those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels
Summary: Killian’s life has always been about finding the perfect balance between flavours, it’s what he does best. So when he finds himself facing the dilemma of Emma Swan’s delicious apples, there’s only one thing left to do: go straight to the source.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels
A/N: this has been a long time coming. And for “a long time”, I probably mean a year or so. It’s all because of thanks to @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer and @doodlelolly0910 and that talk of orchards and peach trees. I had to switch to apples, but the point still stands: there is a certain chef climbing Emma’s peach tree in here, y’all have been warned.
Also, I’ve stressed @carpedzem with my inability to write smut and the fact that I’ve been listening to HSM for like, two days straight as I worked over this problem. Plus, shall we take this as a celebration for our kind of anniversary? *hides because she knows Nat wanted FATLAS* (♥).
Summary: Killian’s life has always been about finding the perfect balance between flavours, it’s what he does best. So when he finds himself facing the dilemma of Emma Swan’s delicious apples, there’s only one thing left to do: go straight to the source.
From the prompt: orchards (9/365).
Rating: E
Words: ~5.8k
Read on ao3
Emma Swan’s apples were the best he’d ever tasted.
A flush crept up his neck, reddening his skin in an unmistakable way. There wasn’t a day that went by in which Killian Jones wasn’t thankful that there was no such thing as mind-readers, otherwise he’d be royally screwed.
As if you weren’t already, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him, one that sounded very much like Will’s, followed by a snicker that sure as hell belonged to his brother Liam.
Stifling a groan, Killian kneaded the dough again. Stop, or you’ll over knead it, he scolded himself, the chef in him taking charge once again and reining in the stress. Or trying to.
Stress baking wasn’t something new for Killian, it had been his coping mechanism since he was a young lad and his mum had allowed him near the stove and the oven, always supervised, of course.
On this day, however, with the kitchen of the restaurant saturated with the smell of oranges, apples and cinnamon, Killian couldn’t feel an ounce of stress leaving him. Voices, this time hushed and different from the ones he loved though still respected, kept whispering in his ear.
It was very much possible that his restaurant, the dream that had finally come true seven years ago, would be soon visited by a Michelin Guide’s inspector.
Rationally, Killian knew everything that went on in the kitchen was beyond perfect, since he ran his so-called ship like a true Captain, so much even Liam, who’d actually joined the Navy and had reached such rank, was stunned.
But a negative review printed in the copies of a Michelin Guide would be like a cannonball capable of sinking the ship like the bloody Titanic had been sunk by that bloody iceberg.
And then, of course, there was Emma Swan.
Wonderful woman, with sunflower blonde hair he longed to untie and let loose down her shoulders, see the effect it would have when framing blushing cheeks and sparkling green eyes.
This time, he couldn’t bite back the groan, nor he could talk his other head out of wondering how she would look like in the throes of passion.
She’d come - ha! - into his life almost three years ago, taking over Regina Mills’ orchard farm, or rather salvaging it from certain destruction after the woman had gone mad and poisoned her rivals’ trees. Talk about killing the competition.
In no time Emma had become the savior of her competitors, selling them part of her crops at a very low price until their trees had been healed. Her generosity had paid back, with buyers coming from all over the state of Maine purchasing their usual amount of products and more. Killian had been one of them, but he’d probably been the only one seeing how much the gesture touched Emma deep down. And Ruby, bless her soul for introducing them, had told him she’d caught her friend crying after the numbers on the calculator showed her she wouldn’t need to increase the amount of debt she’d stipulated with the bank to acquire the orchards.
Emma Swan’s apples, though, had turned out to be quite the challenge: before, when it was Regina ruling over her kingdom, the fruit did taste like an apple, but delicate, and he’d had to perfect the recipe of his desserts so the flavor was enhanced and not buried. Now, instead, the apples made everything else disappear, their taste different in ways only poets could describe and chefs like Killian could only curse. Every dish was about balance, like chemistry, and changing even just a comma could bring to disaster.
Especially if there’s an inspector coming.
Will chose that moment to speak.
«Are you sure you don’t want me to help?»
Will Scarlet was one of Killian’s best friends and his second in command. Any other person who didn’t know him wouldn’t even give him two cents, but Killian knew his worth, and there was nobody else better at handling knives than Will. He was glad he’d stopped throwing them just for the fun of it and to rile him up.
Dropping his head, Killian sighed, this close to punching the dough again and causing a dent on the counter.
«Only if you know how to get a lass out of my head in a way that does not involve bedding her,» Killian hissed, giving Will a warning look. Obediently, Will shut his mouth.
Will, of course, knew about the predicament he was in: after all, he’d been there to watch Killian stumble upon his own words the first time Emma came into the kitchen to unload the crates full of apples, her strong yet lean arms on display.
Absentmindedly, Killian licked his lips at the memory.
«Earth to boss.»
Will’s voice cut through his thoughts and, once again, Killian contemplated the appealing idea of using his own knives against his best friend.
Killian grunted in response, using a rolling pin to distend the dough. The texture looked perfect, but he wasn’t worried about that, he knew how to make shortcrust pastry, what was unknown to him was the final result.
«Why can’t you date her? We both know she’s a keeper, not one to sleep with one time.»
«Is that why you didn’t try to sleep with her or was it because you dreaded how she could react to your avances?» Killian joked, partially exposing his own fears.
«Oi, you know I am a fan of blondes, but I only have space for Ana in my life.»
Killian had to agree; despite how Anastasia could appear… shallow, at first, she had irremediably fallen in love with a man who couldn’t give her much, only his own heart. And that was enough for her.
He dropped his head with a sigh. «Well, first of all, it’s unethical,» Killian began, blatantly ignoring the don’t-give-me-this-shit expression Will had on his face. «Second of all, you know what I think of relationship with coworkers.»
There was, in fact, a significant difference between the two reasons he’d just listed. It would be unethical to get involved with a supplier, but there would be no direct consequence capable of influencing his job - unless said supplier poisoned the food because they broke up, but that would be catastrophic for both.
