#rum and wagers
Text
Rum and Wagers
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Rum is much cheaper
Than dinner for two
Especially when your best friend co-owns a bar and gives it you for nothing.
Single on Valentine’s Day, Emma goes to bartender and best friend, Killian, for alcohol and advice on how not to be single for next Valentine’s Day.
3050 words of Valentine's Day fluff.
Read on Ao3
“I hate Valentine’s Day! It’s nothing but a huge corporate scam!”
Emma huffed as she reached the bar. She grabbed the cheap, cardboard, heart-shaped beer mats and flung them across the room onto a vacant table, as far away from her as she could possibly get them. She dropped onto a barstool, rested her elbow on the bar and leaned her face against her fist.
Killian stood behind the bar, tea towel in hand, drying off recently washed glasses. He raised an eyebrow, watching her in amusement, and failed to hold back a chuckle.
“You were all over Valentine’s Day last year,” he recalled. “In fact, I distinctly remember being the one to watch over your lad whilst you want off to some swanky five-star hotel with the twat-that-shall-not-be-named.”
“Because you were and still are depressingly single and now I’m in the same damn boat,” Emma groaned. “I can’t believe I’m single on Valentine’s Day.”
“Well, you know what they say, love. Roses are red, violets are blue-”
“Oh, no.”
“Rum is much cheaper than dinner for two,” he finished with a grin, brandishing a brand-new, untouched bottle of rum from beneath the bar. “Especially when your best friend co-owns a bar and gives it you for nothing.”
He retrieved two rum glasses and set them on the bar, promptly uncapping the bottle and pouring the liquid into both glasses. Emma chuckles as he went overboard on the measures. He always knew when she was looking to get drunk.
He set the bottle down and reached out for one of the glasses.
She looked at him curiously, “Drinking on the job?”
He lifted his glass and gestured around the empty bar with it, “I realise you’re caught up in your moping, Swan, but it’s utterly dead in here. The Rabbit Hole isn’t exactly the hotspot for a romantic Valentine’s Day date.”
Emma sighed as she picked up her glass, “Are you saying we’re the only two single people in Storybrooke?”
“Well, the only two sociable single people at any least,” Killian remarked. “So, cheers to that.”
They clinked their glasses together then simultaneously necked the entirety of their contents, placing the empty glasses back down on the bar with a light, synchronised thud.
“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, Neal is just as single as you are,” Killian pointed out.
“So much for not naming him,” Emma muttered. “And I don’t know about that. I’ve heard the rumours about him cosying up to Tamara.”
“Ah, you’ve caught that then?”
Killian picked up the rum bottle again, pouring out more alcohol.
“I mean, it’s fast, right? What’s it been, a month? Is it even a month? That doesn’t add up, does it?” Emma questioned.
Killian opted not to answer, instead taking one good, long swig of his rum.
“This is the part where you tell me he wouldn’t have cheated on me,” Emma prompted.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you that, Swan,” Killian replied. “Unfortunately, I believe the prick is more than capable of disrespecting you like that.”
Emma happily took the second drink waiting for her.
“You deserve better than Cassidy, love,” Killian told her. “I hope you realise that.”
“And you tried to tell me that all along,” Emma spoke with a long, regretful sigh. “Why the hell didn’t I listen to you?”
“I’m both your bartender and your best friend,” Killian pointed out. “I exist to listen to all your problems and give you astonishingly good advice that you’ll inevitably ignore.”
“Maybe it’s time we change that,” Emma proposed. “So how do I avoid being single by next Valentine’s Day?”
Killian paused, brow furrowing as he considered, and then shook his head, “Maybe it’s best we don’t mess with the trusted, old-age system of you electing to ignore my advice?”
“Oh, come on! Don’t hold out on me now! Not when I’m finally ready to listen to you,” she encouraged.
She finished her drink and promptly took matters into her own hands, leaning over the bar to pick up the bottle of rum and pour out her latest drink.
He hastily grabbed the bottle out of her hands, stopping her from pouring any further. The contents of her glass threatened to spill over the brim, forcing her to lean forwards and sip some from it before she was able to lift it without spilling any. Killian placed the bottle to the back of the bar, out of her reach but still well within his.
His own glass would need topping up soon enough.
“You do realise, Swan, that you’re asking dating advice from a guy who is, and I’ll quote, ‘pathetically unacquainted with the dating world of the twenty-first century’?” he challenged, his arms folded across his chest, a bemused smirk meeting his gleaming blue eyes.
Emma took a swig of her drink and frowned, “Someone said that about you? I mean, they’re not exactly wrong; I don’t think you have dated anyone since high school and we graduated in oh-one. Of course, I know you had that weird friends-with-benefits kind of set-up with Tink in college but that hardly counts as dating. Anyway, I digress… who, who said that about you?”
“You did.”
“I did?”
“Aye.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Ooohhh,” Emma drew out upon vaguely recalling the conversation. “In my defense, I was very drunk last night.”
“Mmm,” Killian hummed as he finished his drink and began topping it up. “It appears tonight is headed in a similar direction.”
“What else is there to do when you’re single on Valentine’s Day? Which reminds me, you’re holding out on me,” Emma downed a good chunk of her drink and pointed at him with her glass. “This astonishingly good advice you spoke of earlier, put your money where your mouth is and hit me with it.”
“On this, I’m none the wiser, else I wouldn’t be single myself, would I?” he reasoned with her.
He proceeded to take a big gulp of his drink, lowered it from his lips, then promptly decided to take another large swig.
“Well, you’re no help! I’ll have to work it out for myself, won’t I? The way I see it, I’ve got a few options,” Emma mused. “So, single men of Storybrooke… there’s Gold-”
Killian broke into a hard burst of laughter which almost caused him to choke on his drink, “Your ex’s father? You’ve gotta be bloody joking!”
“If you let me finish, I was about to rule him out,” Emma returned. “How desperate do you think I am?”
“Not desperate at all,” Killian responded immediately, “which is exactly why your list of single men in Storybrooke goes as follows; Leroy’s not your type, Sidney’s ruled out after you punched him in the jaw, Whale’s… well, Whale, Graham – if I recall correctly – was a fling way back when and nothing else, and August was friend-zoned after the first drink, the poor sod.”
“And your list of single women in Storybrooke goes; Belle who punched you in the jaw-”
“That was a huge misunderstanding, and you know it, Swan!”
“Zelena who, well, good luck to you if you go down that road, and Lily who can’t hold a serious relationship to save her life,” Emma recounted. “So, what are we to do, Killian? We can’t be doomed to be single forever.”
He hastily downed the contents of his glass and poured himself a healthy refill, even topping her glass up despite it not even being half-empty. He took another big gulp of his rum then set it down. He scratched the back of his neck, and his jaw twitched as he finally looked her way again.
She stared at him expectantly and, when he remained silent, prompted, “What?”
“What?” he returned.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He downed his refill of rum then dared to innocently question, “What?”
“You’ve just shipped a boat load of liquid courage,” she pointed out, “and you’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look? I don’t have a look.”
“You do have a look! Your eyes are all narrowed, you’re frowning, your jaw keeps twitching and you’re scratching your neck like a cat with fleas,” she challenged him. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say but it’ll make things worse’ look.”
Killian gave up on the glasses, gulping down the rum straight from the bottle. He set the near-empty bottle on top of the bar. Between them, they’d made light work of its contents.
He eventually spoke, “In all our discussions about your options in the last month, there’s one eligible guy in Storybrooke that you’ve yet to consider.”
“Really?” Emma sounded unconvinced. “It’s a small town. Single guys around here are hard to come by. I thought we had them all covered. Sidney, Leroy, Whale, Graham, August… who am I missing?”
The dregs at the bottom of the rum bottle were coaxed down Killian’s throat.
“Me.”
The empty bottle hit the bar with a resounding thud.
Emma laughed.
“I’m entirely serious, Swan.”
Emma composed herself, lifted her head up and everything had changed. She saw Killian in a whole new light, not as her best friend or her bartender but as a man who had always looked at her as if she were his whole world; the very man who she had called – day and night – whenever she and Neal had argued, the man who would drop everything to be by her side, the man who had always known whether she needed alcohol, an ear to talk off, a shoulder to cry on, or a punching bag, and provided it without ever being asked.
The words started to pour out of Killian’s mouth, “I can’t keep pretending that there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you, that you don’t brighten my day every time you walk into this mere tavern. I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t crush my heart to see you with Neal, that I didn’t feel a glimpse of hope every time you two argued, that it didn’t kill me every time you decided to reconcile with that prat.”
“Killian.”
“The bloody fool doesn’t even realise what he’s given up,” Killian continued. “You’re amazing; you’re smart and you’re strong and so breathtakingly beautiful. You’re a shining light in a dark world-”
“Killian.”
“-like a lighthouse guiding me safely home to shore. And I could have stood here and given you the advice you were looking for, told you to give online dating a go, but I couldn’t run the risk of standing here, forced to watch once more as an unworthy man treats you like dirt on the bottom of his shoe when you deserve to be treated like a princess-”
“Killian.”
“-and whilst I treasure our friendship deeply – it’s that which has kept me holding my tongue so bloody long – I know grander treasure lies beneath the surface of what we share already, if only we’re both willing to fight for it. Because I would, Emma, I would fight for-”
“Killian!” Emma snapped, finally succeeding in cutting him off.
Or, at the very least, she had thrown him from his rambling thoughts for he gulped at her pointed tone and promptly backtracked, “I’m sorry, Emma, forget I said anything. I – rum! The bloody thing is like a tru-”
“Fucking hell, Jones, kiss me already!”
He didn’t need telling twice; he leapt impressively over the bar and before Emma could even marvel at that feat, his lips crashed against hers and her thoughts melted away; the rest of the world and her worries with them. His warm, gentle hands rushed all over her body, desperately exploring, as her hands gripped tightly to his hair, keeping him close, entangling her fingers in his dark locks. The rum on his breath harmonised with hers and her heart leapt in her chest, the little hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, for they clung to each other – lips, hands, fingers, legs – as if fighting for their lives. Her mind was convinced she’d been reborn, experiencing her first kiss all over again for the kiss is unparalleled to anything she’d ever experienced before, as if she’d been doing it wrong.
She chased after his lips when he moved back, initiating a series of small, yearning, fast kisses – his lips remaining attentive, coming and going like waves against a ship – neither wanting the moment to end, both gasping for oxygen and made breathless by the desperate passion of the initial kiss. She couldn’t let him go, clutching onto his neck for dear life. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, claiming him as hers, and chuckled teasingly against his lips.
“I want you,” she murmured, her lips dancing and brushing against his as she did so.
His voice was steeped in desire, low and impossibly enticing, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words.”
She smiled against his lips, “Good things come to those who wait.”
“I’m done waiting.”
“Good.”
Despite his words, he pulled his head back and she leaned after him.
“Wait,” he spoke gravely.
“You’re a fucking tease, Jones,” she complained.
“I don’t want a one-time fling.”
“I don’t want a one-time fling,” she returned.
“I’m done with flings.”
“I never started.”
“Uhh…”
“Other than Graham.”
“I want this, beyond tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Good.”
He took a few steps forward and she clung to him in the way a crying child clings to its mother, fully prepared to delve into a tantrum should someone so wickedly take him from her. He placed her down gently, perched on the edge of the pool table. He was too far away, half a step away, and she pulled him in by his jacket, smothering herself in him.
He kissed her again and showed off, proving men can be capable of multi-tasking by ripping her shirt from her body simultaneously, the buttons bouncing and rolling along the floor, forgotten instantly. He pulled back from her, and she reached out urgently for him, too far away, as he hastily removed his shirt from his body.
