like one anymore.
"I wouldn’t be so sure," you answered, and he had no response to that.
You kissed him, then. Sweetly, like a blushing bride would. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
It was over far more quickly than he’d have liked, and you stuffed your hands into his coat pockets.
"I’m sorry," you said, and for the first time, you wouldn’t look at him.
But Jefferson could do nothing but stare, even as you finally turned and wandered down the path again, because there you were, with your heart on your sleeve, and he’d just lost his wife, and he didn’t know up from down anymore.
***
Stepping into Jefferson’s sitting room is a little like entering a creature’s belly and sitting down next to its beating heart, pressing so close you can feel it pulsating through you.
There’s a large grandfather clock staring at you from next to the fireplace, and on the mantle there’s a small, wooden alarm, and from there, it’s six and a half steps to the cuckoo clock on the far wall that makes a little rabbit appear every fifteen minutes.
Then, it’s another twenty steps past the living room table to the clock on the even farther wall and the bookcase he stores his silver pocket watch on, in a blue box on the high shelf, next to a dusty collection of fairy tales and an old hat he used to wear on Fridays.
Or was it Sundays?
"You could just go talk to her," you tell him on a Thursday, taking another sip of tea.
Jefferson sinks back in his chair, knuckles at his temples. His chin is still held high in bottomless defiance, but his eyes are so tired. "It’s not that simple."
"It’s not that complicated, either," you shrug. "You’re her father, after all."
"Except I’m the only one to know that."
"I know," you say, and you’re not sure yourself if you mean to sound reassuring or scolding. The thought is head-achingly heavy, so you drop it and pick up a tune instead, quietly humming to yourself as you continue your circles around the room.
It’s an old melody, ghosting through your mind more often than not, a little sad and happy at the same time. You feel Jefferson’s weary gaze on the back of your head, and somehow it makes you smile.
"You remember how it’s supposed to work back at home, though, right? True love conquers all." You chuckle to yourself. The song in your head starts to buzz. "Or," you continue with a dismissive lift of your eyebrow, "are you just going to wait for that savior to appear? How long has it been, ten years?"
"Eight years, three months, two-hundred and seventeen days."
Huh. You could have sworn you’ve been here much longer.
"Then there’s still nineteen years and …" You think for a moment, then shake your head. "You know what, I’m not going to get that right if I tried, and I don’t want to, so let’s just say a while."
He almost laughs at that, a soft, pained look in his eye that you’re not supposed to find charming.
"You’re going to go insane in that time," you say softly. "I would."
"I know." It’s already starting to tug at the tilt of his smile and the twitch in his eye. He hasn’t quite learned to stop caring, yet, and of course he hasn’t. That wouldn’t be like him.
He’s always been your mirror, so why would this be any different?
Things stay they same, and they stay the same, and they stay the same, and you’re sick of it. Apparently, there’s a thing such as too normal a life, and it makes your skin crawl.
So you start tailoring again. Your evenings are long and there’s just a few people that come in regularly, that ask for golden thread to fix their buttons and flaxen yarn to hem their suits. It’s quiet. Terribly quiet. Too quiet.
There’s not a single clock in your shop, and you realize you miss the ticking as soon as you crawl out of the belly of the beast. So you keep returning.
"We used to share a bed," you recall, lifting your arm so Jefferson can reach for the thread you’re holding out as you both sit on the floor, your tools and fabrics spread out over the entire room. You love watching him work, even though you don’t quite understand why he’s so obsessed with making hats. Maybe you just forgot.
"We did", he answers, not even looking at you. It makes you roll your eyes.
"So why don’t we now?"
"That would be rather complicated." His stitching is impeccable.
"Why?" Something throbs between your temples.
"Several reasons, dear." He tilts his head. "Aren’t you late?"
The unpleasant feeling in your chest disappears when you look at the clock. "Shit."
You hastily gather your things and start running to make it back to your shop in time, barely remembering to catch your breath enough to say goodbye, and so you miss the look on his face as he watches you, staying behind in the big house in the middle of the woods.
***
You visited more often, now that you knew about Grace, but Jefferson didn’t know if that was for her sake or for his. One thing that was very clear, however, was that you didn’t care at all about the dirty looks you got from everyone else whenever you strayed off the path to wander towards his cottage, unchaperoned.
Sure, they pitied him, but he was grieving, they said, and you were young and beautiful.
"They’re all so terribly starved for entertainment," you sighed, and then you handed him another pretty pebble you’d found on your way. He put it into the bowl on the window sill.
Grace was getting old enough to get used to you, then, to recognize the hands that tickled her chin and sometimes pulled her up when she fell on the forest ground. She loved your surprises, and your stories were her favorites to listen to when it was bedtime, even though she usually fell asleep long before you stopped talking.
"Did I ever tell you," you continued when the embers were barely glowing anymore but your eyes were shining in the moonlight, "about those pirates that I ran into near—"
"Why did you stay away so long?"
You blinked, and so did he. He hadn’t expected himself to actually ask, not after all this time that you had been back in his life. But the question was out now, sitting between you on the broken floorboards of his broken life, and the night stretched your silence into infinity.
"I wrote you letters," you told him, and it was true, but it wasn’t an answer. So he kept looking at you, and the silence scraped its nails against your skin. "I don’t know," you finally said in a way that told Jefferson you did know and didn’t want to tell him. There was a flustered hum to you that almost made him want to take it back, but the magic that followed each and every of your whims didn’t retreat. Not even a little.
"I was falling in love with you." He’d never admitted it out loud before. Who would he have told?
You laughed nervously, looking over at Grace. "Not very much, clearly."
"You never gave me the chance to do it properly."
"You don’t want me. I could never be a mother." Still, you talked quietly enough not to wake her, and you brought her trinkets and playthings whenever you’d been away for a while. You never brought him anything, but he still felt like he was getting a rare gift every time. It must’ve counted for something.
Besides, this was the first time you’d attempted to reason with him.
"I didn’t have her then," he said anyway, as if that was an argument.
"But you were always going to."
"And what about you and me?"
You bit your lip. "I’m inconvenient."
"I know," he said.
"You can’t rely on me."
"I know," he said.
"You deserve better than me."
Jefferson shook his head, and for the first time since he met you, you looked unsure. So, for the first time since he met you, he was the one doing the incalculable.
He kissed you.
You pulled him closer immediately, all logic forgotten as you crashed into each other, finally on the same page of this twisted story. You kissed him like you wanted him to be the happy ending to your storybook, even though you weren’t cut out for that kind of tale.
You both tried to be, anyway.
***
You’ve run the teashop now for … you’re not quite sure. Forever, maybe. It sure feels like your whole life has been spent between boxes of fragrant leaves, with a kettle always shrieking somewhere in the house and you humming whatever tune it sings to you.
But your hands are dirty, and no matter how much you brush your nails under scalding water, there always seems to be grime underneath them. Like you’re repotting plants in your sleep. Or clawing at the ground.
Your life is filled with sound, with constant chatter and gossip, because your front door is barely a five minute walk from Storybrooke secondary and the schoolgirls have developed an obsession with the shortbread and ginger muffins you serve with their tea. They reward you with whatever pocket money they can find at the bottom of their school bags and any gossip about their teachers they’ve eavesdropped on that week.
You constantly have a headache, but it’s fun, in a way. And you get to see Grace.
Your hand stops midair as you reach out for the lavender tea the girl ordered, staring unfocused until she clears her throat expectantly.
“Sorry,” you say, still dazed, “lost my train of thought there.”
The girl—Paige, you remember now, you heard her friend say her name when they entered the shop, Come on, Paige, and something about it made your stomach turn—tips her head to the side in a way that’s familiar, even though you don’t know why. “Can I have that to go?“ she adds, a quick look over her shoulder to where her friends are giggling.
“Sure.”
You only serve tea in loose leaves, because you believe trapping your window to the future in a small bag doesn’t do anyone any good, even though most of your customers don’t know how to tip their residue into their saucers in the proper way. You do it for them, sometimes, if they leave enough cold tea in their cups for you to do it after the door has clicked shut behind them. You knew about the mayor’s adoption papers going through before she knew about it herself, and you’d felt pretty smug about that.
The perfect amount of time to steep lavender tea is five minutes and forty-six seconds, and because you can’t trust a child to particularly care for such precision, you keep the steaming paper cup behind the counter until your timer goes off. You stir a dollop of honey in, humming to yourself, before you hand Paige the cup. She doesn’t really look at you, already distracted by another snippet of conversation, but she still flashes you a quick smile before hurrying to catch up with the others. The bell above the door jingles again, and the man stepping inside holds the door open for the girls to file outside, chattering excitedly. His other hand is balled up into a fist so tight it makes his knuckles stand out white.
He takes a deep breath before he turns and regards you. “You’re in a good mood.”
“I suppose so,” you say, even though it interrupts your humming. “Can I get you anything?”
His smile is small, but beautiful. “I think you already are.”
It’s then you notice you’ve pulled out one of the mugs from your good set without even asking, heaping two and a half spoonsful of your favorite blend inside like it’s the most natural thing for you to do upon his entrance.
Before you can apologize, he turns the sign in your window to 'closed' and sits down at the counter with a patient look, eyes very intense as they search yours, his face unreadable. None of it feels threatening, just … expectant.
So you continue with your instinctual movements, even though you’re not sure how you know what he’s waiting for. You feel like there’s something you’re missing, and it doesn’t come to you until you hand him his mug.
The mask falls when he says your name, your real name, and your lips twist into a smile that’s so unsure of itself it almost curls inwards.
You remember, you remember.
Every single lifetime falls back into place until the one that came first stays at the forefront. You cling to the thought like someone fights with a dream to be allowed to stay a little longer, battling oblivion with the resolution of a dragon slayer.
"How long was I gone this time?" you ask, hands clasping the counter more tightly and blinking fast as if that could keep the forgetting away.
"Hard to say," Jefferson answers. "A few weeks. You’re getting better."
You know he’s lying, because in the beginning, it would only take you a couple of days to remember. Now, your moments of clarity seem to be farther apart every time. "Was she nice?"
If you were going to remember any of this in a while, you’d really miss being the girl from the tea shop. You’ve been enjoying this version of things, the simplicity and the small dosages of variety, like little treats in this viscous monotony.
He shrugs with one shoulder. "She’s you."
"So, no."
His smile always seems sad these days. "So, nice in the ways that matter. You always are."
Somehow, you doubt that. "What day is it?" you ask.
"Seventeen years, six months, forty-five days."
You don’t ask him if there’s been any progress; you know there hasn’t been. Instead, you round the counter and put your arms around him. You feel him sag against you, his sigh of relief barely audible against your shoulder. You can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since Jefferson’s touched another person.
He pulls you close enough for you to feel his heartbeat in your own chest, and you barely breathe as you tighten the embrace even more, trying to hold both of you upright.
"Your hair’s getting longer again," you mumble after a very long time, dragging your thumb against the back of his neck.
"Don’t lie," he answers hoarsely, lifting his head without opening his eyes, your noses bumping before he rests his forehead against yours. "I miss you."
It breaks your heart, how easily it slips out.
Your lips seek his carefully, then more confident, because you don’t know how else to express your own feelings. This kiss, like all the ones before, is a promise you both know you won’t be able to keep.