As for his second objection, Will had witnessed with his own two eyes the journey of Killian Jones’ shattered heart.
After that affair with Milah, Killian had never been the same. The entire crew had never been the same, the sense of betrayal encompassing all of them. The restaurant had suffered because of her betrayal and they had barely salvaged it before it went back to its old glory. After that, however, they’d never let anyone in, not in the way they had Milah.
Will sighed, leaning onto his forearms. «For all it’s worth, we like Emma,» he began carefully, eyeing his boss as he tried to balance the spices once again, «and she doesn’t exactly work with us in the kitchen.»
«Are you really trying to tell me that I should ask Emma Swan out on a date because I should trust her not to break my heart?» Killian realized his mistake as soon as he saw Will’s grin spreading on his face. Bloody buggering hell.
«Why, yes, boss, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.»
-/-
Enchanted Orchards was, as its name said, magical. It had been a long time, but when his eyes swept over the landscape laid out in front of him, Killian felt invaded by a sense of peace.
Which, of course, disturbed him to no end.
This is ridiculous, he grunted to himself, shaking his head before heading towards the house. You are not going to ask Emma Swan on a date.
In fact, Killian was going to ask her for help. After all, she was smart, and had salvaged a business from certain ruin. She knew her products well, and she knew how to sell them.
What could go wrong?
Apparently, the smoke coming out of what he could only hope and assume was the kitchen window, followed by a whined “no, no” as a blonde vision appeared at the window, coughing.
Stupidity, as well as feelings he never thought he could feel anymore, stopped him dead in his track. He absorbed the sight that was Emma Swan with mouth agape before his brain kicked back in and ran towards the window.
«Let me help you, lass!»
The window was too high, but who knew how long she’d breathed in the smoke before opening the window.
He extended his arms upwards, startling a bit when determined green eyes met his. Emma’s mouth was set in a thin line and her eyebrows arched, clearly annoyed. At last, she accepted his outstretched hands and knelt on the windowsill, before jumping down, helped by him. As much as she tried to stand where she landed, Emma stumbled into him, and Killian caught a whiff of her perfume.
Peaches and apples.
Emma backed away from him vehemently, only to stagger backward. Fortunately for her, Killian had still a hold on her hands.
«Easy, lass, easy.»
She widened her eyes, her luscious lips forming an “o”. «Oh,» Emma breathed, eyes growing even wider. «Oh! I’m sorry, I was-» She cut herself off, a wonderful, breathtaking blush spreading over her cheeks and neck.
Killian chuckled, the tips of his own ears burning in embarrassment. «Don’t worry, love, I’ve had many run-ins with burnt food and fire alarms going off. The feeling of water cascading all over you is oddly pleasant.»
It worked. Emma chuckled, her laugh broken by another fit of coughing. «I can bet,» she agreed, disgust twisting her more than lovely features, «my skin feels just… yikes.»
He snorted. «Sounds about right.»
Neither of them realized they’d been basically holding hands like a couple until Emma looked down and her breath caught, prompting Killian to follow her gaze down where his thumbs were drawing circles over the soft skin of her wrists.
Emma sucked in a breath, pulling away, and Killian had to swallow back down the sense of sadness that had bubbled up within in. The situation was slipping from his grasp; he felt the boat rock beneath his feet. He needed to take control of his ship back, lest he sank.
«What were you cooking?»
Thankfully, her eyes snapped up to meet his once again. Strangely enough, the sea he was navigating in, albeit bumpy, didn’t feel like a threat. That was actually scared him, deep inside.
Emma huffed, raking her fingers through her blonde curls, forgetting the scarf she’d used to keep her hair away from her eyes. Clearly, it hadn’t been enough to keep her focused on the recipe. «Upside-down peach cake. As you can guess, it was a disaster.»
A smile curved his lips, drinking in her annoyed expression, knowing all too well he’d worn a similar one many times. «There’s nothing to be worried about, lass, burning something is a horrible feeling, but it happens.» He glanced upwards toward the cloud of smoke that had turned from black to a dark grey and was now much more sparse than before. «Although, for the sake of your kitchen and yours, I hope it won’t happen again soon.»
Emma grumbled, turning from him and stomping away. She headed back to the house, opening the front door before reminding herself of his presence. Clearing her voice, the woman turned, hand on her hip. «Please forgive my manners, Mr. Jones. What brings you here today?»
There was a cheer in her voice that didn’t sound quite right, but Killian knew that expression very well. He reached her in front of the door, chuckling lightly as his hand rose to scratch behind his ear. «As irony would, have it, I was hoping you’d give me any advice about my own cooking problem.»
The snort she let out morphed into a laugh. Killian couldn’t help staring at her, mouth agape at the beautiful sight of the blonde woman acting so happily in front of him.
«I’m sorry,» she hiccupped, shaking her head, «this might be the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard.»
Influenced by her amusement, Killian smiled in return.
After a brief moment, Emma tapped her chin, lips pouting slightly, zeroing her gaze onto him. Green eyes flashed as they met his. «What was your question exactly?»
It took him one solid moment to gather his wits and answer her question. «I have a problem with your apples.» Blood rushed to his face as embarrassment washed over him. «They taste different than the ones Regina used to sell me, their flavour is… richer.» His eyebrows twitched, and he couldn’t help but wet his lower lip while holding Emma’s gaze. He was playing with fire, she could very well decide to close the door in his face. Or punch him. Or both. Emma Swan was the kind of woman who would do both.
But Emma’s eyes simply widened and the apples of her cheeks colored a deep red, mirroring the shiny peel of the fruits she grew with such lovingly care.
Her pink lips parted and opened, and Killian wanted to taste them. «I-I use a different method.» Emma cleared her throat, arms crossing over her chest - and what a nice chest it was. She shrugged. «Regina didn’t know how to care for her trees, she was so focused on poisoning the competition that she lost sight of her own business. You probably didn’t notice it before because it’s a long process.» She frowned slightly, her eyebrows pinching together in an adorable way. «I thought the change would be minimal. Clearly, I’ve underestimated Regina’s power to ruin everything she touches.»
