Killian tried like hell not to stare, but the way Emma had waltzed into his bedroom was pure torture. She did this sometimes, simply showed up at his apartment and let herself in, making some grand proclamation. “We’re watching Die Hard tonight.” “Put on your bikini, Jones, you’re taking me to the pool.”
I’m taking you out for pizza and a beer to celebrate our tenth friendiversary, Killian.
I need to get laid and you’re the best wingman a girl’s got, Killian.
Sorry you got stood up, Killian. I brought Cherry Garcia and Steel Magnolias.
I got stood up, the bastard. I need entertainment, whaddya got?
Neal is being a dick again, Killian. Mind if I crash here tonight?
Killian. Walsh isn’t who I thought he was. When am I ever going to find someone who gets me?
And then there was last week, when she’d shown up at his door quite drunk and not at all herself, or so he’d thought at the time. But now after six days of obsessing over every nuance and detail of that night–the night she’d come so close to kissing him, he would swear it on every god there was–Killian had started to wonder if Emma was starting to feel the same way he’d felt for some time now.
Killian, she’d said with an utterly devastating, breathtaking smile. You’re home. I’m so glad to see you. Is it cool if we just hang out for a little while? My day was terrible, and you’re the only one who knows how to make that better.
The following morning, when they’d woken in a tangle of limbs, he confused but happy to find her sprawled across his chest and she confused and looking a bit green, she’d vaulted to the bathroom, heaved the entire contents of her stomach and possibly other organs, then limped weakly back to her own apartment on the tenth floor.
He hadn’t seen her the rest of the week. Hadn’t answered his texts inquiring over whether she was okay. Hadn’t given him the easy banter and phone calls and unannounced visits he’d grown to depend on over the last decade or so.
Now here she was, a determined look on her face and an utterly lewd dress hugging her body.
“Well?” she challenged, the perfect arch of her eyebrows making it clear that she was finally ready to face whatever it was that had happened on that couch the week before.
He couldn’t help it, his own brows arched in kind and a smirk crept up on his face. He definitely did not imagine the way her eyes zeroed in on his mouth, so with only slight hesitation and a feeling like he was soaring expanding across his chest, he reached for his leather jacket and grabbed his keys.
In which Emma finds the scissors and Killian explains.
“You kept them,” her hand clenches around the cold metal, not a bloody tremor in sight when she tilts her chin up and steps towards him. “I told you to get rid of these and you – you lied to me!”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” he would like to grab for the scissors himself, hold them above her head in the way Liam used to when he was a boy and he wanted to make himself sick off of the caramels their mum kept in the cupboard just above the stove. Childish, maybe. But he’s feeling a bit desperate these days. “Need I remind you that you lied to me for weeks before – “
Killian Jones is fighting a losing battle with his vice and hiding it behind his music persona. Emma Swan is the cop who arrests him for it. But that isn’t the first time the two of them have met. After Emma impulsively offers him her apartment to recover away from the tabloids, it also won’t be the last. For her it’s just giving someone a chance she never had. But can it be more? Read more here.
Warning: This chapter contains mentions of alcohol abuse and past child abuse and vulgar language.
Emma still really couldn’t believe how the weekend had gone. It had actually gone well. No major snafus besides the two food mistakes. Leo still hadn’t stopped talking about Mr. Killy three days later, which for a child with a goldfish’s memory, was pretty impressive. No one had been slapped. David hadn’t pulled his gun. No one got food poisoning or alcohol poisoning. It was pretty much normal. Which was totally not normal for Emma and she was trying to not let that freak her out.
What did it mean that she could be normal with someone?
That no matter how fucked she was things were still okay?
That they could accept each other and move on?
Go on an adventure together?
Fuck, that scared her.
She and Killian had texted each day since the day but that was it as their schedules were too busy for them to meet again. But honestly, the space had been enough for Emma to calm down again, keep trying to play it cool and not think about how easy the weekend had been. Emma had gone back to work, busy tracking down little shits breaking the windows of local stores through her stint of nightshifts and sleeping most of the day after dragging her exhausted body back to her apartment afterwards. David had followed her one of the days, too exhausted to drive home. What had been just a regular check had turned into a foot chase after they ended up in the right place at the right time and found the delinquent teens. Killian worked an opposite schedule to Emma, recording Chipped Tea Cup during the day and filling Regina’s social media presence requirements during the evening.
Someday, if things worked out, Emma knew she’d have to become a part of the social media storm. Someday she’d have followers for no other reason that she was Killian Jones’s significant other. And because she was attractive and there were creepy people out there. Emma tried not to think about those ones, or what they might do while eating Zoodles and looking at her Instagram. Because there was no way Emma could avoid it if they went public (if Killian wanted to make this public). Not with Regina holding the reigns until the last CD contract was up. People would find out about her. About her shady past and still questionable present. Because people who wanted to bring them down, those Internet trolls who just liked to see people suffer, would find that. And spread it all over the media. And push it in Killian’s face, as if he were the stupidest person alive for being attracted to Emma.