Hope still tastes bitter on his tongue.
***
He’d always hated Wonderland, but he’d never hated it more than when he got stuck there and felt his sanity slip through his fingers a little bit more every day. Time didn’t make sense here, nothing did.
But if there was one thing that he could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.
"There you are." A voice as familiar as an old song woke him up from another nightmare. "What on earth are you doing in this hole?"
Jefferson opened his eyes. You were like a vision, not even paying attention to the disbelief in his eyes as you dusted off one of the useless hats.
"How," he croaked.
You chuckled a little and continued to look around the room. His cell. His locked cell with guards posted outside.
He sat up so quickly his vision went black for a moment. "How are you here?"
"You were gone so long," you said. "I was bored."
"You—" He held your cheek, your waist, your shoulder. You felt cool to the touch, but solid, real. Eyes innocent and glittering with your usual mischief, as if this was completely normal. "Have you seen Grace? Is she alright?"
"She misses you, too."
He didn’t even pay attention to it, then, but he remembered that little "too" at the end later, many, many times.
"Can you get me home?"
Your smile was soft and sad and sliced him in two all over again. You gently tugged at the bow around his neck, and then you simply said, "No."
So he raged. He bargained. He begged.
But you could not, would not budge, even though your eyes grew heavy as you listened to him. Like this was a disappointing development for you.
He already knew he was nothing more.
He stared at you when he was done, chest heaving, still on his knees in front of you even though he could no longer meet your eye. You didn’t say anything.
"Are you angry with me?"
"No," you said again. You brushed your hands through his hair and slowly sank down to his level.
It was only then that he realized tears were falling from his eyes. Gently, you wiped them off his cheeks, and then, holding his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before touching your own to the same spot.
"Grace sends this," you whispered.
Jefferson closed his eyes, heart twisting with that unspeakable ache.
"There’s something you need to know," you said, your voice already carrying the weight of it. As if all of this hadn’t been enough. "Something bad is coming."
"Isn’t it always?" he asked, but then he felt your magic flicker in a way it never had before. Like it was nervous.
And then lightning struck outside.
When he looked at your face, your eyes were rolled back and your magic was lashing out in all directions, clashing against the walls in terror. "There’s danger if I dare to stop and here’s a reason why," you sing-songed, unfocused, and Jefferson caught your hands before you clawed at your own face. "I’m over-due, no no no no, goodbye, hello." You hiccuped.
Dread washed through him in an icy shockwave. He’d seen you in a state of confusion before, many times, but this was different, not just overwhelmed but panicked. Your magic was literally spilling out of you now, like it was trying to escape whatever fate you’d seen coming, and you would’ve doubled over with it had he not held you upright.
"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run run." You giggled. "Did you know I’m a bunny in a book?"
"Sweetheart, you need to focus."
The next thunder rolled outside and you screamed, but it seemed to knock some sense back into you because your eyes weren’t quite so glassy anymore when you looked at him again. "Oh, this next part won’t be fun."
Something knocked at the door and then it burst open, dark purple whirls of magic filling the room within seconds, accompanied by roaring winds and a thumping sound that reminded him of a beating heart. Your hands came up to cup Jefferson’s face and you gave him the saddest, most knowing smile he’d ever seen on you.
The wind almost swallowed your voice, but whatever magic hadn’t left you yet let him hear your words anyway.
"Some people really don’t deserve a wish."
Then, everything went black.
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thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! you can also buy me a ko-fi if you feel so inclined <3
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fangirlings-things · 1 year
Text
Falling in love with David and finding each other in Storybrooke for the first time after the curse is lifted would include headcanons
anon said: hey, can I please request an Once Upon A Time headcanon with the item love + David Nolan/Prince Charming? thank you so much! 💕
A/N: hey, love!! sorry this took so long, hope you enjoy it ♥️
TAG LIST: @captainshazamerica ; @veracruz-djarin
⬛ 2.2K CELEBRATION
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You had met for the first time on his father’s castle 
You worked there as a servant, and the King had designated you as the Prince’s personal servant after noticing he had taken a liking to you. You spent some time in his company while fulfilling your duties and so, you did end up knowing him a bit
That being said, you instantly noticed the difference when suddenly James wasn't acting like himself anymore and you didn't have any doubt in your mind as you acused that man of not being the Prince. He may be wearing his clothes and sleeping on his bed, but he wasn't James
He really wasn’t, he admitted so. His name was David, and he explained all that had happened to take him there, pretending to be his twin brother and you promised to keep his secret
The both of you grew closer and closer with time, he was the complete opposite of James. David was kind, caring and had a good heart. He hesitated even to ask you to do the smallest tasks for him and you always had to smile and say that was your duty, just to reassure him that it was ok
Sometimes, he would ask you to just stay with him to talk, was it about some book he had been reading or about how lost he felt about the castle and everyone in there
People began to notice that the Prince was most certainly falling in love with his personal servant, and so did the King. He didn’t think twice before throwing you out of the castle, paying no mind to David’s protests
You were poor, without a place to live and had no family or anyone who could help you. So, you moved on, even though that was the last thing you wanted to do
You never saw David again. That was, well, until the Curse was lifted
Your memories came crashing down on you like a wave and you remembered everything. You remembered David and all he meant to you 
You ran around Storybrooke looking for him, feeling your heart beat fast inside your chest all the while
You ended up meeting him in the middle of the street, each of you had been running in different directions. You couldn't believe your own eyes when you saw him
"David?"
And his smile in that moment... it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen
"It's really you"
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jrob64 · 7 months
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Saying Goodbye and Moving On
An OUAT Canon Divergent fix-it fic
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Here is my entry for CSSNS 2023, which was written to fix what I thought was a grievous wrong in the show. All of you need to know that I wanted to make @kmomof4 a co-author because she did so much to help me with this story, but she refused. Several tragic things were happening in my life while I was writing this story and she talked me through it - giving me ideas for the plot, encouraging me to keep going, checking it over when it was incredibly full of errors or didn't make sense, and just generally being the best friend and supporter I needed in order to finish it. On top of that, she created the gorgeous pic set you see at the top, with some manip help from @motherkatereloyshipper. Thank you so much, ladies! I love it!
Many thanks to @hookedmom who was my official beta once again.
SUMMARY: Killian has returned to Emma from the Underworld and they are starting to build their future together, when a ghost from his past suddenly appears, giving them the opportunity to right a few wrongs.
CHAPTER 1/1 - 5230 words
RATING: T
ALSO on Ao3 (I'm unable to post to ffn at this time)
*********
Storybrooke was peaceful for perhaps the first time since Emma Swan crashed into the town sign three years ago. The Underworld saga was behind them, Killian had returned in dramatic fashion, and no new villain had shown up in town…yet. Emma knew it was only a matter of time, but she was going to enjoy the calm after the multiple storms for as long as she could.
Gold was the Dark One again after negating Killian’s sacrifice, but he secluded himself in his Pawn Shop. Emma figured he was avoiding everyone in town because they were furious over him not letting go of the dark power. Even though Emma knew the Dark One couldn’t be killed, she wasn’t above putting a bullet in him for something as minor as jaywalking, given the opportunity. She could never forgive him for what he did to the man she loved.
Right now, that man was alive and well beside her, his arm flung over her hip and snoring softly in her ear. It had been nearly two months since he returned and she was still hesitant to let him out of her sight. The first few nights after his return, both of them were desperate to reacquaint themselves with the other’s body. Gradually, as the realization grew that Killian was truly back and nothing was going to threaten their blissful happiness, their lovemaking grew gentler and less frantic, but no less meaningful. Now, after their bodies were sated, they’d lay in each other’s arms talking softly before they drifted off to sleep, content in the fact that nothing would pull them away from one another again.
*********
Killian awoke with a jolt, heart thundering in his chest and breath coming in sharp gasps. Sitting up quickly, he closed his eyes, tilting his head back while he concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths to calm himself, hoping he wouldn’t wake Emma. When his heart rate slowed down a bit, he opened his eyes and the blood in his veins froze.
He rubbed his eyes furiously, then cautiously opened them again. The image hadn’t disappeared. Hovering hazily in front of him was…
“Milah?” he choked out.
The specter’s pale eyes brightened and a slight smile crossed her face. Drifting closer, she opened her mouth to speak…
“Killian?”
Immediately, the ghostly figure disappeared. Killian blinked rapidly as he felt Emma’s hand on his back.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting up beside him.
“Oh, uh…aye,” he managed to say, still trying to get over the shock of seeing what was obviously the ghost of his former lover.
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
His head jerked around, searching her eyes to determine if she realized the accuracy of her statement. All he could see was concern in the green depths. “Aye, Love, I just…I’m having some trouble sleeping and I don’t…I don’t want to keep you awake, so…uh…I think I’ll spend the rest of the night on the Jolly, if you don’t mind,” he stammered.
A wounded look crossed her face so quickly, he wasn’t even sure he saw it. She schooled her features carefully before replying, “If you’re having nightmares, I can help you through them. You don’t have to handle them yourself, you know.”
He wiped a hand down his face. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt this woman who sacrificed so much to bring him home. He loved her more than he could express and owed her his very life. But after seeing the vision of Milah, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night and he didn’t know how to explain what had happened.
“I know, Love. I just…I think I need some fresh air.” Enfolding her in his arms, he rubbed her back soothingly. “I’m not pulling away from you, I promise. I’ll meet you at Granny’s tomorrow for breakfast, aye?”
“Yeah, okay,” she mumbled into his chest. “Call me when you get to the Jolly?”
“Of course.” He got out of bed and began putting on his clothes, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. When he finished, he turned back to see her still sitting up, the sheet wrapped around her. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he reached over to brush some wispy strands of hair away from her face. “Get some sleep, Darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She leaned in to kiss him, pressing her forehead to his for a brief moment afterwards. “Be careful on your way to the docks.”
“I will. Goodnight, Love.” After brushing her lips with his once more, he stood and began walking toward the doorway.
“Killian?” she called softly.
He turned. “Aye?”
“I love you.”
He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “I love you, too, Swan.”
*********
On his way to his ship, Killian searched the skies for any sign of Milah’s apparition. He was torn about whether he wanted to see her ghostly image again. On the one hand, he was curious why she was here and wanted to talk with her to get some answers. Conversely, he was ready to move on with his life and his True Love.
He made it to the Jolly without any sign of the specter, but upon entering his quarters, he was met with the sight of her hovering over his bunk, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.
“Milah!” he gasped. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened in horror as she continued to try, with no success.
“You can’t talk?” he questioned. She shook her head sadly, and seemed to shrink in on herself, floating toward the ceiling. “No! Don’t go!” he cried. “Please…stay.” He held out his hand in invitation, knowing she wouldn’t be able to physically take it.
Her eyes softened, her distress easing as she settled back down to eye level with him.
“But you can hear me, can’t you?” he asked, needing to clarify their connection.
She nodded and made a hand gesture urging him to continue speaking.
He sat in his desk chair and swiveled it to fully face her. “I don’t know how you’re here, but…I’m glad you are.” His comment made her smile. “Emma, she…she told me the two of you met in the Underworld, and that you helped her get to me when Hades had me chained up over the River of Lost Souls.”