Killian tilted his head, suddenly very curious about Emma’s personal relationship with the former owner. However, he was nothing but professional, politely agreeing with her: «I’m afraid you have, but everyone is allowed a mistake or two.»
Emma snorted, waving a hand at the house. «Hopefully this will teach me I will never bake again so I won’t risk burning my house down.»
Noticing the bitterness in her voice, Killian bent his head slightly. «That was not what I meant. I only wanted you to know that, professional or not, any cook or baker has a trail of mistakes behind them. I’ve made many before and after I began working as a professional chef. It’s why I’m here today, standing right in front of you.»
Although confused, Emma arched an eyebrow. «It is?»
He flashed her his dimples. «Aye. I can’t seem to do justice to your apples. Their flavour is something… magical.»
Now, Emma looked both confused and skeptical. «Shouldn’t be your job to, you know, associate flavours and all?»
«It is, but I find myself lost. Usually, tweaking with doses solves the problem, but now…» He grimaced, shaking his head. «That’s why I’m here, I thought you might have the answer to my dilemma.»
At that, Emma smiled apologetically. «I’m sorry, I’m the last person you should ask for culinary advice to.»
Killian waved her worry away. «That’s okay, love. Although… may I give you some culinary advice, instead? If you’re so hellbent on baking, the least I can do is give you some pointers to savage the house and make something edible.»
To his pleasure, Emma flushed red to the top of her head down below her neckline. He licked his lips, very subtly, as he wondered how far did that blush spread.
Focus, Jones, your presence here is simply professional.
He kept his eyes on her, watching her mind work as she tried to justify her answer, whether it was a refusal or not.
After a few moments, Emma set her lips in a firm line. «Is this a way to get me alone with you?»
That left him speechless. Of course she’d think that, you dumb idiot, Killian scolded himself. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was wrong. Not entirely, at least, but there were better ways to ask the lady on a date… not that he was here for that.
Biting his lip not to state the obvious, that she was alone with him right now, Killian merely shook his head. «Not at all. If you want, I can help you over the phone or video call you, it’s your choice.»
Lame and ridiculous, really. Are you so thir-
«Alright.»
Emma’s voice stunned the one inside his head to silence. «Alright?» he repeated, hoping she wouldn’t really consider the conference call offer. God, he was so desperate.
«Yes, I will heed your culinary advice.» She bit her lip, as if unsure about what to say next. «I really, really need to know how to bake better. Or at all. Cooking is not exactly a problem but…»
Before she could tell him more, Killian held up his hand, waving away her concern. «Your reasons are your own, lass, no need to tell me about them if you don’t want to.»
She smiled, and it was probably the most breathtaking sight. «Good. Do you want to help me salvage what is left of my kitchen?»
Killian grinned. «Lead the way.»
-/-
«I can’t believe you’re making me do this.»
Emma’s muttering had increased volume with every trip to the fridge, continuing all through the folding process. Her pout was adorable, but Killian wouldn’t endanger his life just to tell her so.
He didn’t conceal his smile as he watched her repeat the movements he’d taught her. She was meticulous, always heeding his commands. Teaching Emma how to bake felt like being in the kitchen with his crew, although he’d never been close to losing his patience with her.
«I’m sure your boy will like them.»
That was enough to make Emma stop pouting and stretch her lips in a small smile.
In the past few months, he and Emma had become friends, he could safely say so. Helping her learn the basics allowed him to relax and not think about the possibility of an inspector coming to the restaurant. He’d even found a way to highlight the delicious flavour of Emma’s apples. It was entirely possible that he’d named the dessert “Enchanted Swan”, even just to see Emma blush. The name, of course, stayed, and though he had to live through Will’s jokes, Killian wouldn’t dare change it.
Working so close to Emma was a blessing and a torment at the same time: the first few lessons he’d watched his movements, only for her to become more daring, brushing up against him with her arms and hips and her expression was always oh so innocent Killian just wanted to press her against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless.
They kept dancing around each other, never acting on their mutual attraction. And Killian perfectly knew why.
The words had fallen from Emma’s lips during one of their lessons when everything that could go wrong just did. They were trying cookies, simple chocolate chip cookies that had met their fate in the trash bin, although neither cared much about it when Emma was so distressed and Killian couldn’t bear to see her like that.
Emma had then confessed that all her efforts would be for nothing if she couldn’t prove she was good enough to take care of a child. Her words came out like a torrent, telling him how she’d been in a relationship with Neal Gold, Regina’s step-son, and how she’d cared for his son.
«I might not have truly loved Neal, but I love Henry with all my heart,» she’d said, sniffling.
Neal had died about five years ago, when Henry was only four, his mother untraceable, as she’d been since she’d given birth to him. Emma believed Neal’s father had paid her off to stay away, but she didn’t have enough proofs to sustain her thesis. And Neal wouldn’t listen to her, so she’d just accepted to care for Henry as if he was her own.
Alas, after Neal’s death, his father followed in a matter of months. «Destroyed by pain, the news claimed,» Emma had spat those words like venom, «but I bet they both were poisoned.»
Afterward, Emma had tried to adopt Henry, but with Regina still alive, the boy was entrusted to his step-grandmother. It had then taken Emma two years to collect enough evidence for Regina’s crimes, but buying the orchard and framing her wasn’t enough to grant Emma Henry’s custody.
Finally, her chance to adopt him had come, and she couldn’t screw it up.
Emma’s eyes narrowed as she shot a glare at Killian. «Mentioning Henry won’t make you get brownie points.» She would never admit that every time he said the words “your boy” her heart fluttered.
Killian just smirked.
She finalized this next step to get the perfect puff pastry and put it back in the fridge. Turning to him, Emma placed her hands on her hips. «Now what?»
From where he stood with his hip propped against the table, Killian looked at the assortment of fillings laid out on it. «I do believe you’ve got everything ready, it’s just a matter of waiting.»
Emma growled, shaking her head and marching to the table, where she studied the different types of marmalade she’d made with the fruits from her own orchards. When Killian had asked to try them, smug didn’t begin to describe how she felt, especially since it was usually the other way around. His favourite was orange marmalade, a memory of a happier time when his mother was still alive; Emma filed that information for later.