He pounced on her before his shirt could hit the floor, his presence guiding her down onto the pool table, sending the neatly arranged balls spawling across the table. He craved her as much as she craved him, more so perhaps. Where the fog of Neal and past lovers had finally lifted, allowing Emma to see him clearly for the first time, Killian had been biding his time, awaiting the very moment for most of his life. Her enticing figure had featured in many a dream since their high school days and he wasn’t fully convinced he wasn’t dreaming. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been duped by such cruel, lifelike dreams, fast asleep on the bar, empty bottles of merchandise surrounding him. If it were a dream, he hoped no one woke him; if it truly were a bloody miracle, he aimed to impress.
He danced a series of kisses down her neck, burrowing his nose against her skin, soaking in the sweet, combined scent of rum, cinnamon, and the raspberry air freshener she insisted on keeping in her old car. His onslaught of kisses continued lower, against her shoulder, down her collarbone and to the top of her chest. His tongue was keen to join the party, gliding over the top of her right breast as his fingers worked at the clasp of the bra strap on her back, her own hands working at his belt, the brushing of her arm against his crotch only fuelling his longing for her.
“Bloody hell.”
A new voice broke their moment.
They froze. Emma’s bra dropped. Killian’s belt released, his pants dropping to unveil white boxers beneath; ones which left very little to Emma’s imagination.
Or Liam and Elsa’s.
The couple stood at the bar, staring in shock at the sight before them. Killian raced to hitch his pants up and chucked his previously abandoned shirt at Emma, aiding her urgent attempt to cover up.
“Now I’m glad the pair of you have gotten your shit together and stopped staring longingly at each other’s backs but for fuck’s sake, Killian, not on my bloody pool table!” Liam sounded simultaneously pleased and irate.
“Amazing timing as always, Liam,” Killian muttered and helped Emma from the pool table. “Come on, love, I have a private room above.”
Killian got Emma as far as the bottom of the stairs before Liam called out after them, “Oh, do me a favour and don’t go public with this ‘til March or else I’ll have to fork over a hundred dollars to Will; sneaky bastard claimed February right from under me!”
“You and Will wagered on this?” Killian remarked in surprise, all the while pulling Emma further up the stairs.
“Mate, the whole bloody town is in on this thing,” Liam returned. “In fact, it’s her best mate, Mary Margaret, who’ll be quids in should you hold off ‘til Match.”
“She could do with the money,” Emma mused as they reached the top of the stairs. “For the wedding.”
“And I could do with you, in my bed, right now,” Killian growled out impatiently.
“Your wish is my command.”
It was a wish she not only granted that night, but regularly in the nights which followed until his bed became their bed and by the next Valentine’s Day neither one of them was desperately single, instead madly in love, celebrating not only Valentine’s Day but the anniversary of the day they became more than friends. As far as the whole town were aware, it was nothing more than Valentine’s Day for March the third had been the day Will had ‘walked in’ on their ‘first kiss’ and promptly cursed them out for not ‘seeing the bloody obvious’ three days earlier.
Mary Margaret gained an extra one-thousand-one-hundred dollars to put towards her fairytale wedding.
Emma and Killian never got an explanation for why twelve people were so willing to place a hundred dollars on a bet involving the two of them; they did both agree never to speak of the tampered wager but conceded that a bottle of rum could well uncover the truth hidden between them…
----
Tag List (taken from the CSMM list - let me know if you want adding/taking off).
@teamhook @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @myfearless-love
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Team Building
I didn’t really believe in letting my colleagues know too much about my life. I was aware that I had a certain reputation for being stern and at times, quite intimidating. Hushed gossip about me being some type of dominatrix or a man-hating dyke was always flying about. I was happy enough with that, it meant that people didn’t take the piss and I was usually left to my own devices.
As always, an overly enthusiastic (intrusive) coworker decided that they wanted to know me better. I dare say it was part of a wager amongst the boys in the office. He thought his charms would defrost me, but instead it strengthened my resolve to be even more detached. After the working week was done, he ‘accidentally’ bumped into me near my house, I knew what he wanted.
A few large rums later and here he is. Sissified and very much at my leisure. The photos and video of him in this state will guarantee his silence. His quietness tonight of course, is courtesy of the ball gag in his mouth. The flat chastity cup under his shiny bodysuit has eliminated that disgusting bulge. Luckily, his cock wasn’t that big anyway and now we’re having a girls night in.
Maybe I can get used to this socialising thing after all.
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Smut
IceCream and Bad Tv by @bloodorangesoup
Peanut Butter Passion by @sagechanoafterdark
Stay Quiet For Me by @mrsbarnesblog
Lets Hear It For Captain America by @trashmenofmarvel
Take The Edge Off by @bitsandbobsandstuff
Black Lace And Property Damage by @bitsandbobsandstuff
Memories and Music by @bitsandbobsandstuff
Another Kinky Wager by @bitsandbobsandstuff
Star Spangled Brushwork by @bitsandbobsandstuff
Brooklyn and Moscow by @wkemeup
Sleeping With A Friend by @wkemeup
Locked by @thenhewaswrongaboutme
Eye Contact by @thenhewaswrongaboutme
Gentle by @softlyspector
Two Pages by @softlyspector
Soft by @softlyspector
Rain by @softlyspector
Tangier & Redux by @softlyspector
Medicine by @gogolucky13
Sexual Healing by @gogolucky13
What We Are by @gogolucky13
Come Closer by @sagechanoafterdark
Virtue and Vice by @divine-mistake
It's Messy Inside, Let Me Take Your Coat by @divine-mistake
Even at Gunpoint, I'd Still Love You by @divine-mistake
Bitter Fruit by @divine-mistake
"The mission was already a success!" you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. "You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don't understand why you didn't just stay on the fucking jet" "Because you were going to die"
Pairing: Bucky Barnes/(F)Reader
Greedy by @babyboibucky
"Bucky wants to try something new with you. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader"
Birthday Tiara by @babyboibucky
"You weren’t enjoying your birthday until Bucky comes along. Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader"
Rum & Coke by @babyboibucky
"You decide to pay your rival club a visit to see what the hype is all about. Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Fem!Reader"
Like This by @babyboibucky
"Bucky shows you how he wants it done. Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader"
Like That by @babyboibucky
"Bucky finally engages in his favorite activity. Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader
All That Glitters by @moonbeambucky
"Natasha found a sneaky way to get you to reveal your secret relationship"
Updated 31/10/2023
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x you#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#smut#bucky smut
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Hii hope all is well 💜. Can I please request Jack Sparrow being in love headcanon? Thanks if approved! 😊
Hello dear 💖, thanks for your request.
Jack sparrow being in love 😍
This wasn't planned, nor thought out in any sense of emotions.
Jack being in love was something rare.
Sparrow had his ways with women. A corsair of the buccaneers, a Casanova of the seven seas.
Jack had many admirers and lovers; angelica, giselle, and scarlett, esmerelda, even Tia Dalma at one point.
Jack avoided you, and he deceived you. He didn't want to believe he was in love, such a cliche thing, really. A pirate falling for a woman/man/person and they live happily ever after on the pearl.
Jack sparrow hid in the most unusual places, even when you weren't expecting it.
Jack spent nights in tortuga ravishing himself with pretty wenches to take his mind off. But even then, when he came lip to lip with them, he didn't kiss them. Instead his mind thought of you.
He couldn't be in love, he didn't want to. He valued the freedom and the sea. He was committed to the sea and his ship.
Jack spent his days trying to figure out what his feelings were, why he valued you, or rather felt the "weird things" when you were around.
One night Master Gibbs was out with his bottle of rum "a yo ho ho, a pirate's life fo-".
"Psssst, Matser Gibbs" Jack whispered.
"Cap'n, be tha yer? Where ar' yer" Gibbs looked around the main deck.
Master Gibbs walked up to a bunch of cargo with a big barrell.
Gibbs looked inside the barrell to see Jack, hidden inside.
"Did they see me?" Jack's pupils turned left and right.
"What's wrong Jack, why ar' ya hidin', who ar' ya hiding from" Gibbs asked.
"Is it tha' kraken? As Jones spotted our ship, Gibbs looked worriedly.
"No mate, even worse than that," Jack stood up from the barrell.
"Her?/him?/them?" He whispered.
"Her?/him?/them?" Gibbs replied.
"The lass/lad/y/n," Jack muttered.
"The lass?/the lad?/y/n?" Gibbs questioned further.
Gibbs soon caught on to who Jack meant. "Ye mean, y/n, the landlubber."
"Ohhh, ar' they a spy from tha navy." Gibbs tried to realise,"I knew it, Jack, tha's why I said I didn't trust them from the moment they first docked."
"I've been having these," he gestures with his hands. "Things."
"Wha-what sort o' thins, ave' ye caught scurvy?" Gibbs still couldn't make sense of what Jack meant.
"You know, things, things that make you feel... funny," he couldn't make into words. How could he? It's not like Jack's ever felt this way before.
"So yer feel funny when ye see--ohhh Jack" Gibbs realised finally what was going on.
"Are ye, in love?" Gibbs smiled. "Aye I remember the first time I be tha way, and let me tell yer, she was a fine lass, one I couldn't forget".
"Turned out tha next mornin', I couldnt find er'-- or rather, she wasn't even human, Aye, Turned out ta be but a sack o' oranges" Gibbs rambled about his drunken tale.
Jack got out of the barrell and took Master Gibbs's rum and swung it down his gullet.
"Aye, I remembered that, bieleved that sack was named sally or martha, hm, also that night I do recall nearly losing a finger or two from that wager, was worth it though, got that map in the end" Jack explained.
"Aye, Is that how we ended up cursed" Gibbs leaned against the big oak railing of the main deck.
"The pearl's already cursed mate, I'm just the captain of it" Jack threw the rum over board.
"So whaddya gonna tell er/im/em then" Master Gibbs asked.
"I'll do em one better, ill set them off at some fancy port and they can tell their friends of how a devlelish, delightful captain Jack Sparrow saved them from the clutches of a bunch of rutheless scoundrels" Jack agreed.
"Now that sounds like a tale to behold, don't it?" Jack smiled.
"Jack, ye can't just abandon tha poor thing" Gibbs sympathised.
"Ye did that already--on an island" Gibbs recalled.
"Jack" a woman/man/person called from the distance.
Jack gestured with his hands for Gibbs to move.
"You never saw me, savvy?" Jack scurried away.
Jack would be like this for a while but eventually you would confront him about why he was acting strang-er.
Jack would come clean and admit "the world's a funny place innit darlin, things I can't explain between you and I, happens from me always wondering about you, wondering in Tortuga, wondering when I drink rum, wondering about these...things". He continued with a smile, "Things for you mate".
"Hm, does sound a bit cliche to say 'I love you' don't it" Jack places his first finger on his chin.
Jack leaned toward you "Hmmm, how about rather, your enduring, I can't figure out why I'm besotted to you"
"Suppose it ain't gonna sound cliche to say--" he admitted. "I loved you mate, I always have, I always will".
You blushed with astonishment. You had no idea yet it made sense for Jack's behaviour recently.
You could kiss him, and that would be that. You could marry him, and that's the end of your love story. You could sail with him, entailing the fantasy of many countless women, men, or anyone with pirates--or--rather.
You chose to endure the freedom as Jack did, being two souls that understood each other when no one else did.
A rather more passionate romance then the tales of Will and Elizabeth.
Jack was no fool when he was in love. A legendary captain like him would grant you protection.
Though for Jack, would it truly be the end? No, of course not, it only means another chapter is written in the tales of the captain.
Anyways that's all I have for now:
Ta Ta ✨️
#pirates of the caribbean#jack sparrow x reader#jack sparrow#jack sparrow headcanon#pirates of the caribbean x reader#pirates of the caribbean headcanon#potc x reader#potc#potc headcanon
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|| Hell's Belle ||
Outlaw Frank Castle x Saloon girl reader
Tags/warnings: sex worker reader, oral (f rec), p in v unprotected sex (wrap it B4 you tap it!), blood, bit of angst, mention of death, mentions of canon typical violence, fluff.