Milah nodded again, giving him a small, tight smile.
“I’m truly sorry Hades threw you into that river before I had a chance to say goodbye.”
Anger flashed across Milah’s face and she shook her head vehemently.
“What is it, Milah?” He watched her making motions with her hands, pantomiming pulling her heart out of her chest. “Hades tore your heart out? No, that wouldn’t make sense because you were already…” He stopped short, unable to bring himself to say the last word.
Milah continued to make gestures showing her heart being crushed, then pointed to Killian’s hook.
Suddenly, understanding dawned on him. “The crocodile?” he asked incredulously. She nodded vigorously and he could feel the rage rising in him. “Was he the one who pushed you into the River of Lost Souls?” At Milah’s emphatic nod, he angrily jumped to his feet. “Not only did he take you from me the first time, he also doomed you to eternal torment and deprived me of a chance to give you a proper farewell! And now he’s the bloody Dark One again! Bloody fucking hell!” He spun in a circle, wanting to throw or hit something.
The specter of his first love drifted closer and reached out to stroke her palm over his cheek. He felt a cool sensation where her ghostly hand brushed past him, calming him instantly. He sat down on his bunk and she moved over to him, sadness mixed with compassion coloring her translucent features. “I’m so sorry, Love. I should have killed him long ago to avenge your…death. I never figured out a way to do it since the Dark One is immortal, and then I met Emma and I…I chose her over my quest for vengeance. I failed you, Milah…”
She brought her finger to her lip and shook her head to silence him. Then she placed her hand over her heart, before moving it to cover his heart. He understood her meaning and his shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, Love. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m very happy to have it.” He smiled gently at her for a moment before a startling realization came to him. “Milah,” he said, confusion infusing his words. “How… how are you here?” He stood quickly, not knowing what to think. Could he still be dreaming? Milah shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here. This had to be a trick of some kind. Was Gold behind it? Had Hades found some way to return?
Alarmed recognition crossed her face and she reached for him. He stumbled back away from her and she made no further move toward him. In an effort to help him understand, she placed both hands on either side of her head, fingers pointed straight up. She moved them up and down in short, sharp movements that reminded Killian of Hades when his hair erupted into blue flames.
“Hades?” he asked tentatively.
She nodded furiously, her face lighting up with his understanding of her motions. She drew a single finger across her neck in a motion he had no trouble interpreting.
“He’s gone forever, right?” Killian asked. When she continued nodding, Killian felt excitement and hope rise within him. “When he was vanquished, was your soul released from the river?” It was more than he could possibly hope for, but her joyous visage and nod confirmed his speculation. Relief completely enveloped him and he moved closer to her, holding his hand out again. This time, she reached out for him as well. He felt a chill that somehow felt warm at the same time as her hand passed through his. “Oh, Milah,” he breathed. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
Milah smiled gently at him then floated over to his bed and patted the space beside her. He sat down and saw her gesture for him to talk. Taking a deep breath, he launched into the tale of his life after losing her.
*********
Emma was unable to go back to sleep after Killian left. He’d had plenty of time to make it to his ship, yet he hadn’t called her as promised. She was well aware he would have a lot to work through after everything he’d experienced. Becoming the Dark One, dying and going to the Underworld, being tortured by Hades, reuniting with his brother Liam, only to have to say goodbye to him again, not to mention being separated from his True Love, before being sent back to the land of the living by Zeus.
She was willing to give him all the time he needed, but tonight, something was amiss. She could sense there was more to his abrupt departure than simply a desire to get some fresh air. His eyes were…haunted, fearful. She couldn’t help but wonder what he wasn’t telling her.
Sighing heavily, she shoved back the covers and got out of bed. Something was troubling the man she loved and she was determined to help him through it.
*********
Emma drove slowly through the streets of Storybrooke, scanning every street and alley, but didn’t catch sight of Killian. Parking at the docks, she was relieved to see his ship was still in the usual berth. She hadn’t thought he would take the Jolly Roger out to sea this late at night, but she knew how sailing calmed him, so she wouldn’t have been surprised to find the space empty.
Killian wasn’t on the deck, gazing at the stars - another activity that always brought him peace. Emma quickly crossed the polished surface, descended the steps taking her below deck, and walked down the narrow hallway, stopping outside the captain’s quarters. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Killian’s voice and paused. It sounded like he was carrying on a conversation with someone. She didn’t want to invade his privacy, but curiosity won out and, in spite of herself, she listened.
“...that’s when I found out Bae had a child with Emma - a boy named Henry. Yes, I know. It came as quite a shock to me, as well. By that time, I was already intrigued by Emma, and also very attracted to her. I hope you don’t mind me talking about her. She’s my True Love and I owe her so much. She’s the one who made me want to give up my fruitless quest for revenge in order to be someone worthy of her love.”
Emma took a step closer to the door, hoping to hear the other person to identify him…or her. Her mind raced as she waited. Nearly everyone in town knew that Henry was Neal’s son, so who could it be?
“I wish you could meet Henry. He’s a wonderful lad - intelligent, kind and brave. Bae would be so proud of him.” There was a long pause before Killian resumed. “He, uh, he died trying to warn the town about a villain. He visited Emma before she went to the Underworld and told her he was in a place where he was happy. Perhaps you’ll be able to take care of your unfinished business and join him there.”
Emma’s brows furrowed. He was talking to someone with unfinished business? Someone who might be able to join Neal, which would mean they were dead…
Suddenly, it dawned on her who it had to be, but how was it possible? Milah had been thrown into the River of Lost Souls. There was no way she could be here talking to Killian. Emma’s mind swirled with doubts. Maybe he needed someone to talk to and couldn’t trust her, so he was talking to the memory of Milah instead.
  Unable to quiet the negative voices in her head, Emma grasped the door handle, and after a brief moment of hesitation, pushed inside the cabin.
Killian looked up when he heard her enter, his startled look turning to one of chagrin. “Swan? What are you doing here?”
“I…I was worried when you didn’t call,” she said, looking around the room and seeing no one. “Killian, who were you talking to?”
Killian glanced beside him, where Milah still hovered. “I was…” Turning his eyes back to Emma, he asked, “Can’t you see her, Emma?”
Emma’s brows furrowed. “The only person I see here is you. Were you…it sounded like you were talking to…to Milah.”
He stood, casting a quick look at his first love, then moving to stand in front of his True Love. “Aye, Love. Milah is here, in this room. Her spirit is, at least. She appeared to me in your bedroom and that’s why I left so abruptly. When I reached the Jolly, I found her here, too. I don’t understand why I can see her and you can’t.”
Emma closed her eyes, her heart pounding. If he was telling her the truth - and her lie detector was silent, confirming his words - then Milah was haunting him, no matter where he went. How was she supposed to deal with that?
Tilting her head, she sensed something different about the atmosphere in the room. Breathing in deeply, she caught a whiff of…
“Killian, did Milah smell of lilacs?” she asked, her eyes opening to focus on him. A shocked expression crossed his face.
“Aye, Love. She…she always wore lilac water. I purchased it for her every chance I got. How did you know that?”
“I can smell it, and I feel a…a presence. Can she talk?”
Sadness filled his eyes. “No, she can hear me, but she can’t speak. She has been able to communicate, though. She…she told me it was Gold who threw her into the River of Lost Souls and that she was released when Hades was defeated.”
“Gold did that to her?” Emma spat. “That bastard! I’m already furious over what he did to you and this just adds fuel to the fire! Dark One or not, someday he’s going to pay for all the evil things he’s done, and I, for one, am not going to be sorry about it!”
Killian stepped forward to squeeze her hand, his eyes flicking up behind her. “I think Milah likes you, Love,” he grinned.
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s right behind you, smiling and clapping her hands.”
Emma’s cheeks reddened. “We got to know each other a bit in the Underworld. I liked her, too.” She looked thoughtful. “There has to be some way to allow her to talk to us. Remember when we used that double-ended candle to try to talk to Cora?”
“Aye, but the candle had to be lit over a person’s heart before they were killed in order to use it to communicate with that person’s spirit,” Killian reminded her.
Emma sighed. “That’s right, I’d forgotten that detail.” She chewed on her lip in thought, before speaking again. “I’ll go talk to Regina. There has to be a way.” She pulled her hand out of his and turned toward the door.
He caught her arm with his hook. “Perhaps you should wait until morning, Darling. I doubt the queen will be very amenable to helping us if you wake her in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot what time it is,” she admitted. “I, um, I guess I’ll just go home for a few hours, then. Are you…will you stay here?”
Killian glanced to his right before answering. “I still have a lot I want to share with Milah and I don’t know how long she’ll be able to stay here. I hope you don’t mind.”
Emma gave him a weak smile. “No, I understand. Do you want to come with me to talk to Regina in the morning?”
“Aye, Love.” He pulled her into his embrace. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Okay, I’ll come by and pick you up around seven,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
He put enough distance between them to be able to cup her chin in his hand. “Be careful going home, my love.”
“I will.” Leaning up to whisper in his ear, she asked, “Do you think she would mind if I kissed you?”
He gave a low chuckle. “I’m sure she won’t. She knows we’re True Love.”
She combed her fingers through the hair above his ear. “This is a weird situation, you know that, right?”
He nodded with a lopsided grin and leaned in to share a lingering kiss with her.
“See you in the morning,” she said when it ended, then added, a bit louder, “Goodbye, Milah.” After brushing his cheek with her lips one more time, she turned and left the cabin.
*********
Once Regina heard Emma and Killian relate the events from overnight, she sat behind her desk in the mayor’s office pursing her lips in thought.
“Can you explain why Killian is able to see her, but I can’t?” Emma asked.
“I’m not sure, but my guess would be it’s because Killian is Milah’s unfinished business,” Regina stated.
“That makes sense,” Emma agreed. “I can feel her presence, though.”
“Have you any ideas for how to talk to her?” Killian inquired.
Regina considered for a moment. “Using the enchanted candle to talk to her definitely isn’t an option. The phone booth in the Underworld was a way for the dead to communicate with the living, but we don’t have anything like that here. You obviously don’t want me to ask Gold for help, or Belle for that matter.”
“Absolutely not,” Emma said emphatically.
“We don’t want the crocodile to know that Milah has made an appearance,” Killian added angrily. “If I had my way, I’d send the bloody bastard back to the Underworld, never to return. Hades wasn’t the one who threw Milah into the River of Lost Souls. It was Gold. He needs to pay for what he did. It wasn’t enough for him to kill her in front of me in the first place, but he had to sentence her to eternal torment, as well.”
Regina’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t know all the details of what happened between Rumplestiltskin and Killian Jones, but she could certainly understand Killian’s anger and wanting to make sure ‘the crocodile’ paid for what he’d done. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about Gold. If you recall, he’s the Dark One and can’t be killed, no matter how much all of us would like to see it happen. Now, let’s focus on the problem of how to communicate with Milah. Do you have any idea how long she will be haunting you, Hook?”
Killian shook his head sadly. “No, but I have a feeling it won’t be very long. From the first time I saw her until she left this morning, her form had already faded substantially.”
“Hmm, I wonder,” Regina said, walking around the front of her desk and crossing her arms. “I know she probably didn’t come through a portal from the Underworld to get here, but I wonder if being close to one will give her more strength and help her be able to speak.”
