She tilts her chin up to catch his mouth with hers again, nipping at his bottom lip and curling her foot around the back of his knee.
“What is?”
He smiles, bumping her nose with his. “Making love to you proper.” At her dumbfounded expression, he continues with a chuckle and a raised brow. “In a bed.”
A/N – As promised, the companion piece to Use Your Words. It came out a little different than I was expecting when I sat down to write it. Assume this is the day after the events of Use Your Words occur. Hope you all like it.
Rated M for sure.
Emma stretches, hands over her head, toes pointed beneath the blankets. It’s late morning and she has nowhere to be, no crisis to avert, nobody to save; she can sleep in and enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty house.
Killian has been a part-time carer for Henry Cassidy for nearly five years now, over which time he has come to appreciate and value the balance it’s brought to his mostly tumultuous existence. But when Neal remarries and brings someone new into their lives, he finds his precarious peace about to be disturbed forever. All he knows is this – no matter what happens, somebody has to fight for Henry’s happiness.
(Which may well make Emma Swan the best damn thing that ever happens to them.)
Captain Cobra Swan. Loosely based on Henry James’ ‘What Maisie Knew’.
and finally here is part 3, checking in at around 12,000 words. thanks a million to everybody who’s jumped aboard this crazy story train with me, I hope you like the ending! Rating: T Warnings: the same from the previous parts apply, but nothing major. Tagging these sweethearts as requested: @piratesails, @mossandmushroom, @the-reason-to-sail-home, @kat2609 & @jimothyhaalpert.
and, onwards!
It feels
like some sort of surreal nightmare.
Beside him,
Emma has completely shut down, gaze fixed to the floor as Neal lifts Henry into
the air, rattling off an excited greeting as he presses kisses to the boy’s
cheek. Beside him stands his PA (Tamara, Killian thinks her name is) awkwardly
readjusting the strap on her bag and not looking anybody in the eye. Although
the early Boston summer air is light, it feels solid and discomfiting, and
gives him an almost unbearable urge to crawl out of his own skin. Anything that
would stop the flush at the back of his neck, his hand from twitching from its
place in his pocket eager to find itself in Emma’s again, an odd sort of shame
from clinging to his shoulders.
He’d tried
to step into somebody else’s life, again.
And as
always, reality has a way of wrenching him painfully back to the present. Away
from that breath of a fantasy.
(Was it only
moments ago that he and Emma had Henry balanced between them, a carnival behind
them and the rest of the afternoon ahead? The world had seemed so perfect then.)
“So,” Neal
says, approaching the pair of them while he balances Henry on his hip. He’s
smiling but Killian knows better, can see the tic that jumps at the corner of
his mouth and the slight furrow in his brow. “What’re you guys doing here?”
It’s more of
an accusation, a probe, than a question, but at least Neal is being subtle.
Subtler than Tamara and her shamefaced looks at the sky.
But if Neal
wants to be coy, Killian is perfectly happy to play along. “We just took Henry
to a carnival on the common,” he informs him, forcing his hands to stay in his
pockets.
“No, I meant
what’re you guys doing with my son, together.”
Not
particularly subtle at all, then.
He knows the
conclusion Neal might have already reached, knows how much it must horrify Emma
and Killian hurries to correct his assumption. “Neal —”
“So the plan
is to just wait until I’m out of town and then gang up on me, right?” Neal cuts
him off with a furious glare, his grip on Henry tightening. The boy, unsure
about what’s happening, clutches at the collar of Neal’s shirt. “Show him a
better time with a nuclear family, is that it?” Killian feels his ears burn at
the accusation, even though he knows it has no basis in truth. Mostly because
whatever hadn’t happened, he was
harbouring feelings for Neal’s wife. And he had spent a fair few moments of
that day holding her hand. Wishing she was his, imagining it. “Have you been
doing this a lot?”
Killian
raises a hand in a placating gesture, aware the rising volume of his friend’s
voice is starting to attract bystanders.
“I just
wanted some company on an excursion, and Henry asked for Emma.”
“Well Emma
surrendered her right to see Henry when she stopped answering my calls,” Neal
snaps, throwing a hurt look in Emma’s direction and Killian can’t work out
which way is up. The floor is sliding from underneath him, the Boston skyline
climbing towards the sun. It’s like wading through glue, trying to decide which
party appears the most hurt when they have both imploded so catastrophically
over the past week. His friend, or the woman he is developing strong feelings
for.
A little moment set in a time after Emma reveals her secret to Killian.