W/c ~ 5300
A/n: thank you to @e-dubbc11 who showed me gunslinger Punisher art and had me cranking this out ahead of all my other wips! Huge thanks to @stress--relief for beta reading! If you enjoy my writing please comment/reblog it would be much appreciated! 💕
You finish rolling up your stockings, smoothing the band of silk and lace neatly over your thigh before arranging your dress, then you dab on the lightest touch of rouge and perfume before it's time to work.
As you descend the staircase to the bar you feel the eyes are on you as usual, men and a few women too. Among them are those belonging to a man dressed hat to boots in black, sitting in the corner of the bar with Billy. He'd been in here for the past few nights, stealing looks when he thought you didn't notice, but you noticed everything. It was a survival skill in this environment. You could tell so much about a person by the clothes they wore, how they carried themselves, who they spoke to and what they drank. It paid to be perceptive and aware of the little things, if you missed the subtle way a man was about to reach for his weapon, things could get very dangerous. Everything about this particular fella screamed danger, and even seated you could tell he was big. He had stubble on his jaw you could strike a match on and yet he hadn't yet worked up the cojones to try his luck with you. Or maybe women just weren't his thing.
You take your seat at the bar and Josie hands you a drink as you cross one leg over the other, getting comfortable.
As the evening draws on you shoo away the sleezy advances of the normal punters, but you can't help note that the newcomer has barely taken his eyes from you all night. You were used to it, you had that effect on people. All of the girls in Hell's Belles were sweet, but you were the sweetest, a gilded lily if there ever was one. You were in demand, your reputation surpassed you, and you were therefore able to charge whatever you wanted for a night in your chamber, and could afford to be fussy with who you let in.
However, tonight Mr Tall, Dark and Menacing finally decided to approach the bar and so you prepared yourself for the usual shit you had to endure from outlaws and so-called sharpshooters who thought they could walk in and take whatever they wanted.
He was in for a shock.
"Buy you a drink, miss?" His voice is deep and thick, like gravel mixed with molasses, and at this close distance your first impression that he was handsome was not wrong, although in a rugged and rough kind of way, with a nose that you'd wager had been broken more than once.
"You can buy me a drink, but don't think it'll get you anywhere, mister. I've seen you sitting with Billy Russo, and I don't doubt he's told you I don't just lift my skirts and lay down for any old gunslinger."
Frank nods politely. "That he did miss, but uh, if you pardon me, nobody said we gotta be layin' down…"
He's bold, and smooth, you'll give him that. He might have even raised a tiny smile from you with that cheeky remark, but still you roll your eyes.
"Whatever the lady's having." He says to the barmaid.
"Charge him for a double, Josie." You add.
"Thank you ma'am." Frank says as he passes his last wad of notes to Josie without any reluctance, tiling his head to the side. "Any reason, or you just like messin' with strangers?"
"As I said, you're with Billy, and he's on my shit list so you get to suffer too."
"What'd he do, if you don' mind me askin'?"
'He talks too damn much."
At that Frank chuckles, raising his tumbler. "Ain't that the truth. Boy definitely has a mouth on 'im."
"Mm." You look him up and down unashamedly. "I get the feeling you're more of the strong, silent type."
"Maybe. Could be whatever you want me to be Miss." Frank rumbles and you decide that you like his attitude. You're not giving over so easily though. You sigh and take a sip of your drink. "How about gone? You can't afford me."
"S'funny, I was thinkin' of knocking over a bank this week, that change anythin'?" Frank proposes, despite your thorny exterior he's not lost one iota of confidence.
You laugh. "Oh you're very funny, mister…?"
"Castle. Frank Castle." He offers his hand and you place your empty glass in it.
He gestures to Josie for a refill. "M'serious though, s'why I'm in town. Got some business to take care of." He's got an edge to his look, a hint of something heavy hanging over him.
You nod towards the twin pistols that hang from either side of his chest.
"That kinda business? Those are some big guns you've got there mister Castle."
"The size don't matter sweetheart, it's knowin' how to use em, but I'll warrant you know all about that."
"Mm, careful with the 'sweethearts' Castle, I'm not yours yet, and sadly I'm rarely impressed." You reply with a shortness.
"Apologies Miss, but maybe you look out from your balcony at dawn tomorrow if you want your proof."
You shake your head and smile. "Hmm, it's gotta be a damn special man that'll make me get out of bed before dawn."
Frank's mouth quirks up at the side and he tips his hat as he finishes his drink, pushing off the bar. "Maybe. S'been a pleasure talkin' with you Miss. G'night."
His drawl settles deep within you bringing with it a hint of heat and you curse yourself, hoping he'll prove your doubts wrong that he's a drifter just like any other, that he'll actually be worth the gamble. Or at least worth losing a lie in. You could do with the money after all.
You prop your chin up on your hand on the bar. "C'mon Jose, spill."
Josie gives you a knowing look as she leans across to share what she knows. Josie hears everything. "Well, he's an outlaw, but you knew that already."
You click your tongue. "Yeah, and? Surely you've heard some talk."
"Mm. Word is he's an outlaw that's been killin' other outlaws, maybe just for the money, or revenge. Dunno what he's gettin' revenge for though."
You glance over your shoulder to where Russo is laughing heartedly but Castle isn't giving away any emotion.
"Careful honey, that there's a rough road you don't wanna go down. He might be charmin' but he sounds like bad news. I heard some folks call him The Punisher."
When you eventually retire for the night you find you can't rid your mind of him, and you're up and pulling on your silk robe before the first rays of the sun break above the horizon.
The air on the balcony is blessedly cool and the street mostly empty but then you see a few figures gathering on the dirt road, one of them an unmistakeable tall, dark silhouette. They talk for a while and then Frank Castle and his dueling opponent slowly walk to opposing ends of the street.
The air grows tense as they stand there, ready, waiting for the signal to draw. When it comes everything moves like lightning. It's over so quickly, Frank's coat swirls around his legs along with the dust cloud he's kicked up as he spun around. Your gaze flits to the other end of the street and you see his opponent is still standing, but his pistols have been shot straight out of his hands and lie on the ground.
Billy is down there too, laughing and demanding that the other bystander pay up a wager. You watch Frank holster his own pistols, a shiver of a thrill climbing up your spine as he turns to look up towards your window, subtly tipping his hat because he knew you'd be there watching. Of course he knew, and now you're even more intrigued to see if he'll approach you again later tonight, and put his money where his mouth is.
Sure enough that night he walks up to the bar beside you and orders a full bottle of whiskey.
"Fine evenin', Miss." He says, tipping his hat. You accept the glass that he slides over to you and then stand up, your heels clicking as you cross the wooden floor to the stairs.
"You can bring the bottle." You call over your shoulder.
He follows after a beat, shooting a look towards Billy who just shakes his head in disbelief.
"Yes ma'am."
You're sitting on the edge of the bed when he knocks and enters, removing his hat and coat and hanging them on the hook on the back of the door.
"Like what you saw this mornin', Miss?"
"Maybe. Are you always that flashy?"
The ghost of a smile appears on his grizzled face. "Nah, just a bit of fun. 'sides, it got me here didn't it?"
You walk over to him, standing close, sliding your hands over his black waistcoat and shirt and then down to his harness, releasing his guns from their soft leather holsters and pulling them out. They're a nice weight in your hands and you notice the handles are expertly inlaid with tiny white skulls bright against the ebony.
"Wanted to see if you can handle a woman as well as you handle these." You invite, placing them down gently on your bureau. He grabs you then and you gasp as he holds you fast, one strong arm wrapped around your waist and the other sliding into your hair as he allows his dark brown gaze to roam over you. You heat up instantly at his gall.
"Ain't gonna rush this." He says, before dipping his head to kiss you. Despite all appearances his lips are pillowy soft and slow against your own. He's right, he's in no rush but you open up for him a little as his tongue lightly trails the seam of your mouth. He kisses at your bottom lip, tugs on it just enough to get you to release a pained sound, and then he's kitten licking, teasing the taste of him as your hands snake up around his thick neck and shoulders to pull him closer. You want more.
He lifts you up easily, walking you to the bed and setting you down to sit on the edge again and you watch him, feeling yourself grow wet between your thighs as he steps back and carefully rolls up his sleeves.
"What happened to not needing to lay down?" You ask as he gently persuades you down onto your back. He hikes up your dress skirts, sliding his big hands with surety up your legs, bunching the fabric around your hips. He has a darkness and hunger in his eyes and it scares and arouses you in equal measure.
"I told ya Miss. Gonna take my time. May I?" He gestures to your skimpy underclothes and you nod, lifting your hips as he gently pulls your soaked frilly knickers down your legs and throws them aside. He gets down on his knees on the rug and your heart is thumping hard against your bustier. It's not so often that a man will go down on you for your pleasure alone, and this man, this dark brooding beast, looks like he's waited all his days to do just that.
His hands smooth up the outsides of your thighs over your silky stockings and grip your waist as he carefully pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. You sigh deeply as he spreads your legs apart.
"I gotta say Miss… you're a true beauty. The sweetest balm for the eyes." He licks his lips and it's all you can do to moan long and loud as he puts his sweet-talking mouth to work on you. He knows exactly what he's doing, pushing all of your proverbial buttons and driving out the most desperate sounds that you've ever heard yourself make. He licks and laps, sucks on your clit and fucks you so damn good with just his mouth and tongue, but your pussy aches with need and so you paw for his hand, urging him to slip his fingers in. There's a rumble deep in his throat as he covers two thick digits in your slick and slowly pushes them in your entrance, stretching you just a little.
"Mmm, oh fuck, just like that…"
"Yeah?" The low tone of his voice makes your cunt squeeze around his fingers and he watches you react. "Y'like that Miss?" He asks eagerly as he starts to curl his fingers, stroking your inner walls in a way that has you panting for breath as you feel your orgasm being easily teased from you.
"Yeah, that's it girl," he rasps, "let it go."
You cry out, your back arching. He holds your legs apart with his free hand as you shake, trying to close them on him but he makes you come, leaning back down and flicking his fucking insanely dexterous tongue over your sensitive clit as you fall apart, clenching around him over and over until he finally slows and stops, leaving you a breathless mess.
You watch him as he gets to his feet, licking his fingers and lips with an admittedly well deserved satisfaction. He takes a sip of whiskey and offers you one too, before he sets it aside to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. When you were close you could feel that he was built, but seeing him unclothed from the waist up had you drinking every chiseled inch of muscle in with a deep thirst.
You tugged at the bow to your bodice lacing, loosening it and turning so he could unwrap you. He said he was gonna take his time, and take his sweet time he does. He kisses every inch of your skin he exposes with reverence, repeating his praise of your beauty until you are naked but for your stockings. You push him back against the wall running your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails over his jaw as you kiss your way down his neck and broad chest. Your hand slides lower still, feeling every ridge and dip of muscle until he hisses and groans when you palm over his hard confined length.
"It's how you use it," you squeeze and he makes a gruff sound. "So use it."
He untangles himself from you only to strip off his boots and britches in a hot second, and then he's spinning you around, taking hold of your leg, lifting it up and sliding himself inside your slick heat with a grunt. You moan with the relief you feel as he fills you. He's perfect, hitting your spot as he thrusts into you slow and steady, like he could keep this up all night long if you asked him to. Your teeth graze along his collarbone as he fucks you up against the wall, his own pleasure quiet and restrained while you let the whole Kitchen know that some lucky guy is ringing the queen of the bordello's bell.
You wake up late, alone, sore but sated. The covers had been pulled up around your shoulders and you stretch out your body contentedly, until the realisation hits you that you hadn't taken any money from him.
Fuck.
You usually made your clients pay it up front but he had you so distracted…
When you roll over to push yourself up you freeze. There's a sizable stack of notes sitting there on your nightstand, way more than you were planning to charge when you counted them. You'd have to take it to your stash soon, it wasn't wise to have that much money laying around on the premises.
Frank Castle had proved himself, in more ways than one, and the girls were quick to grill you about him when you went to bathe.