Inspired by the ending of 6×05, and Killian’s little secret. And you know, the fact that he’d rather bear the weight of her anger than give up the one weapon he has to save her, even if saving her means losing her. (p.s. I know that won’t happen, just getting into his mind)
He knows it’s wrong. He can feel it in the way his chest aches, and the way his head hurts, a splitting pain radiating from the back of his skull to the front.
He knows it’s wrong, keeping this secret from her because they just promised honesty, the forever kind. He knows he shouldn’t lie to his true love, knows it deep down in his very soul, or wherever their love radiates from, spreading out like ink on water, bleeding into everything. He’s consumed by her, by his love for her, and that’s why he had to do it.
He tried to drop them into that cold, dark water. Tried to relinquish his hold on the one source of power that he had to save her from the fate she puts her belief in. But he couldn’t. He sat in that small rowboat, rear aching from the wood of the seat, and he held those shears aloft, dangling over the sea.
But he couldn’t do it.
He keeps the shears because he’s already lost one love, two loves, three and four, five and six. He’s lost everyone, and he can’t lose her too. Even if this secret ends up ruining them for good, even if she hates him for it. He can bear her scorn as long as she’s alive.
Gods he just wants her to live.
He wants to give her whatever her beautiful, precious heart desires, even if in the end it’s not him.
let me just take this time to thank you all not only for the overwelming love you sent for my birthday last saturday, but also for almost a year of continued support. i had one of these eye-opening nights of art and meaningful conversation and as much as i appreciate these real life experiences, i want to tell each one of you that tumblr friendship matters equally. reader or writer, you make someone’s day. don’t you forget
Summary: Things Emma Swan loves about her new apartment: the water stains, the chipping paint, the cabinets that are falling off the hinges, and the radiator that makes an ungodly hissing noise.Things Emma Swan does not love about her new apartment: she can hear and smell everything going on in the apartment below her… And 7B just happens to be a smoker… CS Neighbors AU/One-Shot
She’d finally been able to move herself and her son out of subsidized housing after years of working her ass off as a bail bonds(wo)man. She’d recently brought in a guy who was skipping on child support (there was a special spot in hell for people who did that), and had been generously rewarded by his ex-wife. She just happened to be the heiress of the TGI Friday’s empire.
Her place was not perfect by any means. The radiator made a horrible hissing noise, the ceiling had water damage, and when she sat on the toilet her knees touched the wall, but it had two bedrooms and a gorgeous bay window. Henry loved the fact that he had his own space, and she loved seeing her son so happy. So not perfect, but pretty damn close.
Except for one minor detail…
The building had clearly been made so as to save as much money as possible and all the air vents seemed to be connected. Which meant that they could hear and smell everything coming from the apartment directly below them very clearly. She’d learned that 7B was a very good cook, watched TV very late at night, was British, and liked to engage in screaming matches over the phone (unless he was screaming at himself, which wouldn’t surprise her after everything she’d seen in this life).
Killian and his desire for intimacy will forever be my undoing.
“You do that a lot.”
He doesn’t look up from the oven, fiddling with the knobs with a huff as he attempts to get the back burner to light. The oven is obstinate at best, no rhyme or reason to when it works and when it doesn’t. She mentally adds it to the things that’ll need replacing around here – right below creepy basement dungeon and just above the soap dish that looks a bit like a failed mushroom.
Captain Swan and Captain Cobra fic, Rated Teen, ~1300 words, Spoilers for 6×03
I’m sorry about this, I tried to write something happy and instead I made angst.
She can almost forget that she’s living under a death sentence.
His clothes are in her closet and his toiletries are in her bathroom. (She’s amused to see he’s discovered modern hair products but not an electric beard trimmer, and she makes a mental note to buy him one.) He puts his books on the shelves, his ancient tomes pressed against the few dog-eared paperbacks she’s bothered to hold on to. He proves to be a better cook than she would have given him credit for, especially considering his disability.
Her parents bring over a housewarming gift and stay for dinner, her mother smiling and her father frowning (but deep down, probably also smiling) at their casual intimacy. Henry takes it all in stride, incorporating Killian into the family routine without complaint. If there’s a faint flicker of worry behind his eyes sometimes, she doesn’t let herself dwell on it.
Emma tries not to laugh when they come to pack up Killian’s things for the house. Belle’s definitely added a woman’s touch to the captain’s cabin – she can’t be jealous of the fact, Belle’s actually living there and she deserves flowers and a million baby books scattered around if she wants them. But Killian picking through gauzy fabrics for his treasures and telling Emma where he’s moved things into storage just reaffirms the fact that this is a good thing. Belle deserves her own space and Killian –
Killian deserves as much of a happy ending, as much of a future, as she can give him.
But when they pull up to the house with the back seat of the Bug filled with crates and knicknacks, Killian’s almost shy as they start unloading and bringing things inside. “I’ll, ah, I’ll set up in here shall I?” he asks as they top the stairs and he indicates the spare room just to the left.
Emma raises an eyebrow, a bemused smile on her face. “Killian. When I said move in with me, I meant move in with me.”
It All Starts With a Dance 