He moved to stand behind her, hovering just over her shoulder. Emma tried to suppress the shiver of pleasure at the feel of Killian’s warm breath over her skin. It took all her strength not to close her eyes and lean back against him.
«Pick your poison,» he hummed in her ear, fingers ghosting over her waist. Goosebumps rose on her skin. So much for thinking that wearing a tank top around him would be a good idea.
Wearing nothing would be much better, don’t you agree?
Emma bit her tongue. «Bold of you to assume Henry would choose anything else but chocolate.»
Behind her, Killian hummed in agreement.
Butterflies filled her stomach, reminding her of that time Killian and Henry had met for the first time. The fact that the kid had taken a liking to Killian should've worried and disturbed her, but whatever dread she'd expected had not come, not then and not in the following weeks. It all just felt… normal.
Being friends with Killian Jones was exactly that, normal, but not that kind of normal she would tire of: he was the last piece of the puzzle.
There, that was what scared her.
Henry had been her priority for years, no boyfriend in sight if not the random one-night-stand to scratch an itch, but Killian had rapidly become part of her life and she wanted to explore what it would be like to just live her life. She didn't regret focusing on Henry, she could never, the boy was her son in all the ways that mattered. Was it really so selfish of her to wish to have Killian by her side as well?
The thought opened another can of worms: what if it ended? What if, one day, Killian decided to just walk away from them? But what if he doesn’t?
Both Henry’s heart and her own were worth protecting, she couldn’t just jump into a relationship only for it to end in a few weeks or months.
Yet, her doubts had stopped her from taunting Killian with not so completely innocent touches, which only served to drive her insanely crazy with lust. God, I’m the worst.
«Swan?»
Her name falling from his lips and the gentle pressure of his warm hand on her hip, with his thumb tracing circles over her thin tank top, destroyed any excuse she was making.
Emma turned around, fisting his t-shirt to draw him close and claim his mouth with her lips.
Immediately, Killian’s arms wrapped around her and she was pressed against his solid body. Her knees buckled at the taste of him, coffee and chocolate mixing together and numbing her mind as his scent washed over her as well. His tongue traced her lower lip, asking for permission, and when she was too slow to heed his request, Killian nipped at it, making her moan.
Slowly, he backed her up until the back of her legs hit the table. Killian didn’t lose another second and effortlessly hoisted her up and settled her on top of it, swallowing her yelp of surprise.
The kiss became almost feral, their hands hungry for the other’s body, searching. They separated long enough to breathe, their foreheads still pressed together.
«That was...» Killian began, panting.
«Shut up and kiss me,» Emma ordered him, her hands smoothing over his abdomen, aiming for the hem of his t-shirt to pull it off him. She then wrapped one hand around his neck and pulled him to her, fulfilling the command herself.
Killian moaned, the noise turning into a growl when her nails dug into his flesh. His fingers tightened around her thighs, pawing at the soft flesh of her legs; Emma blessed the decision to wear shorts today.
As their tongues danced together like perfect partners, Emma felt Killian's coarse chest hair gently scratching her palms on her way to the belt buckle. Now that she'd had a taste, she wanted the whole meal.
Not the time for food jokes, she told herself, only to focus back on Killian when he pulled away.
She whined, but it was short-lived: the ravenous expression on his face and his bright eyes made her shudder. He reached behind her head to pull her hair free from her ponytail with gentle fingers before pulling her head backward, gentle but firm.
«Fuck,» Emma hissed, legs hitching higher around his waist. Lust took possession of her body, and though she knew she was probably rubbing all over him like a cat in heat, Emma couldn’t care less.
«Impatient lass,» Killian chuckled, teeth nipping at her neck. It took him all his strength not to mark her, opting to tear her top instead.
Emma gasped at the sound of the fabric ripping, only to tilt her head backward and sigh when Killian’s mouthed at the alley between her breasts.
The hand fisting her hair trailed down to unhook her bra, which flew somewhere in the kitchen, and any rational thought she may have had flew out of the window when Killian drew one of her nipples into his mouth.
With every sweep of his tongue over her hard buds, never leaving one unattended, whether it was pinched by his able fingers or suckled on. Killian Jones was a breast man, and Emma would never complain about that.
Rubbing her still jeans-covered center against his rock-hard erection, Emma felt the tingling sensation of the orgasm approaching like a tidal wave ready to drown her. In all her life she’d never come by having her breasts played with.
Her eyes fell shut when her clit rubbed against the zipper of Killian’s pants; electricity coursed through her veins, making her feel like a live wire, ready to burn the house to the ground with the intensity of her orgasm. She pulled at his hair and he bit down onto her tender flesh, his other hand traveling back up to fist her hair in a tight grip. The pain mingled with the pleasure, and she was thrown over the edge of the cliff right into the sea of lava.
A loud scream of pleasure echoed in the kitchen and probably reverberated all through the orchard, shaking the leaves and scaring all the birds resting on the branches.
Killian’s low chuckle against her heaving breasts made her tremble even more as she came down from her high. Her experience wasn’t limited, but she had never felt like that before, and certainly, she’d never found a man who enjoyed her breasts so much.
As the haze of her first orgasm dissipated, Emma felt control roll back into her and she moved her fingers to undo Killian’s belt and jeans. A triumphant smile took over her face when he groaned at the feeling of her hand curling around his hardened length, his teeth digging into her shoulder.
He was big, way bigger than any other man she’d been with, and her walls clenched instinctively, wanting to feel him deep inside her. A man as controlled as Killian Jones had to be wild in bed. Or, in their case, on a table.
She pumped his cock without averting her gaze from his, cataloguing every shift in his expression every time her hand moved up and down his shaft, from his ragged breath to the low moan and the trembling in his eyelids when they fluttered closed as she swept her thumb over the tip, spreading the bead of precum there. She licked her lips, and he pounced, capturing her mouth with his.