"So, you survived, and how was he?" Madani smirks as you settle into the tub.
You can't stop the sly smile from spreading across your lips. "Thorough."
Karen laughs. "Yeah we kinda noticed you're late up, you never sleep in!"
You sigh softly, sinking into the hot water that was easing your sore muscles. "Oh you girls should get a piece for yourself, he sure knows how to treat a lady."
He had put your pleasure before everything else last night, and that was a rare thing in your line of work, especially from a drifter.
"Oh, believe us we've tried. I reckon all of the girls have been to his table. He was polite and all but he wasn't interested in any of us. Seems he only has eyes for you, sugar. How about that?"
You only raise a brow and carry on washing your hair, the gorgeous rose scent carrying in the steam of the baths.
Karen leans across nudging Madani. "Just look at her, she's smitten."
You throw your washcloth at them, splashing water everywhere. "Am not! It's just refreshin' to get a good customer once in a while."
Madani grins. "Oh you are sugar, you got them dreamy eyes, wonderin' if you're gonna see him again."
Karen cackles. "Yep, you get one good dick and you're already pickin' out your weddin' dress!"
"Quit it you two!"
-
You take half of your earnings to the bank that afternoon, the rest of it tucked securely in your garter to be deposited elsewhere. You never entirely trusted the banks to keep your nest egg safe. The church at the end of the street was quiet as usual, there were less and less god-fearing residents these days; it was more for decoration than worship.
"Father, it's just me!" You call as you walk down between the scruffy termite-ridden pews towards the altar. Reverend Murdock was arranging the bibles for Mass and lifted his head to flash you a smile.
"Haven't seen you here for some time, come to pray, confess, or make a deposit?"
Of all the people in this shithole of a town, it was perhaps surprising that the reverend understood you the most. He was a peculiar man in terms of the religion he supposedly practiced and preached. He didn't judge you harshly for your career path, and he always had an ear to lend whenever you needed it.
"It's the latter today, I'm actually getting close to having enough."
He chuckles, "and here I thought you'd drained the pocketbooks of all the men in this town! I kid, I'm happy to hear it although I'll miss you when you leave."
You retrieve your stashed bundle of notes and hand them to him as you embrace. "Well there's always fresh blood, father, and thank you, again.
"That's what I'm afraid of. Alright, I'll keep this safe for you. Will you be coming along tonight for prayer?"
You giggle. "I'm sorry father, I've been on my knees so much recently they're practically red raw, I don't think I can!" You slap him playfully on the arm and he chuckles along with you as you say your goodbyes.
-
"You know just how lucky you are, you mangy dog?" Billy was also grilling Frank on the previous night's activities.
"I do. You ain't gettin' anythin' outta me though. Gentleman never tells."
Billy just grins. "Gentleman… pah! Can see it already, one night Castle, and you're soft on her."
Frank shoots him a stony glare.
He holds his hands up in defense. "Don't blame you brother. You ready to go do this?"
-
The next night Frank appears with bloody knuckles and another thick stack of bills. He takes you apart on the bed. First with his fingers as your own hand curls around his cock and you pant into each other's mouths before you let him fuck you. Most men would take you from behind like you're only a hole for them, but not him. He lays you down, and you get a sense of just how big he is as he holds himself above you, his lips trailing tantalising kisses all over your skin before he enters you slowly. He treats you gently, he's making love to you, and it's not without a fiery passion. You wrap your legs around him tightly as you drag your nails lightly up his back at the unfiltered bliss you're experiencing.
"This okay, Miss? Goddamn y'feel fuckin' heavenly..."
You murmur your agreement. "Y'don't have to call me Miss anymore." you breathe. He rolls his hips deliciously, kissing up your neck and under your jaw as he moves like a wave.
"Mm, what should I be callin' you? Darlin'? Honey? Sweetheart?" He thrusts deeper with every term of endearment he suggests and you start to lose your mind.
"How 'bout just… my name?" And you whisper it to him, nipping gently at his earlobe.
"Such a pretty name, for a pretty girl." When it rolls off his tongue full of sin as he says it back to you, you're gone.
Afterwards, he uses your basin to clean up and starts reaching for his clothes and you make a decision.
"You got somewhere to be tonight Castle?" You ask, watching him pause at the question.
"Depends. Didn't think you'd want me to stay the night."
You pat the space on the mattress he's left beside you. "A girl can get lonely."
He hesitates for a mere moment before he climbs back in beside you. "Much rather be here than the boardin' house, that's for sure."
You smile and take his hand, your expression fading to concern as you kiss over his raw and bruised knuckles.
"Just business." He says in answer to your silent question.
"Not the fun kind." You offer.
He shakes his head and takes your hand in his with returning kisses. He wasn't going to tell you he bloodied his fists beating information out of someone, information that moved him ever closer to his revenge.
"You get the money alright?" He asks, changing the subject.
You nod. "It's more than I expected."
"Worth every penny." He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb passing mindlessly over your soft skin. "And uh, if you'll have me, I'll keep comin' as long as I'm around."
You find yourself stunned by his admission, yet another rarity to be asked if you wanted to see a man again. "You keep throwing all your money at me Frank, I'm gonna be outta here in no time."
"S'that right? You savin' up to escape?"
You nod.
"Know where you're gonna go?"
You don't normally talk about your plans with your customers, but for some reason you feel like you want to with Frank. "I dunno, just… somewhere else. Far away. It's been fun but I don't wanna be doin' this forever."
Frank nods and grabs the whiskey bottle, taking a slug. "So uh, s'that mean I might just be your last?"
You smile as you straddle him, stealing the drink from him. "Mm. You might just be, Frank."
You set the bottle down and idly trail random patterns over his bare chest with your fingers. "How long are you planning on staying?"
He gazes up at you, his expression suddenly solemn and hard and it makes you regret probing further.
"Until it's done." He simply says.
You're still half asleep and barely register when he kisses your cheek in the morning before he leaves. "Might be gone a couple days…" he whispers, but you only murmur softly as the bedroom door closes behind him.
-
He didn't bank on this, he was just following the trail of blood from town to town, and making a trail of his own as he tortured and despatched those that had wronged him in pursuit of vengeance. He thought it was so clear and simple, but now there was you. He had only meant to ease the weight of his task, to forget why he was doing this for a little while, to lose himself in a pretty girl.
Frank tightens the strap of the stirrups and pulls himself up into the saddle, checking his pistols are fully loaded before clicking his tongue and coaxing his horse onward.
-
You visit the church again to stash more of your savings. On the way the streets are rife with reports that there's been a massacre in the county and Reverend Murdock meets you at the door. "You hear the news? Bank got shot up in the next town, total carnage. Folks say there wasn't even money stolen, just the owners and the guards shot clean through the eye."
'What?" Your first thoughts go to Frank. You shouldn't have been surprised, you knew his reputation and it was clear he was in the area for a specific reason. You just hoped that if it turned out to be him that he did what he did for a damn good reason.
-
It's late and you're dozing as you're woken by a knock at your door. It's Josie.
"M'sorry to wake you love but it's the outlaw. Should I tell 'im to git? It's mighty late and frankly he's a mess but figured I should check with you first."
You could have just ignored him but something makes you pull on your robe and follow Josie downstairs. You thank her and open the door to find Frank leaning up against the frame. You already know the truth of what's happened. You can't see his face but you can tell he's injured.
"The bank?" You ask him.
He nods. "There's somethin' I wanna tell you, I know you don't owe me nothin' but…"
"C'mon," you beckon him in. "Leave your coat and shit down here."
You lead him through the empty bar up to the private bathroom and get the kettle from the range, sitting him down and taking a good look at him in the oil lamp light.
"M'fine." He protests, but you motion him to take off his dirty shirt and instantly spot an angry graze on his side. You grab a towel and wet it, dabbing the blood from the wound and making sure it's not deep. It's when you're in front of him that he finally speaks as you're cleaning a cut on his cheek.
"Few years back, a gang run by someone I owed money to broke into my home while I was outta town." Your eyes flick to meet his but you stay silent as you work, letting him continue.
"House wasn't empty though, my wife, my boy, my little girl were there…"
You sit back, feeling a coldness creep into the room.
"They uh, turned the place over lookin' for the money y'know, an' when they couldn't find none they killed them. Killed my family."
Your hand moves to cover your mouth in shock. You can't imagine what it would be like to face such horror. Your eyes brim with tears for both them and him. "Oh Frank! I- I'm so sorry."
He reaches for you, stroking the side of your face with a gentleness that used to contrast his demeanor. But not now.
"You don't gotta be sorry for me sweetheart. I've done my grievin'. Been searchin' for so long, tearin' up the world since then, and I finally found the fucker behind it all, and the fuckin' scum that worked under him, the ones that did it. Rotten to the fuckin' core, all of em."
"...and last night, you did it, they're dead aren't they, it's done?" You looked right at him, his gaze didn't waver.
"Yeah, It's done. My family, they can rest now." He sighs, saying those words out loud feels like a ten tonne weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
"Listen, they'll be lookin' for me, I gotta get outta here. I just- I guess I didn't wanna leave without sayin' goodbye."
You cup his face in your hands and lay a soft kiss on his lips. "Stay, rest. It ain't the kinda night to be riding off right now. You can set off at dawn."
He nods, conceding instantly. He's dog-tired from fighting, from riding, from thinking, but the thought of spending one last night in the haven of your bed was just what he needed.
You make sure he's fed and watered before you lead him to your room.
Frank promised himself that once this was over, once he had gotten closure, he'd allow himself a new life, one where there was peace. Maybe one day even happiness. As he curled his body around the warmth of your sleeping form he wondered if maybe you'd feature in it.
It was a stupid thought as you barely knew each other but maybe you knew enough. But either way he couldn't stop his dumb mouth from moving.
"Sweetheart," he calls into your skin. "I was thinkin'..."
You stir, turning in his arms and blinking open your eyes. He looks different, the darkness is gone. "Yeah Frank?"
"Know you were thinkin' o' leaving this place. Thought that maybe-"
You finish his sentence before he can. "I could go with you?"
He tucks a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. "Only if y'wanna. I know you're a strong woman, but the world's a dangerous place, an' I'd feel better knowin' that you're safe, least until you find somewhere y'wanna be."
"You'd protect me?" You ask, enjoying the way he suddenly turns bashful when you're looking at him the way you are, like he's offering up something that he's kept locked away for a long while.
"Would do my damned best. And, y'know, although he's good company, Billy ain't as pretty as you."
You smile at his charms and it coaxes one from him too. He pulls you closer, kissing you as he rolls you on top and you're careful to avoid his injury as you place your knees on either side of his hips. His hands run up your back, pulling your nightdress up and off over your head.
"Beautiful." He murmurs as he guides you back down to him, his lips laying sweet kisses along your neck.
"C'mere Castle." Your purr, working his underwear off and releasing his thickening cock. You moan into mouth as he captures your lips again, grinding up against your bare pussy.
A whispered fuck leaves him as you grasp him in your hand, lining him up and lowering yourself slowly down on him. "Yeah, that's it darlin'," his eyes are full of adoration as he watches you, he can't stop running his hands over you, feeling the softness of your skin and furrowing his fingers in your hair as you take him.
"Think you'd be happy enough only havin' me in your bed from now on?" Frank asks you.
You try not to laugh, to give him the satisfaction of knowing that if every time was gonna be like this then yes, you couldn't ever ask for more.
"Think I just might get by, Castle." You smile before your mouth meets his, your hips moving fluidly as you ride him slow. His hands hold your hips, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your skin and the combined sensations drawing a sweet moan from your throat. He can't help but join you, the thought that there might be room for a little real love in both of your lives is a welcome one.
You draw nearer your peak, your breath hushed and clipped as Frank commands your pleasure. His thumb dances over your clit, his eyes transfixed on your face as you unravel for him. Your sweet cunt pulses and flutters around his cock and he follows you into that euphoric state, spilling inside you with a freeing moan.