“You mean the one in the duck pond?” Emma asked.
“Do you know of any other?” Regina snapped, her sarcasm in full force.
Emma chose to ignore her snark. “I think it would be worth a try to see if she’ll join you there, wouldn’t it, Killian?” At his nod of affirmation, she added. “How would you feel about Henry being there? If Milah is able to speak, he would get to talk to his grandmother.”
“I think that’s a grand idea, Love. I told her about him and what an exceptional lad he is, and I’m sure she would appreciate the chance to see for herself.”
“Is that alright, Regina?” Emma asked.
“Of course. I don’t think he would find meeting the spirit of his grandmother any more disconcerting than any other adventure he’s experienced since he brought you to town. He planned to spend the day at my house playing video games. I’ll pick him up and meet the two of you at the pond.”
“Do you think Milah will find you there, Killian?”
“She found me at your house and on my ship, Love.”
“Good point. Well, let’s see if this works,” Emma said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze before they headed out the door.
*********
Returning to the place where Emma was forced to run Excalibur through Killian was difficult for the couple. As they drew near the exact spot where it happened, Killian heard her breath hitch and he tightened his grip on her hand.
Regina and Henry arrived a few minutes later and joined them at the edge of the duck pond.
“Mom says Grandma Milah appeared to you, Killian,” Henry said excitedly. “Is she here now?”
“Not yet, lad,” Killian said.
“We’re not sure she will be, Henry,” Emma said.
“Yeah, Mom explained that to me. She also said Grandma can’t speak, but I’m still glad you wanted me to be here.”
They waited for several minutes, as Killian scanned the skies for any sign of Milah’s ghost. The only sounds heard were the birds in the trees and the occasional quack of a duck swimming past, until Killian declared softly, “She’s here, right over the center of the pond.”
“I was going to ask if she was,” Emma said. “I thought I felt her presence.”
“There is definitely a stirring in the atmosphere,” Regina remarked.
“Is she trying to say anything?” Henry asked.
“No,” Killian answered, “she’s just watching us.” Suddenly, the water in the pond began rippling as a breeze blew across it. “Hello again, Milah. Someone is here to meet you.” He stepped over behind Henry, putting his hand and hook on the boy’s shoulders. “This is Henry, Baelfire’s son.”
“Hi, Grandma,” Henry said, his eyes darting back and forth across the sky. “It’s nice to…kind of…meet you.”
“She’s smiling at you, lad,” Killian assured him.
“I wish I could see you. Were you the one who churned up the water?” Henry asked. In response, a stronger breeze blew, causing small waves to form in the duck pond. “That’s a cool trick, Grandma!” he laughed.
A chilly wind swept past the group, rustling the leaves on the trees. “Is Milah doing that, too?” Emma whispered.
“Aye,” Killian answered, his eyes following the movement of the specter only he could see. “Something seems to be distressing her.”
“I think I see the source of her agitation,” Regina remarked, her brow furrowing in concern. “Here comes Gold. He must have sensed a supernatural disturbance, too.”
The man came stumping up the path, slowing as he took in the scene before him. Seeing the group assembled by the pond, he asked, “What are you all doing here? Are you trying to cast some sort of…” His words came to a stop as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “M-Milah?”
Another rush of cold air swept past them, strong enough this time to shake the tree branches and increase the turbulence of the water. “Seeing him has made her extremely angry,” Killian explained.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Regina remarked.
The wind kicked up even more, causing dust and debris to swirl around them. It seemed to center on Gold, making him duck down and cover his head. “Get away from me, you vile woman!” he screamed. “You’re supposed to be in the River of Lost Souls!” At his confession, the wind picked him up bodily and slammed him to the ground, stunning him as he hit his head on a rock.
“And YOU’RE the one who threw her into it!” Killian shouted.
Gold raised his hand to his head, wiping at the blood over his brow. Suddenly, it was if something grabbed him by the ankles and began dragging him toward the pond. “NO! NO!” he screeched, attempting to crawl back up the path.
“Grandpa!” Henry yelled.
There was a loud whooshing sound and they turned to see a vortex rising up out of the water, the force of it beginning to pull Gold toward it. He continued to scream his protests, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt as he was dragged backwards. They watched incredulously as he flew past them, too quickly to even attempt to grab him.
He was caught up in the vortex, which spun across the surface of the pond. Emma gasped as she spotted something moving behind the trees. “It’s Charon’s boat! Why is it here?”
“Gold is tethered to the Underworld through his blood,” Regina explained, shouting to be heard over the tumult. “The blood from the gash on his head must have gotten into the water and summoned Charon.”
The four people on shore watched the furiously swirling waterspout until it reached the boat, where it suddenly disappeared, depositing the helpless Dark One in a heap in the middle of the vessel.
Gold’s blood curdling screams echoed through the air as Charon guided the boat toward the portal to the Underworld. The moment it passed from view, his cries were silenced and they knew he was gone.
“Look!” Henry cried, pointing at the sky.
Emma, Killian and Regina turned to see a black vapor in the shape of the Dark One’s dagger hanging over the pond. As they watched, it dissipated, completely disappearing within seconds. “Does that mean what I think it means? What I hope it means?” Emma asked.
“No more Dark One? The Darkness is gone forever?” Regina questioned, turning back towards the others.
“Yes, that’s exactly what it means and now I can finally be free,” a serene voice said from behind them.
“Milah!” Killian gasped. “You can speak!”
“Rumple silenced me when he threw me into the river,” she explained. “Now that he’s gone, he has no power over me, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“I’m sorry you lost your grandfather like that, kid,” Emma said, putting her arm around Henry’s shoulders to comfort him.
“Yeah, me too, but he had a lot of chances to give up the power of being the Dark One and he never did. He loved power more than he loved me, Belle, and even my dad, so I guess he deserved what he got.”
Killian patted him on the back, then looked at the specter hovering in front of them. “You did it, Milah. Everything he ever did to us has now been avenged,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Yes, it has,” Milah said, her voice sounding much thinner. “My time here is drawing to a close, so I have to say my goodbyes.” Killian watched as a wide smile spread on her lips. “I can see Killian was right when he told me how special you are, Henry. I just wish I had more time with you. When I move on, I will tell your father what a fine young man you became.”
“Tell him…tell him I miss him,” Henry said.
“I will,” she promised.
Emma stepped up beside Killian and stretched up to kiss his cheek.“We’ll give you a chance to say goodbye,” she whispered. “I’ll be home if you want to come by afterwards.”
He nodded and watched her walk away with Henry and Regina. Turning back to Milah, he saw her translucent form was fading quickly. “I’m very happy I got the opportunity to bid you a proper goodbye, Love.”
“So am I. Oh, my love, I’m glad we were able to have so many wonderful adventures together.” Her voice grew so faint, he had to listen intently to hear her. “ Emma is good for you, Killian. It’s wonderful that you’ve found love again and you’re finally moving on. I can see that you’re really happy.” She paused for a moment, then- if it was possible for a ghost- she sighed. “I’m your past and she’s your future.”
“You’ll always have a place in my heart, Milah. You were my first love.”
“Yes, and I will always love you, but Emma is your True Love. You deserve happiness with her.”
“And you deserve peace. I hope you find it.”
“Now that all of my unfinished business has been taken care of, I’m sure I will.” Swooping down, she brushed her nearly invisible fingers across his cheek. “I must go now. Goodbye, my love.”
“Goodbye, Milah.”
He stood transfixed, staring at the sky for several minutes after her form disappeared. The sadness he had carried in his heart for so long over the loss of Milah, was replaced with relief and joy.
Finally, he turned and began walking back to town, where he knew he would find Emma waiting.
He saw her sitting on the steps of her house when he stopped in front of the gate. Looking up at him, a warm smile crossed her face, and he returned it with one of his own. Stepping through the opening, he moved toward his future.
*********
Was I the only one who thought Gold should have been held accountable for what he did to Milah? Or that Killian should have had the chance to say goodbye to his first love? Please let me know how you felt about it.
Special thanks to the people who have held the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event for many years now. It's always a lot of fun!
And thanks to all of you for reading, commenting and reblogging!
Tagging: @hookedmom @kmomof4​ @cs-rylie @qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan​ @wyntereyez​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @paradiselady19​ @xarandomdreamx​ @motherkatereloyshipper @julesep3026 @courtorderedcake​ @lfh1226-linda​ @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23​ @tiganasummertree​ @captainswan4life85​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426​ @julieenchanted-swans​ @gingerchangeling @andiirivera​ @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic​ @snowbellewells​ @huntressandlioness1 @anmylica​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv @pirateherokillian​ @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @laschatzi @zaharadessert​ @jennjenn615 @yasbio2015​ @lyssapup27​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​ @singersdd​ @mie779​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @winterbaby89 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook​ @bdevereaux-blanche​ @soniccat​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jarienn972​ @apiratewhopines​ @softkilly​ @goforlaunchcee​ @kymbersmith-90​ @captainswan21
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Almost. Again. -- Regina Mills x Emma Swan
Well hiyah Tumblr. I wrote a swanqueen fic. I don’t really know what this is. All I know is that I was watching episode 4x05 and there was a pretty harsh cut between when Emma and Regina defeated the ice monster and when the snow queen showed up. And I thought “they cut something out. We missed something” and then my brain gifted me this. So. Enjoy, I guess…? 🙈
Words: ~2,100
Warnings: None
Summary: Sometimes battles give you a rush of adrenaline. Sometimes battles exhaust you. And sometimes... Sometimes, battles are the perfect catalyst to mend relationships and create space for repressed feelings to bubble up and boil over. But not always.
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Snow monster? Melted. Emma’s hands burned a bit, but the giant thing dissolved into a puddle with a splash, so it was probably all taken care of. 
Probably. 
“I think we did it,” Emma panted, smiling despite herself. 
Because it felt good. Falling back into their rhythm, melding their magic. Working together after however long they’d been apart. It couldn’t have been more than a few days. It felt like an eternity. 
She looked over at Regina, finally catching her breath. And Regina… 
Regina was looking at her with some kind of expression, emotion, that Emma couldn’t read for the life of her. But then a beat passed, and another. And Regina was still looking at her. 
Emma cleared her throat. “Nice work.” 
That seemed to jar Regina out of her stupor, because the next thing Emma knew, she was nodding. 
“And you.” A pause. A swallow. “It seems that whole ‘learn as you go’ thing is working out for you. You didn’t need me after all.” 
Emma fought the instant response, the guttural “I will always need you” that rattled against her ribs. Instead, she settled for a simple— 
“I still have a lot to learn.” 
Regina’s lip curved at the corner, and for a moment Emma thought that she had won. That she had earned herself a smile, after all this time. But then it morphed into something sad, and Regina pinned her focus on smoothing out the hem of her shirt. And Emma’s heart splintered again. 
Always again. 
The forest was silent for a moment, their ragged breathing the only thing filling the gaps. And really, it hadn’t been that much effort. Not with Regina helping. But it was the fear, the adrenaline. The feel of it all, and how much she had missed it. 
Emma was chewing over what she could say, how she could tell her without Regina snapping her neck. She was so lost in weighing her options that she almost missed Regina breaking the silence. Beating her to it. 