A/N: So many thanks to @starlessness for her superhero beta skills and talking me through the ending and to @mahstatins and @caprelloidea for listening to me ramble at them and being the most helpful, wonderful people ever. Love you guys ❤
Round and round they go and she always seems to end up here.
Watching the lines that the light from the chandelier makes as it crosses over the raised moulding, watching the shadows of the curtains on her window warp, change and disappear as the sun sets, watching the unblemished expanse of white even as her heart lies paralysed in its own tangled strings.
At first it had been the nights when her body had felt heavy and yet sleep wouldn’t come, her heart tainted by a curse, her soul heavy from the hurt she knew she was causing. The bedroom had felt too large, too empty, too cold–without him, without his warmth– and she had instead taken to lying here on this couch, her body trying to imitate sleep even as her eyes mapped the lines and curves of the chandelier above her, swaying softly when a breeze blew in from her window.
Then, it had been the longest night of her life. Her fingers tracing the shape of the ring in her hands, her eyes dry and burning from the tears she had run out of, staring almost unblinkingly at the colours of the light upon her ceiling as they changed, as the night left and the sun arrived, as the world went on and her heart stayed broken. The weight of a curse lifted from her shoulders but replaced by something far worse.
Round and round they go and she always ends up here.
Tonight too, the chandelier is lit by moonlight, its lights turned off, swaying softly in the breeze from her open window as she lies on the couch. Her back is flat upon it, her jacket doing little to keep her warm but her body unwilling to move to do anything about it.
Round and round they go and she always end up here.
“You haven’t asked,” she offers from her perch on the front steps,
head tilted back and staring at the heavens. He hesitates before he joins her, taking
a moment to watch the play of the dwindling sunlight in her hair, how it paints
her in reds and golds and bathes her in light. He grabs his jacket from the
hook by the door and drapes it about her shoulders as he settles next to her,
touch lingering against her neck when she sighs and leans the slightest bit
into him.
It’s a comfort, that she doesn’t yet shrink away from his
touch.
“I find the instructions to operate the miniature oven
rather self-explanatory, love.”
She turns her face from the sky to give him an arch look,
smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Summary:Sixty years after the end of the modern world, the earth is ruled by nature. With winter on its way, Emma Swan knows that survival isn’t just a matter of the fittest; it’s a matter of doing whatever it takes to stay alive. And sometimes, that means opening yourself up to the unexpected – even if the unexpected is a stranger named Killian Jones. A post-apocalyptic CS AU.
(A huge thank you to @nowforruin for beta duties and support and just being generally awesome and encouraging me while I wrote this!!!)
They say the world as they knew it ended sixty years ago.
Civilization crumbled, technology failed, and everything
that was thought to be their salvation quickly collapsed. Within three months,
ninety percent of the world’s population was dead. Within a year, it was
estimated that less than fifty million had survived. That was just a guess,
though, because no one could say so with anything approaching certainty. With
no government, no authority, there was no national or worldwide consensus. Laws
and any sense of order fell by the wayside. Anarchy took over. The population
took a further hit.
They say that the end came not in fire and brimstone, nor
in ice and shadow, but in the inevitable uprising of the earth, of Mother
Nature herself against the pestilence of humanity.
three smuts from me in a week, i’m on a damn roll here
this one’s for the entire captain swan fandom. congrats, everyone.
spoilers for the premiere and for anyone who wishes to remain pure and unsullied, like me. very explicit.
The Heels, Too
“What a long damned day,” Emma muttered to herself. She stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hair off, the evening chill making her shiver when she rubbed her towel along her damp skin.
Slinging the towel on a chair, she walked over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and regarding her choices. Sensible granny or come-hither lace? Eyeing the lace but wondering whether she and Killian were maybe too tired for sex (ha!) or possibly just too tired for any real effort, Emma instead reached for middle ground–a pair of seamless, flesh-colored bikini cuts. Like it mattered to a determined pirate, anyway. He’d ripped enough pairs off of her, each time muttering about the “confounded undergarments of this realm.” She figured if they were going to do it, it wouldn’t matter if it was La Perla or a Target 4-for-$20 special. And if they weren’t, at least she’d be comfortable.
Her mind drifted to earlier in the day, just before everything went to shit–one of those rare moments just before no one needed them to save something and they were alone. Laughing, falling, hot kisses on the couch. Fingers grasping, hips rolling, anticipation building.
Then she remembered. The red leather jacket thing.
Her eyes scanned for the jacket before she remembered it was downstairs, warmth dusting her cheeks and heat pooling in her belly as she thought about it. The leather jacket? Really?
It All Starts With a Dance 