«Condom,» Emma ordered curtly, her breath short, hand twisting around the head of Killian’s cock. Although she wasn’t one to enjoy blowjobs, there was a wild, newly awakened part of her that wouldn’t mind wrapping her lips around his cock and suck him into oblivion.
Later, she promised herself with a wicked mental smile.
Killian groaned, nipped at her swollen lower lip and reached with a hand to the back pocket of his jeans to fish out his wallet. He threw it on the table, fingers working on the button and zipper of Emma’s shorts.
A squeal tore from her throat when he tugged them down her legs along with her soaked panties. She heard his sharp intake and a grin played on her lips as she seductively parted her thighs, baring herself to him.
«Later, I’m going to feast on this pussy until your screams reach the town.»
Those words sent a fresh wave of arousal through Emma, her insides clenching in anticipation. Her hand shot out to dig her nails into the flesh of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.
She needed him inside her, now.
Killian didn’t need a vocal command to understand what she was demanding of him, pushing down his jeans and boxer briefs enough to free himself and slipped a condom out of his wallet without breaking their heated kiss.
With a grin against his lips, Emma stole the condom from his hands, rolling it down his thick length and enjoying the low moan she swallowed in her mouth. If he could make such promises, she could definitely make him go crazy.
He pushed into her eased by her wetness, but he stilled anyway, giving her time to adjust even though all he wanted was drive into her so hard and fast the jars on the table would end up crashing on the floor.
«Fuck,» Emma hissed, walls clamping around him. She hitched her legs and wrapped them around Killian’s waist, pulling him deeper. A gasp tore from her when the tip of his cock bumped so deep inside her she saw stars.
And then he started to move, and the few constellations became a whole galaxy.
Emma forced herself to open her eyes, meeting Killian’s, his gaze adoring and passionate at the same time. Biting her tender lip, she bucked her hips to prompt him to move. They had all the time to figure out what all this meant later.
Heeding her command as if he was a captain and she the sea and mistress, Killian started to move, hips snapping into hers and knocking the breath out of her lungs.
Pure pleasure rolled through her, another orgasm tingling every peripheric part of her body as if she was run through by electric shocks that threatened to set her whole being aflame.
Killian pushed her flat on the table, his back curving slightly to give him better access to her breasts, kneading the globes with rough yet gentle, experienced hands. Emma moaned loudly, arching up to offer herself to him.
He asserted his appreciation with a hard thrust of his hips, his cock finding her sweet spot. Emma couldn’t hold back the scream of ecstasy, the galaxy behind her fluttering eyelids expanding to the whole universe.
«Killian,» she moaned his name, one of her hands reaching behind his head to tangle her fingers through his slightly damp hair as the other sneaked between their stomachs to reach her clit.
With a menacing growl, Killian caught her wrist and placed it down next to her head, teeth biting into her nipple in warning. Emma’s walls clamped around him at that show of possessiveness, her whole body quivering when his fingers uncurled from around her wrist to go back between them, right where she wanted it.
She’d not expected the pleasure that him touching her there brought, but just the barest touch of the pad of his thumb stroking her oversensitive nub set off another orgasm.
Killian smirked against her breast, teasingly nipping at it. He’d laid out a trail of love marks as he lavished those perfect mounds; hopefully, Emma wouldn’t mind. «Come for me again, love,» he rasped, close to the peak himself, Emma could feel him throb inside her. Like the gentleman he’d always demonstrated himself to be, Killian was waiting for her before taking his own pleasure.
It took just him flicking her clit a few times to bring her over the edge, her limbs and walls clamping around him and pulling him deeper as if she never wanted to ever let him go.
They came screaming each other’s names, Emma’s nails digging into Killian’s flesh while his fingers left faint bruises on her waist to pull her even closer as he spent himself deep inside her.
Emma’s vision swam; even when her eyes opened slightly, constellations danced all over the ceiling. She smiled blissfully, her cheek resting over Killian’s damp hair and her jelly-like arms running up and down his back, enjoying the feeling of him half sprawled all over her, clearly in need of a few moments to regain control of his legs.
His breathless chuckle rang in her ear, reverberating through her as he pressed his head in the crook of her neck.
«What?» she managed to pant, her breath ragged.
«I should’ve known.» Killian pulled away slightly with one last nuzzle at her breast, the most wicked smirk on his face. She yelped in surprise and immediately moaned when he pinched a hard nipple with his fingers. «Yours are the best apples I’ve ever tasted.»
Summary: Emma didn’t think her job at MIT would land her in a hospital bed because some thief had had the brilliant idea of stealing from the labs. Lucky for her, a blue-eyed resident has her back.
Rating: T-ish → trigger warning: reference of assault (not sexual)
A/N: it is already January 2nd here, BUT somewhere else it still is the 1st and I wanted to ring the new year in with some CS fluff! I hope this 2020 will be a good year for everyone, one filled with more fics to read and write, more friends to make and things to enjoy ♥
Summary: Emma didn’t think her job at MIT would land her in a hospital bed because some thief had had the brilliant idea of stealing from the labs. Lucky for her, a blue-eyed resident has her back.
From the prompt: first romance (8/365).
Rating: T-ish → trigger warning: reference of assault (not sexual)
Words: ~4.7k
Read on ao3
The drops falling inside the IV bag were slowly but surely driving her crazy.
If she focused hard enough, Emma could find a flaw in everything that surrounded her in the hospital room, from the way the sheet draped over her body was fraying at the angle to how the windows weren't perfectly clean and the Venetian blinds were slightly crooked and dusty.
The only thing that seemed dangerously perfect was the resident standing at the feet of the bed reading her vitals, dark and long eyelashes fanning his cheeks. The way he pulled his lower lip between his teeth must be unhealthy… not hygienic… unfairly illegal.
Emma had been attracted to guys before, but none of them had her hyperventilating or burn with unfamiliar desire. No, scratch that, she was a grown up, she knew what sexual desire was, and she'd experienced it many a time, always having to deal with it all by herself, but it's never felt like that.
Was it PMS? She always seemed to be hornier around that time.
A sigh left her lips. «When can I go home?»