He holds you as you're laying on him, tangled in the sheets and each other.
"So where we headin' to first?"
He strokes your cheek and cocks his head. "S'that a yes?"
You kiss him on the bridge of his nose. You'd miss your girls, Josie, the reverend… but this was what you'd been waiting so long for.
"Yes, I'll come with you Castle."
.
.
Tags (if you want added or removed let me know): @divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados @father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @officialjanetsnakehole @munsonownsmyass @marvelswh0re @frankcastlescumslut @chellestrash @chvoswxtch @messymissy @evilbubu @lucy-sky @yanna-banana @anna-hawk
#outlaw frank castle x saloon girl reader#gunslinger AU#Punisher western AU#frank castle x female reader#frank castle angst#frank castle fluff#frank castle smut#gunslinger frank castle
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A Year Without (9/10)
Summary: After the curse returns Killian to the Enchanted Forest, he struggles to acclimate to his old life and his old ways. When a bird with a letter and memory potion arrives on his ship, he accepts the challenge to find Emma and help her save her family. Getting to Emma won't be easy and will cost him dearly, but what choice does he have when he cannot go a day without memories of her haunting him?
A03 | CH 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | CUTS
Day 325
A white bird landed on the letters he’d scratched into the ship to teach a young Bealfire the nautical terms he’d need to sail. The bird cocked his head as if it were trying to decide that it had the correct pirate captain.
Perhaps, I’ve overindulged, Hook looked at his flask with an air of suspicion. Although, rum had never before made him consider the intentions of fowl landing on his ship. Then again, when had a bird last landed on his ship and stared at him for five minutes?
He shooed it with a sweep of his hook, the bird jumped up, chirped at him, landed once more, and continued to stare almost haughtily at him.
Hook raised his eyebrow curiously back at the bird, this was genuinely odd bird behaviour. Since he was actually observing the bird now, he noticed the scroll and small vial tied to its leg.
“My apologies,” he said to the bird, removing the items from the creature. Once unburdened, the bird flew off as though annoyed by the entire enterprise. Hook couldn’t blame it, he hadn’t sailed under the command of another since he’d escaped his time in Pan’s service.
Get this memory potion to Emma. Everyone she loves is in danger. She is the only one who can break the curse. She has to save them.
Day 330
Of all the cursed pirates to be in possession of a bean, Hook watched as Blackbeard held court in the middle of the tavern - apparently, even the sharks hadn’t found him appealing. He held himself in higher regard than the actual royalty that Hook was trying to find his way back to. Hook held back the distaste he had for the pompous pirate laughing heartily in the midst of his crew and stepped up to Blackbeard’s table.
“Fancy a wager, mate?” Hook challenged with a smirk.
Blackbeard studied Hook’s face, clearly trying to avoid sailing into the path of disaster. A broad, open smile broke out across Blackbeard’s face, “aye, and what do you imagine that you have that I would want?”
Hook lifted his eyebrow, and leaned in as if he were about to part with his deepest secret, “why, the Jolly Roger, of course!”
Blackbeard smiled, hungry to return to the deck of Hook’s most prized possession. A possession Hook was determined to leave behind for a magical bean.
Day 365
She’d been here all year. He’d travelled the realms, trying to find a place that he wanted to be, but there was nowhere he desired more than this threshold. He assumed Swan was at the other side of the door, the compass was pointing furiously at the thing.
He thought that he may never see her again, but they’d been brought together once more. He could not shake the feeling stirring that they’d always find a way to come together again. He felt so drawn to her as he entered this realm, that he was certain that true love wasn’t something he’d shared with Milah because it was this awful, wonderful thing that he shared with Emma.
Wasn’t that why it had been so easy to keep the promise in those last words he’d spoken a year ago? He’d seen her everywhere, dreamt of her often, and replayed their every exchange desperate to keep a tight grip on what they shared because whatever it was they shared was intoxicating and impossible for him to surrender now that he’d had a taste. What was that, if not something deeper than the love he’d experienced before? Love he’d spent centuries seeking revenge for once it was taken from him. What was this with Emma, other than that elusive, magical true love?
After a year of trying to live without her, Swan was on the other side of that threshold. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the curse may have impacted her somehow, whatever this new threat was may have come to prevent her from stopping the new curse. He rapt on the door urgently, panic having seized his heart, he desperately needed to see she was unharmed.
After a moment as long as the one he’d spent watching the yellow vessel drive off as the curse swept them apart, the door was yanked open and Swan was there.
The sunlight poured in around her blonde waves, giving a surreal effect to the moment.
“Swan?” Her name tore from him, “at last.” The need to touch her, know that she was real and not a mirage from too long apart, not an image pulled from his dreams overcame him, and he reached for her.
She yanked back, eyes narrowed.
True love's kiss would break the curse.
His heart sped up as he considered the possibility that he could break this curse at this moment. He pulled her to him to test the possibility and leaned in to kiss her after all this time apart, but his action was cut short as a sharp pain radiated from his groin, doubling him over as she threw him into the corridor wall.
He was a fool for believing that some part of her might recall whatever might have been forming between them in Neverland. Too many nights considering Ariel’s words had made him believe in the impossibility that she may have returned his affections.
As the door slammed in his face, he realised that getting Swan back was going to require a bit more finesse than that awful exchange. He shouldn’t have been surprised, she always demanded the best of him and now he just had to figure out how to deliver when she only remembered him as the stranger.
And, if he knew anything about Swan, it was that her trust did not come easily.
TAG: @kazoosandfannypacks @kmomof4@cosette141
#A Year Without#cs fanfic#ouat s3 fanfiction#ouat s3 ff#captain swan#captain hook#killian x emma#killian jones#emma swan#writes by Jas#fic by Jas
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Fic: “Celestial Bodies”
read on AO3
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Rating: No Rating (G-T)
Summary: In their final moments, Neal decides to reconcile with an old friend.
@flashfictionfridayofficial
"Do you see it?"
"I see it," Neal murmurs, lowering the brass-and-gold telescope. "Venus looks pretty bright tonight."
Hook doesn't say anything about it, tipping back a flask into his mouth. Neal doesn't know why he bothers when there's a entire bottle of rum.
They're on the deck of the Jolly Roger anchored, occasionally walking, and the air feels frigid on Neal's cheeks.
Neal adjusts his scarf, pulling it up, breathing out a cloud of pale frost.
He's trying to understand…
But…
"I got an old roommate out in New York City I called before service went down… told me that nobody's making it through the night…"
"Alas, I suspect they're right," Hook solemnly says.
"NASA officials aren't coming forward about who knew first. The government's shut down. Yesterday's news keeps playing over and over. I wouldn't blame Storybrooke if they felt like looting and setting everything on fire, like New York City is, but it's kinda nice that it's quiet out here…"
"Fear is a powerful motivator," Hook answers Neal's observation, frowning. "Regardless if the outcome is violence or peace."
Guess that's true.
It's inevitable.
No magic in Storybrooke to protect them.
No giant's beans to teleport anyone to the Enchanted Forest.
No hope.
"Where's the lad?"
Neal clears his throat, emptying half of the rum bottle. "Henry's with his moms."
"I wagered you might have fought being parted with him."
"S'not like that. I hugged him goodnight and… you know, I think Henry feels safer with Emma. And with Regina. He's known Regina longer."
"You're his father, Neal."
"And I wasn't there," Neal says matter-of-factly. "It's okay. I'm okay."
Even if they're about to die.
Hook grunts.
It's more silhouette than anything of him before Hook lights a lantern by the wheel. Neal's eyes squint.
The lantern-light reflects in blue eyes.
"And you thought drinking under the stars… with a pirate… better suited your final moments?"
"With an old friend, yeah," Neal rasps, his chest nice and warm, and everything else, when Hook looks him over with a smirk. "Got anymore of the rum?"
"In my cabin."
“Sounds good to me.”
Hook's arm slips around him, and Neal slips his own arm carefully to Hook's shoulders, as they walk.
Not long after, the night stars vanish from a bright, deadly atmosphere.
Fairy tales end.
It's inevitable.
#flash fiction friday#once upon a time#ouat#killian jones#captian hook#baelfire#neal cassidy#ouat hook#ouat fic#ouat fandom#once upon a time fanfic#hook x neal#neal x hook#killian x neal#neal x killian
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"It Now Belongs To You" by kazoosandfannypacks
Chapter 5/10: The Swan at the Duckling
Pairing: CaptainSwan
Rating: T
Word Count: (648/10.6K)
Summary: When Emma and Killian receive a pair of magic beans as a wedding gift, they take a voyage on the Jolly Roger for their honeymoon- but a wrench is thrown into their romantic getaway when they run into a notorious pirate who's staked a claim on the Jolly Roger.
Chapter Summary: Emma follows Killian into the tavern, and when his plans go awry, she sets in motion a plan of her own to save her husband's ship from Black Beard.
Tags: post-canon, canon compliant, fluff, no smut, suggestive themes, alcohol, gambling, self indulgent fluff with a sprinkling of angst
Author's notes: i apologize in advance for how short these next couple chapters are!
Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]
Also on Ao3!
Emma hadn't gotten nearly the warm welcome in the pub that her husband had gotten (and she made a note to herself to hassle him about in later- all in jest, of course- her love was not fragile.) A few of the men had glanced up at her, and one or two whistled for her attention, but for her plan's sake, she payed them no heed, instead taking a seat at the bar, somewhere she could see Black Beard's table from.
"I'll have what he's having." Emma said to the bartender, pointing at Black Beard. If she made it seem like she'd taken interest in Black Beard, it'd throw suspicion off her interest in their game.
It wasn't that she didn't trust Killian to win, she just knew the best laid plans often go awry, and she was ready with a backup plan- not one she'd revealed to her husband, as there was no way he'd go along with it, and no need to bring it up unless he failed, and he couldn't.
"You're not from around these parts, are you?" The barkeeper asked.
"What would make you say that?"
"I know people." He said. "And you'd be wise to stay away from those ones." He pointed at Black Beard's table, which she'd been watching out of the corner of her eye.
"Really? And why's that?" Emma asked, watching Killian lay down his cards.
"Two of the most feared captains in the realm- and crew as fearsome to boot. No place for a lady like you."
Black Beard laid down a hand of cards as well, then laughed a full and hearty laugh- and Emma knew what this meant- time for plan B. She took a swig of the drink, dropped a couple coins on the counter and slid off the stool.
"I'll be the judge of that." Emma told the bartender, taking off her cloak to uncover her low-cut dress and perfectly-tousled hair.
She approached the table where Black Beard was holding the rigging piece and the magic bean, hoping he would be like most pirates- or most men, for that matter- the kind with only one thing on their mind.
"Is it too late to deal me in?" Emma asked, leaning on the table, smiling coyly at Black Beard.
"Emma?" Killian asked. "Swan, what're you doing?"
"Ah," Black Beard smiled. "So this is that wench I've heard so much about."
"And you must be the Captain Black Beard I've heard so much about." She held out her hand to him, and he took it and kissed it with a rum-soaked slobber. "The name's Emma."
"Well then, Emma." Black Beard said, then turned to Hook. "I can see now why you traded your ship for this lass twice. Why, I'd even gamble away the Jolly Roger for a night with this wench."
Black Beard laughed and took a swig of his drink, but Emma smiled. That was all she needed to hear.
"Throw in the magic bean too and you've got a wager."
Black Beard looked at her, then at Hook, then back at her, with a sickening smile and cruel laugh.
"Honeymoon ain't even over and she's tired of you already, Jones?" He laughed at Killian. "How's that for poor form?" Then, he motioned to the crewmate in the seat next to Killian, and he got up so she could take a seat.
Killian leaned over to Emma and whispered. "Emma, love, you don't have to do this. We should just cut our losses, and…"
"Babe," Emma whispered, "trust me."
"You're not the one I don't trust." He nodded toward Black Beard.
"Don't worry about him." Emma said. "I've got a few aces up my sleeve too."