“I forgot how nice that felt,” she murmured, voice low and rasping. 
Emma blamed it on the cold lingering in the air. Emma knew that she was lying to herself. 
A measured breath. “Yeah.” 
And then, to her surprise, Regina snorted. 
“Always so articulate.” 
Emma couldn’t help the smile that spread, because yes, working together had felt wonderful. It had stirred something inside of Emma that she forgot existed. Reminded her of a piece of herself that she forgot she possessed. 
But this? Regina looking up at her through heavy lashes, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth, one hand wrapped protectively around her stomach and fingers fidgeting with her sleeve at her elbow— This was what Emma had missed. Had longed for. This felt better than any magic ever could. 
Because Regina was open again. She was letting Emma in. She was— 
She was stepping in closer. Closing the space between them. 
Oh, shit. 
“Regina…” Emma tried, but her voice wobbled. Cracked. 
Another step. 
Emma stepped back. 
She expected Regina to stop. She expected that to be enough to break the moment (were they having a moment?), to put that wall back up between them and prompt Regina to shut herself off again. 
But she didn’t. And she was still looking at Emma like that. And Emma couldn’t breathe. Dear god, she couldn’t fucking breathe. 
Not only could she not breathe, apparently walking backwards had fallen completely out of her arsenal as well. Because the next thing Emma knew, she tripped over a large root and went careening backward. 
And then there was bark against her back. And Regina’s hand on her waist. A nice, firm, solid tree trunk had broken her fall. 
And Regina’s hand on her waist. 
Emma blamed the way her lungs constricted on having the wind knocked out of her by the impact from the tree. 
Definitely the tree. 
“Still as graceful as ever, I see,” Regina said softly, eyes flitting across Emma’s face for the briefest of seconds before boring back into hers. 
And god, anything would be better than this. Regina fully ogling her lips would be better than this. Because her eyes were dark in the deep forest, and glittering against the moonlight. And Emma was certain that Regina could see straight through her, let alone read her thoughts. 
She was definitely not having appropriate thoughts. 
And she blamed Regina for every single one of them, because her hand was still on Emma’s fucking waist. 
“I— um.” It just fell out. Because Emma felt like she needed to say something, but there was no coherent thought to pull any kind of anything from. Not in Emma’s head. Not with Regina looking at her like that.  
“We really need to work on your vocabulary.” 
Remember when Emma thought she’d rather have Regina ogling her lips? When that would have been easier? 
Yeah. She was wrong. She was so, entirely and completely wrong. Because in the next second Regina’s gaze dropped, and Emma’s heart went right along with it. 
“I missed… what our magic feels like pooled together.” Regina’s voice was low. Careful. But Emma didn’t miss the hesitation. Didn’t miss the way that Regina’s gaze snapped back to her own. 
Didn’t miss that tiny flicker of longing in her eyes. 
They spent enough time dancing around each other for Emma to know it when she saw it. And she saw it. Plain as day. 
And that’s why she gathered up enough courage to slide her hand beneath Regina’s jacket. Over the curve of her waist. 
She let out a slow breath as the warmth seeped against her palm, eyes fluttering shut. 
Her thumb brushed over the smooth fabric of Regina’s shirt, and in the stillness of the night, Emma caught the tiniest hum that racked up Regina’s throat. It was enough to prompt her to open her eyes. Because she needed to know if Regina was looking at her the way that Emma wanted her to, the way that she used to. She needed to know. 
Emma startled, shoving herself back against the tree. Because Regina had gotten close, so close. Too close. And Emma could feel her soft breath washing over her cheeks. Could smell her perfume, still perfectly placed, even after the long trek here. And a battle. 
And Regina was leaning in, leaning up on her toes. Closer, closer.  
Emma would have closed her eyes if she hadn’t been so focused, so completely enamored with that little scar above Regina’s lip. The way it stretched as Regina licked her lips, smoothed them together. 
And then Regina let out the smallest, shakiest breath. And then she pressed her forehead against Emma’s. Sighed. 
Somehow, that felt more intimate that a kiss. Than a hug. Than anything Emma had been expecting. She didn’t know what she had been expecting. But she knew that this was infinitely better. 
“You’re going to be the death of me, Miss Swan,” Regina breathed. And was she…? Yes. Regina was nuzzling her forehead against her. 
But the words stuck, and Emma didn’t like them. 
“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked softly, pushing at Regina gently. Pushing her back, despite everything that screamed for her to pull her closer. “Why do you keep calling me Miss Swan?” 
Regina swallowed. Straightened. “So now I’m not allowed to say your name? It’s always infinite, pointless rules with you.” 
“I wish you would.” 
Shit. 
Shit.  
“Would what?” 
“Say my name.” She needed to stop talking. There was an inch of space between them now and she could finally breathe, and she needed to stop talking before she suffocated again. “I wish you would call me Emma… like you used to.” 
Welp. She never could trust her heart. And here it was, overriding her brain and screwing her over once again. 
Or so she thought. Until Regina didn’t push her away and tell her off. Until Regina didn’t laugh in her face and call her a stupid child. 
Until Regina stared her down, jaw working and nostrils flaring with deliberate breaths. Eyes searching. 
Until Regina swallowed around whatever she was about to say. Squeezed her hands into fists. And breathed Emma’s name out on a ragged exhale. 
It did something, that breath. Emma didn’t quite know what it was, but it set something hot pooling through her veins and something spiky constricting around her heart. 
And if she thought she couldn’t breathe then, the air got kicked out of her again as Regina repeated it. Firmer this time. 
“Emma…” 
She stepped closer. Pressed in. Pinned Emma against that stupid fucking tree. 
And Emma could have sworn she saw Regina’s hand shaking as she smoothed it over Emma’s shoulder. Slid it down to her waist. Squeezed. 
“Emma,” she breathed, and it almost sounded like a plea. 
Her breath was heavy now. Emma could see her chest heaving under her shirt. Could feel the tiny, fast puffs of it against her lips. But most of all— 
Most of all, Emma could feel that energy coming off of her. Crackling and sizzling and hot. Pounding through the thick of the air and pulling Emma in, in, in. Making every atom inside of her vibrate with a want that she couldn’t describe. Didn’t understand. All she understood was Regina. All she could comprehend was Regina. Their breathing syncing, their heartbeats thudding together. 
And she didn’t know why it got like this, why the need rang out this loud. Why Emma’s body responded to Regina’s like this. She knew it wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t a curse. She didn’t know if it was their magic, having its own conversation and yanking them together, or if it was just Regina herself, Emma’s body ready and waiting to worship her like the goddess she was. 
It wouldn’t take much now, just the smallest tilt of her chin. The tiniest shift. And Emma could do that. She could absolutely do that. But so could Regina. And she wasn’t. And Emma didn’t know if she was debating, what she was waiting for, when she had Emma literally pinned and at her mercy— 
Regina’s hand tightened, nails digging in. 
“Someone’s here.” 
And then the moment broke, the tension shattering around Emma like her own personal wall of ice as Regina pushed away. 
She barely had time to think about how fucking ironic that was, how cold she felt in this stupid forest without Regina pressing into her. And then Regina said her name again. 
This time, it sounded like a warning. This time, it was too wary and too firm, and Emma decidedly didn’t like it coming out of Regina’s mouth when it sounded like that. When Regina had that look in her eye. 
“We should leave,” Regina tried, reaching for Emma’s arm. Her hand? God, Emma couldn’t think. All she could register was Regina pulling her off of the tree, dragging her back the way they had come. And god, how could Regina be so put together and observant after— 
“What a welcome visit, ladies.” 
The wave of cold hit Emma in the stomach, pulsing off of the snow queen and hanging rigid in the air. Keeping her pinned. Slowing her down. Regina’s hand fell from hers. 
Against everything, it burned. 
It all happened so fast after that. 
One second, it was pleasantries. Niceties. Everything was civil and Emma thought that maybe they could all actually have a proper conversation with her head screwed on straight. And then Regina’s mirror, in the wrong hands. And then those hands, lifting Regina off the ground and suffocating her. Suffocating Emma. 
Ice flying, cold air filling her lungs. A whirl of snow, and quiet descending once more on the forest. Regina huffing out a long breath. Emma reaching for her, questioning. Regina glaring back, shaking her head. And then the anger, the betrayal. That acute hurt from before that had been thrown on the back burner, evaporated to oblivion by the feel of Regina’s hand on Emma’s waist. 
It all came crashing back down at that look on Regina’s face, fully formed. A brick in her stomach. 
Like she said, it all happened so fast. Emma asked a simple question with too much hurt laced into it. And Regina bit back. Too hard. 
Emma blinked, and the next thing she knew, Regina was gone in a swirl of smoke, her words ringing low and dangerous in the air. 
“I don’t want to.” 
And so, Emma did the only thing she could do. The only thing she knew how to do. She took a deep breath, pretended that Regina’s words didn’t shatter her heart. Again. And then she went about the rest of her day, just like usual.
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hannahhook7744 · 18 days
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A Twist In Their Tales Moodboards (Revamped);
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Mal in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Carlos in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Jay in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Evie in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Uma in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Harry in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Gil in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Ben in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Chad in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Audrey in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Lonnie in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Doug in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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Jane in the Enchanted Forest and in Storybrooke.
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pirateswhore · 6 months
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Carve your name into my bedpost 🔞
one-shot drabbles written for cocktober 2023. most will be under 1k words. following the prompt list from @cs-c-ocktoberfest2023
Ch IV - Secret Relationship : Read on AO3
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happy-emmdings · 6 months
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So long, we’d become the flowers
Also on AO3
Warning: Major Character Death
Summary: Emma is forced to let Killian die instead of turning him into a Dark One in Camelot. Canon divergence, but in no way is it better.
Word count: 2 959
Author’s note: Inspired by Hozier’s song In A Week.
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This is it. Emma is about to step into a brighter future. And the man she wants to share it with gives her a soft, encouraging smile across the room. It's all she needs to shed any last shred of fear. She raises the broken sword and the dagger to join them in the light.
Then, in just one fatal second, everything goes from hopeful to horribly, horribly wrong.
"Hook, what’s wrong?”
"He's bleeding!"
The shouts instantly pull her attention away from her task, just in time for her to helplessly watch Killian stagger and fall to the ground.
The cursed blades slip from her hands, and she drops to her knees next to Killian. Terror seizes her heart as she watches him writhe in pain and desperately gasp for breath. His hand is clutching his throat and it's already coated in bright red blood that seeps through his fingers and stains the metal of his rings.
“No," Emma croaks out a broken whisper, "no, no, no."
This wasn't meant to happen. He wasn't meant to leave her. He was supposed to stay. He always stays. He's her survivor. He promised. He promised.
“Excalibur was forged to cut immortal ties. A wound from it cannot be healed.”
She can't even see the painful grimace on his face through the tears pooling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. But it's etched into her mind like a bleeding cut of her own.
She strokes his face gently and lovingly as if it could put him back together. She presses her shaking hand to his on the wound, trying to keep his life from escaping, but it slips right through her fingers. His eyes roll back into his head as he tries to rasp out a few comforting words. He's comforting her. Even now he's trying to make it easier for her. But it only makes it worse. Because God, she's gonna lose him. No. No no no. Oh, God, please no.