Home. What a big word. Home was Storybrooke, Maine, not the MIT dorms. Only, she couldn’t just go home, if her parents knew what had happened, her mother would probably lock her in the basement and her father would go on a murder spree to find out who dared hurt his little girl.
The man in front of her cocked an eyebrow, blue eyes looking at her from beneath unfairly long dark lashes. How could he have such perfect eyelashes?
«I’m afraid you can’t, right now. It’s mostly bureaucracy, lo- Miss Nolan,» he said with that infuriating British accent of his - because yes, he had an accent, a perfect, panty-shredding accent to match his ovaries-shattering looks. Yup, that was definitely PMS. «And we’ve promised your parents not to let you go home before they are here.»
Emma let out a groan, flying her arm over her eyes in a theatrical way which expressed how she felt more than any word could, only to yelp in pain when she felt the pull of the needle. The man seemed to appear by her side as if he’d materialized himself there. She probably hadn’t seen him move because of the white stars popping before her eyes.
She couldn’t help but startle at the warm sensation of Killian - he was close enough now for her to read his nametag because heaven forbid she had her contacts on - touching her, deft fingers moving to control the bandage, featherly touches that set her on fire as if she’d been stabbed by white-hot daggers.
«Easy, lass,» he murmured, soothing her almost immediately. That! That was illegal, too, wasn’t it?
«You called them?» she whined in response, sagging back into the mattress and willing him to deny his previous words. Why did the world hate her so much? Seeing her parents again would be awesome, of course it would, but not under these circumstances. Had it been up to her, they would’ve never known about today. Yesterday? Last night.
He gave her a tight-lipped smile, and she wasn’t sure whether it was understanding transpiring or worry. Perhaps both. Definitely both. «It’s the rule in cases like this.»
Believe her, she knew. It might have been nothing serious, but Doctor Whale always followed that policy, hence why her father would end up being called in at the most absurd hours of the night. It was his job, but he was nobody’s emergency contact: Emma could only imagine how he was feeling right now. And her mother! Should Emma joke about preparing a new heart for Mary Margaret or not? Perhaps not.
All she could do was sigh. «What did you tell them?»
«I didn’t speak to them,» Killian clarified, rocking back on his heels, «Belle did, but she’s very sweet and has this sort of magic power that allows her to calm people easily.»
As if Emma knew who this Belle was. And no, she didn’t wonder if she was his girlfriend. Nope.
Emma was also a liar.
«You don’t know my mother, then,» she mumbled to herself.
«She sounds lovely, perhaps I would like to meet her.»
Whenever in books they said the character’s heart beat wildly in their chest, Emma understood what they meant, but she never could hear it, until that moment. Of course it would happen to her, when she was hooked up to a machine capable of detecting her heartbeat.
The blinding smile Killian flashed her the moment her heart rate started to speed up didn’t help either.
Then, all of a sudden, his expression turned serious. «How do you feel?»
Emma wanted to sigh in exasperation. In all honesty, she didn’t know what pushed her to reply, she just did, baring her feelings to a complete stranger. «Still shaken up, I guess,» she admitted, toying with the hem of the blanket. «It’s one of those things you think won’t ever happen to you but at the same time you are always wary. MIT has a lot of delicate and important equipment and of course it’s well protected, so your guard lowers and you’re left vulnerable.»
He listened quietly, arms crossed over his chest in a way that bulked up his biceps. A very delicious way Emma couldn’t even focus upon as she locked her eyes with his.
Killian nodded slowly. «It’s pretty much like working in a hospital, isn’t it? We cure people, here, and many even come here seeking refuge from different kinds of assault, but one day, a guy with a bomb strapped on his chest could march in and make himself explode, killing so many innocents.»
Emma couldn’t help but nod slowly. Truth was, you weren’t truly safe anywhere, you just had to face your fears and step outside. Nobody ever said it was easy, and Emma wouldn’t begin thinking so right now. «I was lucky,» she found herself admitting. All she suffered was a concussion and a flesh wound on her arm as she tried to defend herself.
It was clear in the man’s eyes that she had been lucky indeed, but he also had the good grace not to comment on it. «I have to say, I’m quite impressed.» At Emma’s questioning look, he shrugged and added: «You broke the bastard’s nose, quite a feat to accomplish when in peril.»
It was time to add his words to the list of illegal things to banish from the world. The way he spoke, the way his voice reminded her of molten candle wax, the way his tongue seemed to caress his every word, curling around them made her insides twists and heath pool in her belly.
«It’s all my dad’s merit,» she rushed to say, cheeks reddening under his amused gaze. God, you are ridiculous. «He’s the sheriff in my hometown and taught me how to defend myself.»
The grin on Killian’s lips - very illegal lips, by the way - widened. «You are a tough lass. I like it.»
The blush on her cheeks deepened. It wasn’t the first time someone complimented her, but no one ever complimented her on her self-defense skills, nor was as beautiful as he was.
A knock sounded in the room, Emma’s head snapping to shoot daggers at the intruder. Her mouth dried at the sight of the police officer standing there, definitely not the woman she’d talked to earlier that night. Those words didn’t seem right put that way. Oh well.
Next to her, Killian sighed. «Couldn’t you wait a bit longer?»
The man - a very good-looking, dare she say, even hot man - arched an eyebrow in a very similar fashion her doctor did. Uh, not her doctor. And not a doctor even. Were residents doctor, even? «What for?»
There was something Emma was missing, even though the resemblance between the two was striking. Perhaps they were related. No, they definitely are. Uncle James had always been the one to tease her father, and the curly-haired man was clearly teasing the other. When she glanced back at Killian, she could see the tip of his ears as red as tomatoes, and she couldn’t not appreciate the magic of karma.
In a different occasion, she would’ve waited for Killian to reply, probably dig his own grave, but he had been very nice to her. Pity, watching him squirm to find a polite way to tell the policeman to fuck off was kind of nice.
«It’s alright, Killian,» she reassured him, her grin a bit too wide to be a comforting one. «He can’t be as bad as my parents.»