"Now," Black Beard said. "If this domestic squabble is over, can we begin? The night won't stay young forever."
Emma turned back to the table and smiled. "I'm in."
#once upon a time#captain swan#fanfic#killian jones#emma swan#once upon a time season 6#post canon#fic rec#kazzy writes
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@black-pearls-captain cont
Cleo waltzed forward, turning on her heels giving a small bow and a grin "Aye, aye, Captain!" It was a cheeky remark, feeling the smirk form across her features. Was she about to get them more rum for the ship? Perhaps. Cleo stood by the group of men, putting in a wager. What they didn't know was the redhead was tricksy, being able to trick them but win fair and square (for a pirate) the additional barrels of rum. Cleo jogged back to Jack, taking hold of her rum again "I just got the crew more rum, won it fair and square .. or at least in their eyes. It'll be waiting for us by the pearl" She had learned the trick from strangely Peter Pan, for the crew had to be smarter and at the same time think like the child in Neverland.
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Writing Patterns
Tagged by: @kmomof4
Rules: List the first line of your last ten posted fics and see if there's a pattern.
The Heart of a Villan
“Mom, Mom, look! Look! There it is! Isn’t it amazing?”
Rum and Wagers
“I hate Valentine’s Day! It’s nothing but a huge corporate scam!”
Dry as a Bone
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
"Happy New Year!"
There's No Harm in Repeating
A flask of coffee in hand, Killian Jones stepped out of his crappy apartment, into the just as crappy hallway, to the oh-so-familiar sweet sound of arguing travelling up the stairwell from the entrance hall below.
In the Blood
"Killian!"
The unexpected shout, originating from upstairs, was enough to make his head shoot out of the book in his hand, a small frown crossing his brow.
I'll Miss This One This Year
"Bah Humbug!"
The Huntsman
Resistance Headquarters, 2029
"We move out in T-minus sixty minutes!"
So apparently I have a pattern of opening fics with dialogue.
Tagging: @laianely @belovedcreation @lenfaz
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Biography
Name: Alphonse James Hook
Age of Character: 26
Species: Human
Face Claim: Tyler Hoechlin
Appearance: He seems to never smile, nor show much emotion. He keeps himself neatly trimmed, with a light beard forming now and then that he is in no hurry to shave off, unless he had a good enough reason to.
Height/frame: 6'3″ and muscular built from pulling on the sail’s mast and hauling heavy supplies as a crew member.
Family History:
Captain James Hook [father]
Annabelle Darling-Watkins [mother]
Theodore Watkins [adoptive father]
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Personality: Alphonse has an intimidating air around him, and he uses that to his advantage if he wants people to take him seriously and as an authoritative figure
Hobbies: Like most pirates, he has a love for gambling. There is a dice in his pocket at all times, whereas other sailors of his nature carry rum. He likes to wager his luck, because he always believes that he is lucky to even be alive given all the perilous travels he had with his crew.
Fears: Clocks, especially ones that remind him of time because he hates the idea of having to listen to an inanimate object. Crocodiles, ever since he heard the gruesome tale of how his real father died from it.
Abilities: Fighting skills with various weapons. He is able to quickly learn how to maneuver one and has an increased dexterity when battling with one. Alphonse has always been this way, even when he was a child back at London, he would be the center of attention in parties and people would crowd around him and see him spin plates and utensils in his hand, and juggle butter knives, much to his family’s chagrin.
Brief History:
He was never born as a pirate. In fact he had no idea that he would ever become one until a few crashed through the third floor window to his room and kidnapped him when he was about fifteen. Scared and inexperienced. the boy would not believe the other men that he is the rightful captain, that the restless ghost of Captain Hook was calling for his son to take over and avenge his death by the crocodile. None of the crew mates could rest- for they would hear the creaking voices and the scratching of the hook of their late captain, and the various signs of where to find the heir to the ship. The heir and the ship were the only two things that the man seemed to care about, after all.
Alphonse was the result of an illegitimate affair between a married woman and Captain Hook. The vengeful pirate had grown weary in his travels between the realms and decided to rest. In a bar he noticed a woman who was taking particular care of keeping her features hidden, and she seemed much different from the rest of the more exposed beings so he instantly decided to head there. He learned of how she is unhappy with her marriage and when he showed her his hook for a hand, she seemed more fascinated than others and did not flinch. Even after admitting he was a pirate, the woman did not seem to care because for once she saw adventure in the form of a man. Her husband did not suspect a thing when she was later found out to be pregnant. He took the child as a miracle, unaware that it was not his wife, but he who is infertile. Hook, upon finding out, wanted the child more than anything, but the woman felt guilt for her adultery and broke connections. That woman was the sister of Mr. Darling, the father of Wendy, John and Michael.
It was that heartbreak that made the Captain return to his more vindictive ways, returning to Neverland to find the flying imp that was Peter Pan. Of course he did not always stay in that realm. There were times when he would go to other ones, especially back at London where he would try to see how Annabelle was doing. He was surprised to learn that his son had grown so much, unaware at how much time had passed since he’d last seen his past lover. Alphonse would sometimes notice the mysterious man as well, merely looking at him before walking off. That kept him from having a chance to meet his true father until one fateful night when he seemed to not have a choice.
Captain Hook had passed on, and in a quite horrifying way. Peter Pan had set the crocodile after him and he ended up being his next meal. It was not long before his crew had just kidnapped the young man. He was brought out of his posh, comfortable lifestyle to a more harsh one. He managed to age unlike the other boys, because by now the deceased captain made a few wagers and found ways to keep the effects of the island’s magic- including siren’s lures- away from them. Though the rest of the crew members have already absorbed too much of that magic, Alphonse didn’t so that made him age well into the lifestyle. Every day, the crew members, the natives of Neverland and sometimes the siren would be in awe of how much he seemed like Captain Hook, minus the hook of course. In the eleven years of exposure to Neverland, he ended up being rugged, a bit of a lady-pleaser as he always had been from his previous life of revelry and sophistication, though much of the ladies were of the magical type and half would end up trying to take his life. It was the same with storms, which was both life threatening and roused him in a way nothing else could. His gambling nature and his inner anger towards being forced into this lifestyle makes him have his own sort of vindictive nature, but he uses that in the best way possible. He makes it his goal to be the best sailor there can be, without crossing boundaries and creating too much chaos.
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Character Intro: Hermes (Kingdom of Ichor)
Nicknames- Jackrabbit by Dionysus
The Busy One, The Lucky Lad by the people of Olympius
He Man by Apollo
Smart Ass by Thalia (muse of comedy)
Age- 17 (immortal)
Location- Arcadia, Olympius
Personality- Hermes is a cheerful laid back guy for the most part. There’s always a sly devilish grin on his face. He loves being the center of attention. He’s cunning, clever, and quick on his feet. Hermes never passes on the opportunity for a dare, bet, or wager and he also has a wicked sense of humor. He’s currently single.
As the god of roads, travelers, thieves, merchants, messengers, speed, trade, sports, borders, thoughts, communications, money, & luck, he has a wide range of powers/abilities. They include clauditikinesis (being able to control locks), magically expanding storage spaces, telepathy (being able to read minds), chrimatakinesis (money manipulation), teleportation (through a red mist), force field generation, super enchanced speed (the fastest deity in the pantheon!), communicating with/shapeshifting into animals that are sacred to him (like tortoises, rams, hawks, and snakes). He gives off his natural scent- a mixture of ground up coffee beans & gasoline.
Being the god of many things (roads, thieves, hospitality, etc...) Hermes oversees a lot of businesses in Olympius. He helps Zeus with his several powerful business conglomerates, he helps Hephaestus with his tech & construction companies- more specifically with road construction. Hermes even works for his uncle Hades, ushering souls in the Underworld. He's the founder/head of the OPS (Olympius Postal Service). He also owns most of the banks and has his own chain of casinos in the country- called Caduceus Palace. Hermes has other ventures including a few night clubs, his own airline (Diaktoros), a successful fitness magazine (Powerpulse), a business/finance magazine (The Acropolis Street Ledger), his own gas stations, karaoke bars, novelty prank stores, & nationwide gyms called Fit to be a God. Hermes also has a popular sneaker line called Airopolis, an athletic/streetwear fashion line called ViVoTrack (which includes eyewear), and a line of energy drinks called OmegaDash. Hermes has his own amusement park- Talaria Theme Park!
His mischievious nature started out early in life when he stole a herd of cows from his half brother Apollo when Hermes was barely a day old! Another notable moment from his godly career was when he slayed the hundred eyed giant Argus.
He's the creator/founder of the social media website Fatestagram, the video sharing site PanopTube, as well as the internet search engine Omega.
Hermes' favorite football team is the Arcadia Rams!
As an induction gift his father Zeus gave him a white gold chunky chain necklace with a key charm covered in white diamonds.
His most prized possession is his smartphone that can also transform into his caduceus.
He’s also one of the co-chairs of the annual Olympic Tournament- the biggest sporting event in all of Olympius!
Hermes is fluent in all the languages spoken in Olympius!
His go-to drink is a rum and coke. He also likes soda (most flavors) & energy drinks (especially his brand). A usual for him from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized iced coffee!
As well as living in New Olympus, Hermes also spends some time in the Underworld. He lives in an apartment at The Obsidian Tower. He also has an estate in Arcadia where he owns a farm with a lot of cattle!
Hermes has the largest, most extensive sneaker collection in the pantheon!
His all time favorite dessert from Hollyhock's Bakery is the rocky road brownies!
As far as his relationships with the other gods, Hermes tries to be friendly with everyone, even his step-mother Hera (in spite of her thinly veiled insults). Hermes was the second god to be mentored by Pan (god of the wild, satyrs, shepherds, & rustic music).
He adores his mom, Maia, always taking the opportunity to spoil her with extravagant gifts. Hermes also has a cool relationship with his aunts, The Pleiades. He considers Electra to be his favorite aunt. Hermes feels that he has to put on a show (less flashy, more restrained) when his grandmother Pleione (Titaness of sailing & stars) is around.
He loves snacking on pickle flavored chips!
In his free time, Hermes loves pulling pranks on people and the other deities! He also enjoys playing basketball, playing dice, sailing, writing (in his journal), cliff diving, playing dominoes, video games, doing live streams, bungee jumping, poker, mountain climbing, billiards, playing jacks, skateboarding, bowling, rollerblading, football (soccer), traveling, and working out. He's also been bitten by the photography bug & has enjoyed taking pictures! Hermes has become quite the photographer with many of his pictures being in art galleries in the city. Zeus even allowed him to do the photography for the New Olympus travel brochure. He's even started to collect cameras.
Hermes enjoys teasing Hecate about them making out at Hades’ Ta Kalanta party. He remembers the taste of spiced rum on her lips. He has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Peitho (goddess of persuasion) & a hate-sex arrangement with Chelone. His last long term relationship was with Chione (goddess of snow). Their breakup was shown on a HUGE jumbotron, as they were arguing during a basketball game. He also had a crush on Philotes- with him having a life size poster of her in the penthouse apartment he shares with Apollo & Dionysus, that was personally autographed by her. Hermes has been in a “duel” of sorts with Thalia, who’s the muse of comedy. It all started after he performed at her comedy club and garnered a louder standing ovation. They’re always trying to one up each other to see who's the funniest. They both say that they hate each other. Other people (like Aphrodite) say they have angst & sexual tension. Hermes also kinda hooked up with Adephagia (goddess of gluttony).
His favorite meal is a large mediterranean pizza. Hermes also likes his mom's fried rice, lo mein, and szechuan chicken. He also likes steak (well done) with sauteed onions as well as the olympian sized onion rings with a cheesesteak burger from Olympic Chef!
His favorite from The Bread Box is the reuben sandwich (sometimes added with extra coleslaw).
“Sometimes, a sweet lie goes down easier than the bitter truth."