“Killian, you have to hold on," she begs him, grasping at the lapels of his coat until her knuckles turn white. "I can't lose you."
“It's alright," he tries to say, "Emma, it's alright."
It's not. It's the furthest thing from alright.
Her future is lying half-dead on the ground and he's as broken as the promise he made. And his face is turning as white as his lies, as all the blood slowly drains from his body. So much blood. Spilling out and drowning every last hope, painting that bright future red.
"No, please no. You have to stay," she sobs. "You have to stay. Come on, Killian. What about our future together?"
“Our future is now," he whispers in a low, tired voice between labored breaths. "Reunite the blades. So I c-can see you destroy the darkness before I g-go."
He's making a dying wish, she realizes. He's saying this is the end.
But this isn't a happy ending. This is an awful ending. This is a gruesome, blood-stained, futile tragedy.
Her true love, her future is laid down on this floor like a blood sacrifice at the altar of some foreign gods, and she has no say in it.
"No!" she cries.
"No?" Regina echoes incredulously.
"Emma, there's nothing you can do," her parents join in.
It's not true. She can save him. She will keep him. Even if it means pouring darkness into his veins and filling his head with demons. But what storm is there that they could not weather together? They can exorcise each other's demons, they can make this work.
They all plead with her not to do it. They tell her it'll come with the steepest of prices. But what price could be steeper than the one she's being forced to pay right now?
Her family is surrounding her on their knees. Her father is stroking Killian's head to comfort him as he's crying out in pain. Such tender care in their eyes, and they advocate for his death.
"I don't care what happens to me!" she argues against their pleas.
"Emma, wait."
"Please. Listen, you can't."
"Emma, your parents are right."
Killian can't even speak anymore. His eyes are clouded and distant and he's choking on his own blood.
How dare they say such things. How is this fair? After everything she's done for them. After everything Killian's done. Is he not family? Does he not deserve better than to be left for dead?
After she was promised as a sacrifice for the greater good on the day of her birth and made to bear the burden of their savior, how dare they tell her to give him up? After the risk she took for Regina and Robin, why can't she take the same risk for Killian?
"I'm not gonna lose Killian," she insists in a hoarse voice. "I won't let anyone stop me."
“No," she hears and the word pierces through her mind like a dagger and freezes her in place. The field of roses she's trying to reach in her mind is forcefully torn from her, and she remains nailed to the diner's floor.
She turns around with desperate fury in her eyes. Regina is holding out the blade with Emma's name on it. Blinding white-hot rage fills her at the sight.
“I won't let you do it, Emma," the Queen says, calm and resolute. "Let go."
Emma’s hands go slack on their own, losing their grip on Killian's leather coat. She glances at him with increasing panic in her eyes. Her heart is pounding so fast she might just die right there, immortal or not.
She's losing him. There's no time. Color is fading from his face. There's a puddle of blood around his head, soaking his ebony hair.
“What are you doing?" she barks out angrily, her voice breaking. She stares at her trembling hands.
"Saving you from making a mistake," Regina insists and her calmness sounds so infuriatingly arrogant to Emma's ears.
"No!" Emma sobs. "You don't get to do that! If you could have saved Daniel... or Robin... Look how far you were willing to go! How far you pushed me to save him! You can't do this to me!"
“I have to. You gave me the dagger, remember?"
"This isn't why I gave it to you!" she screams.
"This is exactly why you gave it to me," Regina counters.
“No! Give it to me. I take it back!"
"I'm afraid that's not happening," Regina shakes her head and takes a deep breath as she holds out the cursed blade. "I command you, Dark One, to let him go. For your own sake."
The command is final and nonnegotiable. It's a death sentence embellished with halfhearted self-righteousness. And there's nothing Emma can do against it. She might as well have her heart ripped out from her chest.
Emma wants to lunge at her but the tiniest of whimpers makes her whip her head around to look at Killian. All fight drains from her and she's left shivering with a cold dread, as her heart sinks deep into a pit in her stomach. She strokes his hair with a shaking hand and cries.
She can't even press her hand against the bleeding wound, no matter how much she wants to, because her own body refuses to obey her, as it's enslaved to the dagger's power.
Her forehead falls on his and she hugs him close, carrying them to the field of flowers in her mind.
“It's alright, Emma," he rasps out so quietly, she can barely hear him. "I don't want... to pay the price. I don't want to become t-that... It's enough... It's enough for me that... that you'll have that future."
"But that's not enough for me!" she cries desperately.
She calls upon the darkness to bring her Excalibur, but it doesn't come. The last command she was given still stands and her hands are tied. She can't do anything to save him.
She sobs into Killian's chest as it slowly ceases to rise and fall. The last thing she feels is a weak, trembling touch on the crown of her head. He uses his last drop of strength and consciousness to gently brush his fingers through her hair and then his hand falls limply at his side.
A loud, broken cry shakes Emma's entire body.
A part of her mind - that feels distant and separated, as if floating above her - is faintly aware of the birds chirping in the background and the rustling leaves, the sun on her skin and the sweet smell of flowers. They're back in the field of roses. Just the two of them...
She reaches for his hand, intertwines her fingers with his and pulls their joined hands close to her chest, over her beating heart. She keeps her eyes closed and snuggles into his side as if they're lying in bed together, in a home they share, in the house he picked.
But he is completely silent. Completely still. She can't steady her breath and he has lost his completely.
She'll never hear him snore. She'll never hear him laugh again. She'll never hear him say just the thing, she needs to hear when no one else gets it.
She wishes he would just say something so desperately, that it hurts.
"Say something, Killian," she whimpers into his shoulder and clutches his hand tighter. "Don't leave me like this."
Silence.
“Come back," she pleads quietly and strokes his face, smearing blood on his cadaverous skin. "Please, Killian."
Birds. Leaves. Breeze.
"You said you were a survivor. You said I didn't have to worry about you."
Not even a sigh.
“Liar," she sobs and holds him closer. "You're such a fucking liar."
They lie there. Like two bodies in a grave.
She can feel him slowly growing colder.
She knows that if she doesn’t get up now, she’ll just bury herself alive next to him. But she has to hide in the meadow, because he has taken off her armor and she can’t remember where it went.
At one point she rolls onto her back to lie at his side and keeps holding his hand, mirroring the way they lay in this exact same spot only a week ago. Maybe they just fell asleep there. Maybe she'll wake up to him snoring quietly next to her. Maybe she'll wake up and his hand will be warm again. Maybe he'll wake her with a sweet kiss and a playful tickle. Maybe she'll open her eyes to see him smiling down at her.
Slowly, she almost drifts off to a light slumber for the first time since she appeared in this godforsaken kingdom. But she can't.
The silence is deafening and the cold is seeping into her bones and the setting sun can't seem to warm her up.
And he's gone. And she's holding a corpse.
***
It takes almost an hour before they find her. They're all devastated and worried sick, but when Regina goes to summon Emma back, David stops her. He saw the look in Emma's eyes when she was controlled with it. They can't do it to her again. Especially not right now.
Henry doesn't say a word. He walks away to sit in a booth by himself, buries his face in his hands and cries quietly. Regina goes to comfort him, but he shrugs her hand off his shoulder.
When he raises his head up, they catch him staring blankly at the puddle of blood left behind on the floor. Someone quickly mops it up. Henry's eyes don't move from the spot.
The sun was just starting to set, when Emma disappeared with Killian. Now, the sky is slowly turning darker and a pink glow bleeds into the horizon.
"Where has she gone?" Snow asks anxiously after a long, stunned silence.
“How would I know?" Regina throws her hands up.
“We should go find her," Snow insists.
“Well, I could just summon her," Regina grumbles, waving her hand with the dagger.
“We said no," David frowns.
"Can you use the dagger to take us to her?" Snow asks.
"I think so," Regina nods.
The three of them glance anxiously at Henry. No words need to be spoken for them to agree that whatever state they'll find his mother in, he should not be there to witness it.
"Henry," Regina approaches him gently, keeping her voice low and comforting. "We're gonna find Emma, okay? We'll be right back, just stay here."
Her son nods slowly and looks at her with raw and unfocused eyes. Finally, he lets her hug him.
Regina doesn't look like she wants to leave but Emma's parents insist. So, she commands the Dark One to take them to her.
They're carried to a place far too beautiful for the sad occasion. In the dimness of dusk, pink petals of a myriad of flowers appear to shine in the dark tall grass, almost like fallen stars. In the midst of all that beauty, they see a chilling vision.
A couple lies in the grass, hand in hand. From a distance it looks like they are sleeping. But the pirate's skin is too pale and his cheeks are sunken and their joined hands are covered in dried blood.
Emma stirs and slowly sits up, when they begin to approach her. There are dried tear tracks on her face and her eyes are red from crying, but the look in her eyes is blank. She puts Hook's head into her lap and gently caresses his face with her knuckles.
David gulps, but he can't tear his eyes away. Snow sobs and covers her face. Regina just stares.
"Emma..." David starts carefully.
She looks at them and pouts, pulling the pirate's lifeless body closer to her chest as if to protect him.
"What are you doing?" Regina asks wearily. There's sympathy in her eyes but not patience.
Emma's eyes land on the dagger in the Queen's hand, and she looks at her in a way that makes even Regina's blood freeze.
"Why did you do this?!" Emma hisses and they all flinch. She doesn't sound like herself at all. "I could have saved him."
"We came here to get rid of the Dark One's curse, not multiply it," Regina crosses her arms. "The whole point was to save you."
"I don't feel saved," Emma spits. "Don't you get it? No one saves the Savior. I just keep paying the price. The price of your curse. Your bullshit."
“This isn't my fault!" Regina argues. "I didn't even have to bother coming here!"
“Maybe you shouldn't have," Emma frowns. "I never should have given you that damn dagger!"
"Emma, please," Snow whispers softly. "Killian wouldn't want to become the Dark One. He spent a lifetime trying to destroy him."
"Come with us, Emma," David pleads. "You can't stay here like this. He's-"
The rest of the sentence dies on his lips. He can't bring himself to say it out loud.
Emma buries her face in Killian's hair and a quiet sob shakes her frame.
Regina pulls out the dagger again.
"Don't make me make you," she sighs.
Emma looks up slowly. Her eyes are sunken, raw and dangerous.
"Regina, stop," Snow interferes with a hint of guilt visible on her face.
"We won't force you to do anything, honey," she turns to her daughter. "But please, come with us."
“For Hook, Emma," David pleads. "You can honor him by destroying the Dark One. Once and for all."
"I am the Dark One," she rasps blankly.
"Don't be stupid, Emma. Are you planning to spend eternity here? Because I don’t think these flowers will drown out the smell," Regina lectures her, ignoring the flare of anger in Emma's eyes. "Finish what you started. Unite the blades and end this."
Emma swallows a broken sob and glances down at the man in her arms - the body in her arms. 
There is something absolutely chilling about the way her face goes blank when she finally looks up. Her eyes are vacant and it looks like she's staring right through them. 
No, she isn't looking at them at all. A chill creeps up their spines with a paranoid feeling that something sinister is standing right behind them, staring back into Emma's eyes.