The look Killian gave her was a weird one. In a surprising move he bent forward, warm breath brushing her cheek. «I wouldn’t know, lass, he raised me all by himself, I believe he might be worse.»
Shock ran through her at his words, the implications behind them breaking her heart. He gave her a bashful smile, evidently realizing just now how much of himself he’d revealed. All she could do to ease his apprehension was smile and tell him: «I’ll survive.» She even winked at him.
Forced to leave, not before casting a warning glance at the policeman, Killian turned to wave at her from the door, a goofy smile on his lips. Emma bit back what she knew and yet denied was a dreamy sigh.
In fact, she was so lost in her own thoughts she didn’t even realize the policeman was now sitting on the chair next to her bed. Her blood was now boiling, probably. Given the barely concealed grin on the man’s face, it totally was.
«Hello, lass,» he greeted her, thankfully not mentioning her flushed face, «my name is Liam Jones, Boston PD. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?»
Emma smiled at him, failing miserably at trying to conceal her amusement. «Even if I did, you would sweet talk me into telling you what you need. My dad is in the force, too, I know how this goes. Not that I would blame you, it’s your job, after all.»
To her surprise, Liam chuckled lightly, the skin around his eyes crinkling. «Perceptive, aren’t you? I won’t deny your accusations, though, we are indeed trained to persuade people to tell us what happened to them. Giving them a sense of safety is one of the many secrets of a job well done.»
Emma knew that, she’d experienced it first-hand whenever someone at school made fun of her: though she would never mention what happened to her mother, somehow she found herself spilling the beans to her dad. «I’m very aware of that.» After, she took a moment to adjust the pillows behind her; once satisfied, she leaned back against them and tried to relax. «Shoot.»
Liam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline but said nothing about her choice of words. For about half an hour he asked her specific questions about what she was doing and if she’d used all the security procedures when everyone else left for the night.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Emma found herself repeating the procedures she always followed whenever she stayed later than her colleagues - which was, admittedly, almost every night. She couldn’t help the comment about it not being the same lab she’d read about in Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol, definitely not as guarded or as dark. After reading what happened in the book, however, Emma wasn’t sure she would’ve been safer in a place like that.
«Will I need to testify?»
There was determination in her eyes, which was what surprised Liam instead of the question. This wasn’t mere robbery, the man - whom they believed had at least one other accomplice - had tried to steal important and expensive equipment students couldn't usually work with and would need years to work up the experience to do so. Emma was an exception: many deemed her a genius, which she was, even if for her programming software and dealing with computer hardware was just… normal.
Liam nodded. «And we'll provide a psychologist for you to talk to. It's the procedure. You have not been raped, but you've been assaulted nonetheless.» He gave her an amused small smile. «You really didn't hold back with him, which is a very good thing, since he was ready to anesthetize you.»
Emma exhaled, nodding slowly. «Good.» Even though she cared a lot about her work, her creations, she valued her life, too: there was no way in hell she wouldn't fight for it.
«Good,» he echoed, standing. «I'll let my brother know you're all safe and sound.» He even added a wink as he walked out, leaving her all flustered and blushing.
And they said hospitals were good for your health.
-/-
Fate would, she was chatting with Killian when her parents stormed through the door.
Emma stopped breathing, the takeaway mug of hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon halfway to her mouth.
Honestly, neither of them was doing anything wrong, they were just talking and laughing, but it felt as if they'd been caught making out. Oh, man. That would've been a thousand times worse.
«Hi,» she squeaked, not even daring glance a Killian, who was standing, back leaned against the window and a cup of coffee in his hand - after all, he'd stayed to keep her company and bring her food even if his shift had ended about an hour ago and he was dead on his feet.
«Sweetheart!» her mother sighed in relief, rushing to fuss all over her in that way that was peculiar of concerned and loving mothers children loved even when claiming to despise it.
Emma sighed softly, allowing her mother to check on her, knowing she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she didn’t. Besides, well, it’d been so long since she’d last seen her.
Her eyes darted to David. Emma cringed internally, mouth twitching into a fleeting grimace. Of course he was studying Killian as her mother searched every visible inch of her body. Relief coursed through her when she met her father’s eyes, heart swelling at the sight of David’s not so well-hidden pained expression. In response, her eyes fluttered closed before a warm smile spread on her lips, beckoning her father forward.
«Hey, duckling.» David’s voice was hoarse and full of emotion.
As he was reaching for her bed, Emma caught sight of Killian slipping out of the room. His eyes met hers, and after a wave of his hand and a grateful smile on her part, he left.
Just like she’d foreseen, her father questioned her, only to be reprimanded by Mary Margaret with an icy glance. There was little the lovely brunette could do, however: she knew her husband, and she was just as fierce. Had she been younger, she would've probably tracked down the thief herself and taught him a lesson. That would've been a sight to behold.
«I'm so proud of you,» David told her when she finished her story, and Emma would've been lying if she said those words didn't make her heart flutter. Then, David's eyes sparkled in mischief. «Now, is there anything else I need to know? That guy seemed to be quite friendly.»
Suddenly, Emma had a flashback of her rewatches of Twilight, specifically the scene when Edward picks Bella up and Charlie is polishing his shotgun. David had a shotgun and wasn't afraid of using it.
She gulped, the redness in her cheeks in contrast with the strong shake of her head. «He's just a resident, Dad. Nothing for you to worry about.»
The slight eyebrow raise told her she'd not been convincing enough. Too bad for him, though: with all her luck, she probably would never see Killian Jones again.
-/-
It turned out, Emma did have a bit of bad luck.
After her parent's visit, she'd been discharged and sent home without the chance to see Killian again.
When, a week later, the police called her in for another questioning, the one to interrogate her wasn’t the guy’s brother, Liam, but the captain of the force himself, Nemo Dakkar.
All her hope was lost as she was escorted outside, passing in front of the officers’ desks and subtly searching for the plaque with Liam Jones’ name on it. Of course, said desk was empty.