#my oc#my character#oc character#my oc character#oc intro#character intro#oc introduction#character introduction#modern greek gods#modern greek mythology#greek myth retellings#greek gods#hermes greek god#hermes greek mythology#greek mythology#greek pantheon
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"Fuck you," Jack snarls. "I can do this fancy bullshit too!"
He strips off his clothes and reaches for Stede. "Take 'em off and hand and 'em over!"
"I..." Stede frowns, his eyes scanning Jack up and down. "No."
"Seriously?!"
"He has other clothes," Ed notes. "Surely Jack could-"
"Oh surely, surely, surely," Stede mocks as he whips around and heads into their quarters. "Surely I'll lend my finest silks to that...that..."
"Hey."
"Fucking christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Stede shrieks as he whirls about to find Jack directly behind him in the doorway to the auxiliary wardrobe.
"Well," Jack sighs. "One thing is, this piercing got awful cockeyed on me, no idea how-"
Stede peers down. "Ug-oh. I didn't know you could pierce that spot."
"Yeah, me neither! But when you already got a hole there from a knife, you may as well fill it."
"I don't know what to say to that," Stede admits.
"Then kiss me."
"What?!"
"Just saying," Jack replies. "You could. Blackie won't care."
"I think he might!"
Jack rolls his eyes. "You been staring at my dick ever since I ripped my clothes off five minutes ago. I can read those signs."
"I can't tell if you're this stupid, or if this is a joke," Stede scoffs, and thrusts the nearest pair of midnight blue silk trousers at him. "Here. It'll look nice with your eyes."
Jack takes them slowly. "Uh. You know, out there. I'm just not used to sharing him with anyone else, really. Your fancy stuff is...nice."
"How kind of you," Stede remarks dryly as he browses the racks. He may as well finish the damned outfit now and make sure it looks good.
And Jack too, he supposes.
"I mean it," Jack mutters. "Fuckin'...told Blackie I'd try with you, but you don't make it easy."
"Oh so one compliment erases everything else you've said and done today?" Stede snaps and tosses a beige linen shirt to Jack, only to rush over and exchange it for an ivory one instead.
"I gotta say, I'm confused," Jack says as he looks over the shirt. "Are you mad at me or not?"
"Yes!" Stede hisses. "But no, because Ed likes you and I like Ed so I will deal with you if I must and-oh god, this is how Izzy feels."
"Oof," Jack winces and slips the shirt on. "That's a rough one. You can't tell me you don't need some rum for that."
"I...maybe," Stede sighs. "You can put the trousers on too."
"You sure?"
Jack looks genuinely hesitant.
It makes a storm well up in Stede's chest. He shouldn't like Jack. He doesn't.
He doesn't, but this Jack is...bearable. This Jack is incredibly careful slipping on the trousers, like he'll break them.
"Don't worry about shoes," Jack mumbles. "I think bare feet complete the look for me."
"You should have decent shoes," Stede mutters as he fusses with waistcoats. "Sand is hot during the day."
"Yeah, but if you walk on it enough, you toughen your soles to it," Jack says. "I'd wager your soles aren't all that tough to much of anything, are they?"
Stede whips around and shoves the silver waistcoat with blue beading and threading details into Jack's hands. "They...I... I'm working on it!"
"Admirable," Jack says. "For a man of your age."
"If Ed didn't like you..." Stede grumbles.
"Yeah, same to you," Jack sighs. "Little bit, at least. Can we be decent, or try to be, for his sake?"
Stede lets out his own heavy sigh as he returns to Jack with a jacket and accessories. "I could agree to that. To trying."
Jack turns obediently as Stede helps him into the matching midnight blue jacket, with silver threading to look like ocean waves in the night all along it.
He doesn't say a word while Stede fusses over his hair, braiding it ornately back with blue ribbons.
He turns back around and a hand gently touches the braid. "Damn. This ain't my thing but...when you do it up like this, I get it, kinda. You pretty up Ed like this too?"
"I have," Stede replies. "At his request. And would again, should he ask."
"Lucky guy," Jack says, oddly sadly to Stede's ear. "One last thing before we go back out-"
He leans into Stede, lips nearly touching. "One kiss. Just one. Put everything you hate about me into it. Make it mean. I'll do the same. Might keep us both cool out there in front of everyone."
Stede considers it.
And closes the distance, hard.
It's a violent, messy thing, barely a kiss and more of a strangely sweet bite.
Jack laughs hard as they part. "You smashed my fuckin' nose!"
He did. Jack's nose isn't out of shape or anything, but it is bleeding.
"Here," Stede hands him a handkerchief from a shelf. "Don't worry about it staining."
"Why? Because you can always buy more fancy shit like this?"
"No," Stede replies coldly as he pushes Jack out of the wardrobe, towards the door of his and Ed's quarters. "Because Ed taught me cold water takes out most bloodstains, even in nicer fabrics like these!"
Jack has no reply to that, as Stede finishes shoving him out of the door, and back towards the deck.
#text post#this is like...kinda jack/stede but not really and even if it is it sure as fuck would never be healthy kadnkfngj#but they'll have amazing hate fucks#ofmd ficlet#also i had fun thinking up what Jack would look pretty in
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Next to You 6/?
Summary: (Modern AU) Killian had taken one look at Emma Swan and knew she was every kind of trouble a man ought to steer clear of if he wanted to keep his sanity. Beautiful, vulnerable—probably with a heart-rending backstory—but hiding it admirably behind a tough exterior. She was an open book to him, and he’d read one just like it before. The last thing he needed was to have her as a flatmate. Unfortunately, he was outvoted.
Rating: T
Previous Chapter (Also on AO3)
A/N: I'm so grateful to have a bit of time to write. It's really helping me keep my sanity for the impending move. (Did I mention that the move is across the world?)
CHAPTER SIX: Thicker Than Water
The pub was unusually crowded for a Thursday evening, and that suited Killian just fine. An endless repetition of taking orders and pouring drinks was fantastic for chasing away his memory of the last twenty-four hours and its tangle of conflicting emotions. He didn’t have to think about the soft glow of light around Emma’s closed door last night when he finally made it home. How he raised his hand to knock, but then let it drop away with a muttered curse. He didn’t have to think about her dark, empty room in the morning. Or David’s annoyingly contemplative gaze in the kitchen as they wordlessly partook of their coffee.
Killian also didn’t have to think about the phone in his back pocket, about the disappointment which had gathered in his stomach like beads of poisoned lead with each hour that passed without a single text from Emma. By the time he arrived for his evening shift, he could act as if he wasn’t at all angry. Angry at her for upsetting his carefully curated life with a single drunken whim. Angry at himself for forgetting the inevitable conclusion to this unrequited tale.
Angry more that he still wanted it.
He was grateful when a group of lads started a sing-along of Wellerman, when even the most reluctant of patrons added their voices to the melody—stomping and pounding fists against tables—making the establishment reverberate with the rousing ditty. The spontaneous merriment did wonders for his mood.
Not long after, he fell into a familiar routine. Laughing with others over the playful insults Lilly, one of his bartenders, tossed at the few daring enough to engage her in a battle of wits. Shuttling drinks to tables and booths. Catching up with regulars, asking after work, after family and beloved pets. Duly clicking his tongue over tyrannical bosses or loud neighbors. Offering congratulations and best wishes for happy news. This was good. This was what he needed to clear his head.
“Oy, Killian!” Smee’s voice pierced the din of conversation some hours later. “You’ve got a visitor!”
Trepidation twisted in Killian’s gut as he turned toward the end of the bar. Had Emma finally come to see him? To once and for all smother the torch he carried against his will?
It wasn’t her, though. David leaned against the polished bar top, and by the sober expression he wore, Killian wagered that his mate wasn’t here for a drink. He passed his tray to Lilly and nodded for David to follow him to his small office.
“What’s going on with you and Emma?” David asked once they were settled behind closed doors.
Killian swallowed down a sardonic laugh. He pasted on a neutral smile, opened the drawer in his desk where he kept a flask of rum, and lied. “Not sure what you mean, mate.”
David gave him a flat look. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Even if I did,” Killian countered, his smile slipping a fraction, “I’m fairly certain that it’s none of your business.” He leaned back in his chair, took a nip from the bottle. “Now if that’s all you needed…”
David didn’t take the unspoken invitation to leave but instead folded his arms. “She’s my family, mate. And she’s had it pretty damn hard in life.”
Killian could guess where this discussion was going. “I’m aware.”
“No, I don’t think you are—not really.” David shook his head. “Or else you wouldn’t be blurring the line with her.”
Killian stared at the other man. He was the one blurring lines? “You’ve got it wrong.” Incredibly wrong.
“Do I?” David asked. “Because in the time I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you in a single relationship. Not one. Listen, I get it. You’re not the setting down kind, and I can respect that. Do whatever makes you happy. But Emma isn’t a notch in your headboard.”
Irritation ran hot beneath Killian’s skin at the backhanded inference. “What the bloody hell kind of man do you think I am?”
David spread his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t think you actually want to hurt her. But she’s not as resilient as she pretends to be,” he said. “I’m just saying that after the shit she’s been through with her exes, she deserves someone who will protect her heart—someone who’s all in.”
He rose out of his seat. “You need to figure out if you can be that guy. If not, you’d better back off.” He punctuated the warning with a hard glare before leaving the room.
Killian took a long pull from the flask in a futile attempt to quiet the blood pounding in his ears. He needed to punch something—David’s face in particular for that dreadful portrait he painted of his character. But his friend hadn’t been entirely incorrect, had he? Killian had sworn off all attachments and done a fine job of keeping true to his word.
Until Emma.
He ran a hand through his hair with a groan. Did he want to be what she deserved? A voice inside answered with a quick and resounding yes. But experience had long ago taught him that want and ability were two different things. The question he had to answer wasn’t whether he wanted to be that man, but whether he could be.
He didn’t bloody know.
~
The question which had haunted him all night seemed plainly moot when Emma maintained her communication blackout—even after he sent a tentative message asking after her day. If she had no desire to explore this bloody something brewing between them, then why should he bother tying himself in knots over it?
If only it were that simple.
If only he hadn’t looked up with equal parts anticipation and dread each time the door to the pub opened. If only he hadn’t lingered past closing in case she made an appearance. If only he hadn’t held his breath when he returned to their flat and then let it out in a dejected sigh as he slumped against the doorjamb of her still-empty room.
When his phone buzzed while he crossed the hall, he couldn’t help the bloom of irrational hope that it was her. Unfortunately, the flower withered at Liam’s name lighting up the screen. Killian raised a brow as he accepted the call, wondering if his typically fastidious brother had somehow forgotten the time difference.
“Bloody hell,” he said, closing the door to his bedroom. “You do know it’s nearly four in the morning here?”
“You need to come home.” Liam’s tone was distressingly somber.
Killian straightened, seized with sudden panic. “Has something happened to Elsa? Ardie?”
“They’re fine,” Liam answered hastily. He paused for a beat before going on, “It’s Father.”
“Father?” Killian frowned. Elsa’s father? He thought she’d lost her parents when she was an adolescent.
On the other end of the line, Liam sucked in a breath. “Our father is dying.”
“Our father…” Killian echoed slowly as if the words would make more sense if he said them out loud. “Our father is dying?”
“You need to come home,” Liam insisted again.
A chilly sort of numbness swept over Killian. “Father” was hardly the term to describe the man who had sired him. In fact, he couldn’t see any reason why he should give a damn about Brennan Jones’s impending demise, let alone travel back to England for the sake of it.
“Killian?” Liam asked, broaching the thick silence that had fallen between them.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Killian replied tightly, “that bastard died the day he abandoned us. I’m not going to rush to his bedside so he can ease his bloody conscience.”
Liam made a noise of disapproval. “It’s more complicated than that,” he began, but Killian wasn’t in the mood to hear a lecture.
“If you’re worried I’ll regret not saying a ‘proper’ farewell,” he said, “I can assure you I won’t. He deserves—”
“We have a brother, dammit!”