"Alright," she says calmly, her voice raspy and hollow. "I will. Give me the dagger then."
All their eyes are drawn to the wavy blade. Regina hesitates and tightens her hold on the hilt.
Emma raises her eyebrows and somewhere between the lines it feels like a threat. All the while, she continues to run her blood-stained fingers through Killian's hair.
It may just be the dusk playing tricks on them, but they could swear her hair is a shade paler than it used to be and her skin sparkles ever so slightly. Her eyes are unfocused and her smirk is sharp.
"What?" she asks coldly. "Are you afraid of me?"
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swanimagines · 1 month
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PRICE OF LOVE | JEFFERSON
Summary: Imagine being Jefferson's wife and working in a little tea shop in Storybrooke during the curse that Jefferson visits every day because he wants to see you.
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There you were again. Smiling at customers, making small talk and looking as beautiful as ever. Jefferson swallowed, before forcing a small smile on his face and walked to the counter. You turned around to see him and your smile just grew wider.
"Hi Mr. Jefferson! Your usual?"
Jefferson nodded. "Yes please."
You turned around again to brew his tea, and just like yesterday, and the day before that, and that, and that, he felt a sting in his heart. You had been in love back in the Enchanted Forest, you were his wife, but now you didn't even remember him. The pain was unbearable. He wanted to say something, anything which could make you remember, but nothing came out of his mouth. Anything he would say would just push you away because you'd think he's gone bonkers. Mad as a hatter. So all he could do was stare into your beautiful eyes and think about how much he loved you, how trapped he was with all the memories of you, him and Grace, living happily in the Enchanted Forest. How you'd always come by his bed to serve him his morning tea and you'd always kiss him before he'd take the cup. Your smile made his day before he even got out of the bed, you had been so happy.
"Here's your tea," you snapped him out of his thoughts as you pushed a cup in front of him. "That makes-"
Jefferson nodded before you even finished, forcing a smile on his face again and handed you fifty dollars. "You don't have to say the price, I will always tip my favorite tea shop keeper who makes the best tea."
"You're always so kind, Mr. Jefferson," you said with another small smile and put the money into the counter. "I don't know what did I do to deserve such kindness."
He smiled at you a little wider. "You have done nothing in particular, really. Just being yourself."
You smiled at that, looking downwards, clearly flustered by his words. Then the bell rang as the door opened, and Jefferson glanced over his shoulder, seeing Regina and his smile immediately faltered. She came inside and stood beside him, smiling at you with feigned sweetness.
"I'd like some tea on the go," she said and you nodded.
"Of course, Madam Mayor. What kind of tea would you like?" you asked, gesturing towards the menu above you.
"A large chai latte," Regina told you without even looking at the menu. "And make sure it's extra hot."
"Of course," you said and made her drink, pushing it towards her. "That makes two fifty."
Regina dug her purse for a moment before giving you a few coins. Then she turned towards Jefferson. "You, with me."
Jefferson clenched his jaw, but complied, following Regina out. They walked for a little bit, before he scoffed.
"I didn't know you like chai latte, Mrs. Mayor. Pitch black tea fits more of your style."
"And I didn't know I gave you a permission to seduce her," Regina sighed. "She has a new life now, Jefferson. You have to stay out of it, or something bad might happen."
Jefferson didn't reply to that, knowing that arguing about it wouldn't change anything. He just kept quiet and followed Regina until he could turn towards his mansion. But despite Regina's warning, he knew that he'd be in your shop again tomorrow. He just had to see you, he had to see you smile, to know you're alright. He wanted to keep making you smile with his words - maybe you'd even fall in love with him again. 
He knew it all was wishful thinking, but he couldn't help but feel hopeful about it every time he saw you. Maybe it was stupid, but it kept him sane around this madness…
---
Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)
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cosette141 · 1 year
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While You Weren't Sleeping | OUAT fanfic oneshot
Author: cosette141
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Pairing: Captain Swan
Words: 1.2k
Summary: Emma learns that Hook was a little less unconscious after their fight in the Enchanted Forest than he’d led her to believe. (tag to s3 ep The Jolly Roger)
AO3
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(story under the cut!)
a/n: I personally still think that the s2 fight between Emma and Hook could have gone either way (one theory being that Emma actually won because Hook was being cocky, the other (more popular one) being Hook threw the fight because he didn’t want to hurt Emma).
I’m all for girl power so I love the idea of Emma having actually gotten the upper hand cause he was flirting too much lol and underestimated that Emma is a scrappy badass.
But this little story came along with the other theory, because I caught something Hook said in season 3. He tells Emma “Magic is a part of you, Swan. Don’t forget; I was there when Cora tried to steal your heart. I saw the power inside of you.” So, either this is a writing mistake, since he was supposed to be unconscious… or it was Hook’s flub, outing himself.
For the sake of this story, we’re going with the idea that Hook threw the fight, but I love both theories. :)
She found him where she knew she would; by the docks. And ever since seeing him again, though it’s been weeks since he woke her up in New York, she still felt a… something stir inside her at the sight of him. Something she’d felt at the town line, that might have prompted her to do something if they had been the only two people there. 
But that was a long time ago.
And everything after Walsh…
She knew she had… feelings… for Hook—Killian. 
However she didn’t yet know what to do about them. 
“Hey,” said Emma, trying to ignore that feeling when he looked her way. “I need you to watch Henry again.”
Hook grinned, but it was still a softer one than he used to have. 
Like this smile was one just for her. 
“If you wanted to get close to me, no need to use the lad as an excuse,” said Hook, smirking a little.
Emma very nearly rolled her eyes. “I’m not.” At least not entirely. “Regina is giving me a magic lesson,” she explained. “We think that the both of us combined should be strong enough to overpower Zelena.”
His features shifted into one of a little relief. “That’s about the best plan we’ve got yet.” he said with a grin.
“Yeah,” said Emma, biting her lip, feeling a little less confident than he seemed to feel about her. She had no idea how to handle her magic and she wasn’t sure one lesson was going to change that. 
“Don’t worry, Swan.” he said, the cunning slipping out of his expression, the look in his eyes shifting to something much more genuine. “Remember,” he said gently, “Magic is a part of you, Swan. Don’t forget I was there when Cora tried to steal your heart.” A change in his eyes, something like pride, like confidence , in her . “I saw the power inside of you.”
Emma smiled, a little heat touching her cheeks at the faith he had in her, nodding at his reassurance. Her magic was powerful, and that reminder did give her a little newfound faith in herself . 
But her expression halted, something shifting in her eyes, and then her eyes snapped back to his. 
Suspiciously. 
“How do you know that?” she asked, eyes locked onto his. “Cora told you?”
“She didn’t have to,” he said, his own brows kneading with genuine puzzlement. “I was there.” 
No…
“As I recall,” she said slowly, brows narrowing, “you were unconscious .” 
“I—“ It was only then he seemed to understand the direction her interrogation was heading, and he froze. Swallowing, he scratched behind his ear, saying, “—aye, yes, I was.”
He didn’t .
“Then how did you know I used magic to stop Cora?” she demanded, brow hitching up sharply. 
Hook swallowed again, eyes shifting to the ground before meeting hers. 
Lie.
Emma felt something heat up her chest. 
He did not .
“I—er, it only makes sense that’s how you—“ 
“ Hook .”
His eyes found hers. 
And then…
He grinned .
Like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t have. 
Emma’s jaw dropped. 
“I knocked you out!” she hissed.
“You knocked me down ,” he corrected, that amused grin lifting his lips into a crooked smile, and Emma suddenly wanted to smack it off. 
“Are you saying you let me win? ” growled Emma, voice hitching up an octave. 
“I’m saying,” he said, “I didn’t duck when you swung the compass at my head.”
Emma gaped at him. 
But it was there in his eyes. 
His stupid, cocky eyes. 
“I knocked you out,” whispered Emma. “You were being a cocky bastard, and I knocked you out .”
Hook winced a little. “I’ll admit to being the cocky bastard, but you know as well as I do that you didn’t.”
Emma stared him down, and he let her, and damnit he wasn’t lying. 
“But—“ began Emma.
“Swan,” he said, a little exasperatedly, “unless you’ve forgotten, I am a few centuries old. I’ve been a swordsman for hundreds of years, and you’d been one for all of five minutes.” At her narrowed eyes, he said, “Though I’ll admit, I did have quite the headache afterward.” 
Emma felt anger and a thread of humiliation course through her. 
He let her win?
He let her win?
She’d prided herself on that victory.
But something else snuck into her mind, a question that suddenly wouldn’t let her go.
She raised her eyes to Hook. “Why?”
The amusement slipped from his face. “What do you mean why?”
Emma’s anger faded. “I mean,” she said quietly, “why’d you let me win? It’s not like we were on the same side.”
His brows rose. “Emma,” he said, and it always shot a little chill down her spine when he chose to use her first name. “ Winning that fight would have meant either severely injuring or killing you.”
“So?”
He blinked. “What?”
“So?” repeated Emma. “At that point you were ‘done with me.’” She watched Hook wince at the words, and she suddenly realized he must have regretted saying them to her. “You risked your mission and Cora’s wrath for me? Why?”   
Hook hesitated. 
And Emma would never get over how strange, how rare it was to see him unsure. 
But he smiled, something soft, and he shifted her hair with his hook, like he’d done on the beanstalk. “Because I was never done with you, love.” Taking a breath, he said, “I still had the last Bean. I knew Cora and I could use it to get here, and you deserved to return to your son. I… simply couldn’t bring myself to prevent you.” He scratched behind his ear again. “And, love, I…” He swallowed. “I do apologize for the way I spoke to you that day.”
There was a touch of anguish in his eyes, and Emma found herself smiling. “You let me clock you in the face with a compass,” she said. “I think we’re even.”
He smiled too.
His eyes on her, he said, “Rest assured, love, that you are the strongest person I know.”
Emma rolled her eyes. 
His expression didn’t change. “I’m not placating you, Emma,” he said with a sort of gentle firmness. “I may have given you that fight that day, but Cora didn’t.” Emma felt herself pause, realizing that. “No one,” Hook went on, “in any of the realms had been able to defeat her, myself, Regina and the bloody Crocodile included.” He smiled. “So, trust me when I say that I’ve still yet to see you fail, and I know you will defeat Zelena.”
Emma felt herself smile. “Thanks, Killian.”  she said softly. 
Hook smiled too, something even warmer. Because Henry was nowhere in earshot, and she used his name.
Because she was also realizing that he had been the first person, other than perhaps Henry, to believe in her.
And before she could think twice about it, throwing a look over her shoulder to make sure Henry wasn’t looking their way, Emma stepped toward him, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
He stared at her in utter shock.
Breezing past it, trying to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks, Emma said, “So you’ll watch Henry?”
He looked like he was torn from a daze. Shaking himself from it, he said, “Ah—aye, of course.” 
“Thanks,” she whispered. She turned to get Henry, when Hook said, “Emma.”
She turned. 
“I’d be open to a rematch,” he said, that grin back at his lips.
Emma smiled. “I would, too.”    
Hook grinned. 
She left Henry with Hook, then walked away, heading toward her magic lesson with Regina. 
And found that she might be open to more than just a rematch.
tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree @eddisfargo @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @cs-rylie @elfiola
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Text
Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee | Strike Out
Chapter Fifteen | Masterlist
Summary: You recently moved to Storybrooke and began working the morning shift at Granny’s diner. Meanwhile, Killian Jones has been working the night shift on the docks of Storybrooke for years. When his routine gets turned upside down, he begins to understand the simple joy brought by an early cup of coffee, as long as you’re the one pouring it.
Pairing: Killian Jones x Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1.5K
Extras: Playlist – A playlist for two idiots in love: a gruff outcast who hates coffee but now drinks it every morning because the waitress at the diner keeps smiling at him as they pour it.
Author’s Note: Decided to use my day off to work on a little holiday update for Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee. I'm actually really happy with how this one came out. Happy Holidays friends, I hope this brings you a little bit of joy! Also, I know some of my tags have been acting funky so let me know if they worked this time. Idk if it's just tumblr being weird or something on my end, but I'll try to fix it as best I can.
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“You made it!” 
You let out a laugh as you’re tackled by a hug from Henry. You’re glad the game hasn’t started yet. After finishing your shift, you moved as quickly as you could to the school in hopes of catching Henry before the game began. 
“Of course I did!”
Henry pulls away and moves back to Regina’s side, who he was talking to before you arrived. You’ve met Regina before. She’s not quite a regular at the diner like Killian, Emma, and David, but she has come in a few times with Henry to grab dinner.
“Thank you for coming. Henry was so excited when you said you’d be here. He couldn’t stop talking about it all week.”
Henry’s face flushes as Regina speaks. He immediately crosses his arms over his chest, defiantly. 
“I did not!”
Luckily, he’s saved from further embarrassment as his coach calls him over to his team’s bench leaving you and Regina in awkward silence. Every time you’ve interacted with the mayor, Henry has been there to facilitate conversation. You shift on your feet and Regina seems to notice immediately.
“Emma, David, and Mary are already in the stands.”
She motions behind her and you give her a thankful nod before moving in that direction. It seems like the whole town has come out to watch the game today. The stands are packed with familiar faces from the diner who smile at you as you pass by. Eventually, you spot Emma in the crowd. She smiles at you as you make your way over and nudges Killian with her shoulder who is sitting beside her on the edge of the bleachers. 
Killian’s dark locks are covered by a light blue baseball cap that perfectly matches the t-shirt he’s wearing. You recognize the logo on both immediately as it’s the mascot for Henry’s team -- the Storybrooke Knights. It’s a stark contrast from his usual dark attire, but you have to admit that it’s undeniably cute how much he supports Henry. 
After receiving hugs from David and Mary, Emma slides toward her parents and lets you take a seat between Killian and herself.
“You guys are making me feel left out here!”
You complain to Emma while motioning toward her shirt which has the same suit of armor depicted on Killian’s. Emma lets out a laugh before placing a hand on your shoulder. 
“Don’t worry about it, Henry’s just excited you’re able to make it.”
Wordlessly, Killian takes off the baseball cap he was wearing and places it gently on your head. You pull your attention away from Emma and look at him. He’s already looking at you and you attempt to hide the way your face flushes due to the tenderness in Killian’s actions.
“Can’t have anybody thinking you’re rooting for the other team.”
You playfully roll your eyes at the man and bump his shoulder with yours, earning a hearty laugh from Killian in response. 
Henry’s team ends up winning by a landslide in their first game of the season and the town is loud with their celebration. Emma invites you and Killian to ice cream, but you both decline, deciding that it’s more of a family affair. She gives you a hug before heading toward Henry and her parents, leaving just you and Killian together. Before you can ask him what he wants to do with the rest of the day, he slugs an arm around your shoulders and pulls you toward the direction of your bench by the docks. You smile and wrap an arm around his waist
You’re both mesmerized by the movement of the crashing waves. Usually, you find yourself at this bench with Killian late in the evening after the sun had already set. You haven’t had a chance to simply bask in the beauty of the ocean, as you’ve been so distracted by the night sky.
The silence between you and Killian is comfortable. You could spend hours just sitting here with him. However, a single thought has been bothering you incessantly over the last couple of days and you know you need to talk to Killian about it before you think yourself to death. 
“Killian?”
He hums in response next to you, not even bothering to turn his head. You’ve placed the baseball cap back on his head. A few strands of midnight black locks poke out from the hat, making him look younger than usual. Typically, Killian Jones exudes a gruff and weathered demeanor, but right now, bathed in sunset hues, he seems almost youthful in appearance. 
“Can I ask you something?”
Killian turns his head toward you. His features are flooded with concern: brow furrowed and jaw tight. Before speaking, his eyes roam over your face briefly, trying to get a read on you.
“Anything, love.”
“Are you happy?”
Killian’s expression quickly shifts into confusion. 
“What?”
You simply repeat your question, ignoring that you can practically hear your heart pounding in your chest. Killian leans back further into the bench as he takes a minute to genuinely think about your question. If Dr. Hopper asked him, Killian already has a bullshit answer ready. He’s good at that -- knowing exactly what to say to appease those around him. It’s a skill he picked up during those years running with Liam and his gang. But he’s not talking to Dr. Hopper or Liam. 
No, he’s talking to you. And he won’t bullshit you.
Killian supposes he should be happy. He’s got it pretty good here in Storybrooke -- a paying job and a decent place to call home. There have been times that he’s certainly had it far worse. He still refuses to think back to those lonely nights he spent locked up, wondering if he’d even have a life when he finally got out of there. He knows he should just be thankful for everything he’s been given and earned after his release, even if it isn’t the life he dreamed of when he was a younger man. Still, there is this thought in the back of his head that continues to gnaw at him: is this it? The thought terrifies him to his core; however, if there is one thing that does make him content with the life he’s created, it’s the people who he cares for -- David, Emma, Mary, Henry, little Neal, Herc, you. 
So, to answer your question, Killian simply shrugs his shoulders.
“I guess. Nothing to complain about, I suppose.”
You nod at his words. He’s not sure if that’s the answer you wanted, but it’s as truthful as he can be. 
“Why do you ask?”
The ghost of a smile pulls at your lips as you think back to the conversation you had with Henry. You decide to take a page out of Henry’s book and be brazen. 
“It’s just something Henry said earlier this week. He said that you’ve seemed happier since you met me.”
A smile spreads across Killian’s face as you speak. The boy certainly takes after his grandfather in one way: he can read Killian like a goddamn picture book. Henry may be young, but his intuition is far beyond his years. 
“Well, love, the young lad isn’t wrong.” 
Your grin widens as a flush creeps up your face. You reach out and place your hand on Killian’s -- your silent way of telling him that you’re happier because of him too. Before you have a chance to pull your hand back, Killian flips his over and laces his fingers with yours. Your face flushes entirely as you look at your intertwined hands. Eventually, you shift your gaze to Killian’s face and find that he is already looking at you. Your breath catches in your throat. No one has ever looked at you with such adoration before. You watch as Killian’s gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. Deciding to continue your sudden boldness, you lean in first. Killian happily takes your lead. You close your eyes in anticipation, but, before Killian can get any closer, his phone begins ringing.
You swear you hear Killian growl as he pulls away from your orbit and pulls his phone out of his pocket. As Killian answers the call, you let out the breath you were holding. You know he’s frustrated -- his tone is short and his jaw is clenched. Without thinking, you intertwine your fingers with his again. His posture immediately relaxes at the sudden physical contact. He turns and gives you an apologetic look. You simply squeeze his hand in response, before letting go as he hangs up. Killian lets out a long sigh before speaking. 
“That was Herc. We’re getting a big shipment tonight and they need an extra man at the docks to help out.”
You nod, trying to hide your disappointment; however, it is written all over your face. Killian frowns at the sight. 
“I’m sorry I have to go, princess.”
“It’s okay. Herc needs you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And with that, just as quick as it began, the moment was gone.
Tags: @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @alexa-fangirl-forever @mossnomori @captainamericasinnocence @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @ceruleanrainblues @lily-d247 @victoria-a567 @drinkfantasy @thisismelayla @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @rinymichelle321 @aesteticthotiere @popcrone818 @helplesslydevoted @limelightliterature @unlikelyandrogynousghost @theslytherinwriter
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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 7 months
Text
For You I Would Crawl (1/1)
AO3 Summary: Emma has a nightmare.
Tagging: @anmylica, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert
Author Note: Another fic brought to you by a song.
Emma looked pale under the flickering blue light coming from the television screen as it continued to play the programme she played before drifting to sleep. Killian slowly and gently removed the clicker from Emma’s grasp, holding his breath to keep his hand steady. Once he’d freed the device, he lowered the volume so she could continue resting. His attention strayed quickly from the absurd antics of the people on the screen to the stunning woman lying in his lap. 
Sleep had relaxed her features into an expression that made her look younger, almost childish. He marvelled, once again, that he was the man with whom she had chosen to share quiet moments like this one. Even after a few years of marriage, he was still astounded that he had somehow earned the honour of her trust and was permitted access to the achingly beautiful vulnerabilities his swan kept tucked away. The way she softened so completely in her sleep, the way she always curled onto her left side once she’d fallen asleep and the sigh she made once she finally crossed into the lands of Morpheus were tightly guarded secrets shared with no other living soul. 
Her face scrunched up tight and she mumbled lowly in her sleep. Killian smoothed the crease that was deepening between her eyebrows. “I’m here, love. You’re safe,” he spoke lowly, more of a rumble in his chest, trying to ease the concern on her features without waking her. 
“Don’t go,” she whimpered. Killian froze, his heart breaking at the pain and loss that even sleep could not keep from her voice. 
“Killian?” Her pleas tore his heart into more pieces, “No, please, Killian.”
“Love, I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured into her ear. He begged the universe, the gods, Morpheus - if he were real, to let her hear his words, to allow her that small comfort. 
When she cried out again, he decided that he could not allow this to continue any longer. He hauled her up so that she was resting on his chest and gently nudged her with the curve of his hook until her eyes slowly cracked open. Her gaze was unfocused, the dream still playing behind them. 
“You were dreaming, love.”
“I lost you. You were swallowed by the storm.” Her voice was quiet and woven with sleep and the desperation left by her nightmare. He rubbed his thumb soothingly along her cheek, lifting her head gently to catch her gaze.
“Emma, love, I am a better captain than that,” he reassured her gently with a crooked smile on his lips. Emma nodded, but her features were still haunted by whatever awful images her mind had conjured in her sleep. “I’ve faced many a storm and outrun curses,” he added as evidence to his previous claim. 
“I know,” she sighed and rested her head heavily on his chest. “I know,” she said again but it sounded like she actually believed her words this time. She nestled into his chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. 
“If a storm ever did pull us apart, I would find my way back to you. Your presence tugs at my heart with more clarity than even the stars can match. Nothing could keep me from you. I would crawl back to you, Swan, if I were unable to walk. I would not rest until you were back in my arms.
“If you wished it, I would find a way to join you in your dreams and keep you safe even there. Don’t you know? There is nothing I would not do for you, Swan. No place that I would not go. No torment that I would not endure.” 
Her sweet sigh drifted up to him moments later as she returned to the shores of the dreaming. 
He pressed a kiss onto her temple. “Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll keep the nightmares away.”
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