The rest of Killian’s invective stuck in his throat, rendering him speechless. It had never occurred to him before that their estranged parent might have had another family. The notion stirred the bile in his stomach.
“We have a brother,” Liam repeated more calmly. “Whatever your feelings about Father, our brother has done nothing wrong. We’re about to be the only family he has left.”
Killian wanted to argue, to tell Liam that their father and the son he’d apparently bothered to raise could both sod off. He didn’t need this soap opera shit on top of everything else. But as turbulent being an orphan had been, he’d always had Liam at his side. Could he truly leave his nameless sibling completely unmoored?
Just as Brennan had done to them.
Killian unclenched his jaw. It would be a cold day in hell before he’d be anything like his father. “Alright,” he relented. “I’ll be on the next flight.”
“Thank you,” Liam said, relief evident in his voice. “Send me the details of your arrival when you have them. See you soon.”
“Aye.” Killian ended the call.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he dropped onto his bed. This was… It was too much. It was a bloody mess—everything. He let out a brittle laugh. And yet when had life ever not been?
He gave himself another minute to bemoan this unwelcome development before searching flights and shooting a message to David and Robin, to Smee. His assistant manager could handle the needed alterations to the pub’s schedule.
Three hours later, he was seated at his gate, worn travel bag at his feet and ticket in hand, when he received a text from an unknown number.
hey. it’s emma. asshole skip broke my phone & had to get a temp one. sry for disappearing. had to chase down a lead. be back sunday. see u then?
Killian blinked at the message. Was it merely last night that he was on tenterhooks, awaiting a response from her? The whole affair seemed significantly less urgent now. Though, he was glad that she hadn’t been ignoring him—glad that they, at least, remained friends.
I’m off to London for a bit. Hope you made the bastard pay. He hesitated before adding: Be safe, love.
She replied within seconds. u too.
The call for boarding came over the speakers, and he felt a twinge behind his sternum for what lay ahead.
And for what he had to leave behind.
~TBC~
Thank you for reading!
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Truth Serum - Sevika : How are you coping after Silco's death?
"What, did you think this a question hard for me to answer, or one that would upset me?" A soft yet grim chuckle escaped from Sevika as she shook her head. "Badly. There's nothing more to really say about the matter than that." Even without the truth serum she wouldn't have bothered to lie about that. What was the point? Everyone knew how long she'd worked for him, and how linked together they had been. Whatever their difficulties they had trusted each other, and that was a rare thing for people like them.
Head turning for a second to glance away the tall woman sighed as the serum throbbed in her veins demanding more. "Fine. I'm lost, and I have no idea what to do. The Cause was already dim, and dull with it's fire dying down. With Silco gone The Cause dies with him. No one will care anymore. As for employment outside of that there's no chem-baron here I trust, and I'm not going to go work for some small group of thugs but I also don't particularly want to become a chem-baron myself although I could if I wanted to. So how am I coping?... Well I'm about to go down a bottle of rum, pay for three of the most expensive whores I can find, and enjoy one hell of a night. After that, we'll see what the future holds. However I'd be willing to wager that whatever the future holds it's nothing good."
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Prologue
“Faust?” the bartender scoffs, “the hell do you need him for?”
The woman huffs. “I need help, and I reckon he might be able to do the trick. Where is he?”
The bartender scrubs at the glass in her hand before setting it down matter-of-factly. She steps back and crosses her arms, looking pensively up towards the landing above the bar.
“Probably drunk off his ass in one of these rooms, I’d wager.” The bartender sighs. “Look, ma’am, I don’t know what you think that lout can do for you, but if youre set on it...” she trails off, turning and pulling from behind the bar a small wooden box. She rifles through the neat rows of cards before drawing out a faintly glowing red keycard embossed with the rattlesnake logo of the saloon.
The woman takes the card and bows her head. Glancing around, she takes in the silence of the room. The bar is more or less empty, save for a handful of midday patrons sipping solemnly at their drinks in the shadowy back corners. Its a relatively clean, albeit visibly aged, establishment: the scuffed wood floors are mostly swept clean of broken glass, its well lit where it matters, and the tables not in use are wiped down and fairly shiny. The few windows scattered around the place have their moth-eaten curtains drawn, letting in a bit of sunlight despite being half-covered in layers of peeling advertisement stickers and long-since-passed event posters.
The woman finds the staircase cloistered between a bathroom and a storage closet and lit only by a yellowing wall lamp. She nearly trips over an old man brooding on the third step, muttering into his bottle about devils drinking rum. She pardons herself but lingers, just for a second. Is she really doing this? What does she think is gonna happen when she finds Faust? Is he really what her sister said he is?
Her footing shifts as the old man yanks his coat from under her heel.
“Hey, lady,” the old man jeers, “come back down to earth sometime so you can watch where the hell you’re goin’, alright?”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, pardon me,” she apologizes quietly, then quickly continues upstairs to avoid the old man’s judgement.
Room 13 is the last room on the left of the hall. The door is slightly ajar, open just wide enough for the woman to see a messy pile of clothes on the floor against the wall. Its dead silent.
Taking a moment to steel herself, she sharply knocks three times on the door before gently pushing it open.
The room smells like liquor and tobacco smoke and the floor is covered in loose papers and books and empty bottles. The bed is unmade, and the woman in it is equally undressed and asleep. She almost chokes on the musky air, then she notices the source of the mess.
In the open window sill sits a young man with a thin lit cigarette hanging from his lips and an open book in his hand. He’s disheveled, wearing only undone trousers and a white undershirt with dark hair that reaches his chin in chaotic curls and tangles. When he looks up and his eyes meet hers, she cant stop the ragged inhale at the sight of them: the left burns an unnatural bright red around the pupil, with an intense glare to match, while the right is entirely pitch black, dull and blank and downright eerie.
The woman feels extremely uncomfortable under his gaze, almost... naked, in a weird sort of way, like her very soul is on display for this man to see. Her arms reflexively cross over her chest, hands coming to rest just below her throat out of pure habit.
“Pardon, I-I didnt mean to intrude,” she stammers out, breaking the silence with a timid voice.
The young man glances back towards his book and closes it, tossing it onto a nearby pile of clutter with a dampened thud. Those eyes, strange and unsettling, stare at her. His face is unexpressive at her presence. The woman is tempted to turn tail and give up on this whole venture, but the fear of what awaits her at home outweighs the intimidation of her company.
The woman forces her arms straight down again, gripping the ruffles of her dress skirt, and lifts her chin. Summoning all her confidence, she tries again.
“I have an inquiry for Faust,” she demands.
The young man blinks, face still lax. He crosses his arms lazily and leans back against the window pane.
She continues. “Ive heard that Faust can set folks straight, or at least rough ‘em up enough to impart a lesson.”
The man hums. Its a rough sound, almost like he’s clearing his throat. He looks almost bored to tears, the woman thinks, and she would be sure of it if it weren’t for how his eyes shone so attentively.
“Its… its about my husband,” she spits out, “My sister, Clarice, she tells me he don’t mean no harm, that he’s just bein’ a man, that I just say the wrong damned things at the wrong damned times, but I—“
“Whats your name?” the man asks calmly. His voice is quiet, almost fragile in how soft and careful he pronounces his syllables.
“…Corrine.”
The man uncrosses his arms. “Miss Corrine, if I may be blunt and honest, you don’t need a sorry piece of work like Faust.”
“Wait—”
The man continues, “You could much easier go down the road, pick up a nice Winchester from the old lady runnin’ the shop, and do the job yourself.”
“I don’t want him dead!” she exclaims.
The man chuckles. “The results are the same, ma’am, only difference is one of the methods might save your soul, if your cause is just.”
Corrine’s fists tighten. “Where is Faust, then? Who are you?”
“Oh, you know,” he smiles. His teeth shine menacingly white in the sunlight.
“I reckon I don’t, sir.”
“Only a poor, unfortunate soul, hidin’ in the willows, givin’ in to vice, causin’ trouble.”
“A liar?”
That draws a laugh from the man, a soft draw of breath matching his steady voice. “On occasion. Comes with the line of work.”
The man takes a deep breath. “Listen, Faust has rules. He doesn’t go ‘round knockin’ on his ass every fool he thinks deserves it. He makes deals, fulfills contracts, that sort of thing.”
“Then let me make that deal! I can’t go back home, I just…” Tears threaten to drop from Corrine’s eyes but she fights them back.
The woman in the bed stirs, making Corrine jump.
Corrine eyes the sleeping figure suspiciously. “Is she Faust?” she asks quietly.
The man waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, she’s fine. Think her name is Leslie, something like that. Let’s just keep it down, for her sake.”
A beat passes.
“You’re that desperate, huh?” he asks in a low voice.
Corrine nods quickly.
The man stretches a hand out to her. His red eye is dilated, almost as black as the other save for the thin ring of iris encircling the pupil.
Corrine eyes the hand wearily. “Are you Faust? Last time I’m asking.”
The man flicks his hand, gesturing for her to come closer.
Corrine takes it and shakes. Faust’s hand is cold as ice, but she barely has time to reflect on it as the world around her turns to flame and black ink overtakes his tanned skin in swirling patterns and foreign letters. She meets his eyes again to see that they’re now both fully black. From his forehead two short horns have sprouted, curling back on themselves towards his temples. He looks gaunt, now with his hair swept back from his face.
“What do you have to offer me, Miss Corrine?” asks the devil before her.
Corrine tries to pull her hand back, tries to move away, tries to do anything, to no avail. Frozen in place, struck by a sudden fear, she thinks. What does she have to offer? What does a creature borne of hell desire? Why does her sister know this man?
She flounders for a minute, reeling from what she’s seeing. Then she collects herself, breathes in deep, and tightens her grip. “Will any old soul do, or do you need one in particular?”
“Bargaining off someone else’s life, bold move,” Faust says, sounding almost entertained. “Reckon my boss won’t be happy if I take such an offer, though.”
Corrine smiles sweetly. “Not even for me?”
Faust smiles back. “For you? What makes you so special?”
“My cause is just, like you put so nicely earlier. I’ll wager there’s a perfect spot in Hell for the man who so fiercely harms his own wife and children.”
“You know, there just might be, but the fare for an unscheduled trip down, I fear, it ain’t cheap. Say I break the rules, take a soul I’m not permitted to take; What, pray-tell, is in it for me?”
Corrine tilts her head. “Satisfaction for a job well done?”
Faust stares at her blankly.
“The knowledge you saved three little kids from that monster?”
Faust blinks.
“I have a couple bottles of genuine Irish whiskey, ‘bout century old heirlooms, with your name on ‘em.”
“…Getting warmer.” Faust says slowly.
“I can get you into my husband’s second bank account,” Corrine says, voice low and conspiratorial. “He don’t know I know about it, but from what I can tell, he can afford the nicest women —or men, if you’re so inclined— this side of the Mojave.”
Faust grins.
Surely it can’t be this easy, Corrine thinks, but sure enough the fire around them subsides instantly. His eyes return to their normal weirdness. The horns are gone, letting his curls fall down in front of his face.
Faust lets go of her hand, reaching up to push his hair back. He snaps his fingers and a black coat appears in his hand.
“Lead the way, ma’am,” he says as he shrugs on his coat. He pulls a few crinkled bills out of an inner pocket and tosses them onto the bed before turning towards the door, pulling on some worn boots and a belt already heavy with a gun holster, a flask, and a small black bag.
The woman stirs, finally, sitting up and letting the duvet fall from her chest. “Martin? You’re leaving?” she yawns, seemingly ignoring both Corrine and her own state of undress.
Faust, already out the door, calls back, “Name’s not Martin, and it was lovely gettin’ to know ya!”
Corrine hurries out after Faust. She can’t help the small smile of relief that crosses her face. She was almost free.
#wip: faust#writeblr#prologue#southern gothic#cyberpunk#southwest gothic#writers on tumblr#idk what other tags to put lmao
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