Whatever, she thought, deciding she would treat herself on some hot chocolate and maybe a bear claw or two. Monday was three days away, three days before she could go back to the lab and to her codes, the language she understood better than English, and after today, hopefully, she would never have to get in touch with the police again.
Her parents had insisted she go home with them, at least until she had to go back to Boston, but Emma had kindly but firmly refused, surrendering however to her mother’s demand to call every day. That was definitely not a problem.
After a polite exchange with Nemo, Emma turned on her heels, hands deep in her coat’s pockets and music blaring in her ears, much like it did every other minute of the day, making her deaf to the world.
Emma couldn’t help the loud yelp that fell from her lips when something wrapped around her elbow and whirled her around. Bad coordination and shock made her slam against a solid chest with an “oof”.
Hmm, mint. That’s nice, Emma mused breathing in the man’s scent, maybe a bit too much for her taste better than certain perfumes men seemed to have drown themselves in.
Warm fingers traced her cheek before slipping one of the earbuds off, letting the noises of the city fill her ear while Brendon Urie sang about high hopes in the other. What made Emma’s insides melt, however, was the low chuckle that made the chest she was still pressed against tremble slightly.
«Sorry, love,» the British man said, his fingers tangling with the wire of the earphones, «didn’t mean to startle you, but I called your name and you didn’t turn around.»
Her entire face bright red, Emma pulled away only just, only what Killian allowed her, the tips of their sneakers touching. «You have nothing to worry about,» she muttered, looking up furtively only to find his eyes staring back at her, amusement lighting them up. Her breath caught in her throat. «What are you doing here?»
His free hand came up to scratch the back of his head, a soft pink bloomed on his cheeks, and not because of the cold. «Uhm, I might have asked Liam to tell me if you ever had to go to the station.» The faint blush was now a deep red. «I-I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye and-»
«Do you want to join me for a cup of coffee?» Emma blurted out, interrupting him and stunning her. Where was that confidence coming from? Oh boy, she was in so deep.
He started to nod before she finished her sentence. «I’d love to. I’ve just finished my shift at the hospital and could kill for a coffee.»
Emma chuckled. «So much for saving lives, uh?» Then, she tilted her head. «Wait, you’ve just gotten off work?» He did look a bit tired, but more than that, he was just out of breath.
Killian looked down at the tips of their shoes. «I might have run here as soon as I saw Liam’s text...»
Her eyebrow rose in amusement and shock. The man had run to her? If she’d not melted before, now was the right moment to start to. «You don’t seem exhausted.» For fuck’s sake, Nolan, that’s the only thing you can come up with?
Lucky for her, Killian chuckled, his thumb stroking the soft skin behind her jaw. Emma’s knees wobbled slightly. «What can I say, love? We Jones are natural sprinters.»
Incapable of containing herself, Emma barked out a laugh at the reference, almost doubling over by its intensity. She was met with his solid shoulder and once again her nostrils were invaded by his scent, which perhaps wasn’t his at all, only a way to mask the antiseptic one the hospital left on him.
«Sorry, but you do look more like an elf, especially with those ears.»
The tips of said ears had just become several degrees hotter and a few shades darker.
Killian was about to say something when she slipped the other earbud off and unravelled the one wrapped around his finger before tucking them back in her pocket, music now paused: she had something different and quite possibly better to listen to.
«Come on, Legolas, you deserve the best coffee and sugary treats you can find in Boston.»
(He tasted like chocolate and coffee when she kissed him at the end of what would always be considered their first date despite Killian’s grumbling about it not being a formal date he didn’t pay for.)
-/-
It wasn’t his birthday.
It wasn’t a special occasion.
Was it?
No, Killian would never forget a date in his life, no matter how much his days could blend into one another.
Then why was a package wrapped in Christmas paper sitting on his desk?
(And no, it most definitely was not Christmas.)
His shift was about to be over, unless some emergency came up, and he did have some paperwork to still fill out, but the package was like a huge alarm bell and it was ringing. Loudly.
Not the package, of course, the alarm bell. The figurative one.
Cautiously, Killian reached his chair and sat down, eyeing the package with suspicion. Could it be a bomb? They weren’t exactly used to it, but it had happened in the past, something he’d rather forget about, but this was just too strange, especially since security had been increased and-
Oh.
There was a note from his wife - he’d know her calligraphy everywhere: messy, much like a doctor’s, unless she was writing about her beloved codes, which, for Killian, was another language entirely.
Open me, was all that was written on the red envelope.
Killian did exactly that, frowning slightly.
Go to the Brewer Fountain, then open the package.
The frown on his face was deeper. Why would his wife send him on a scavenger hunt of sorts was beyond him. Then again, she’d come up with stranger ideas.
He glanced at the photos of the two of them he had on his desk, the biggest frame encasing the best shot from their wedding two years prior, with Emma’s hair cascading down her back, her face full of joy as she laughed at something he’d said.
What have you devised this time, sweet wife o’ mine?
The Brewer Fountain was one of Emma’s favourite places in Boston, the one she went to whenever she wanted to be alone, which was strange enough as it was, turning even more so when he didn’t see her anywhere once he’d reached her favourite bench.
Sitting down, Killian balanced the package on his knee, carefully opening it. Of all the things he could think about, a Gameboy Color was not one of them. He couldn’t help the chuckle that left him.
«Way to make me feel old, love.»
On a post-it note, were the obvious words “play me”. Killian had to scratch his head, wondering what was Emma thinking when she’d organized that little surprise. He used to play games like that, but she was the gamer out of the two, definitely not him. Of all the times he’d accepted to play with her, she’d crushed him, and even playing an innocent game of cards - or not so innocent ones like strip poker - proved itself difficult when your woman was so used to numbers that she counted the cards.
Intrigued, Killian heeded Emma’s order, and was stunned when a pixeled dark haired elf waved at him from the screen. The design was really old school, but there was no mistake: the elf was him, and Emma was the hand behind it.
After years of studying and research on both parts, Killian had become an important surgeon, whilst Emma threw herself into coding for video games developers. Never before, though, had she gifted him a video game - she did, however, from time to time, find a costume of her favourite characters and, uhm, Killian definitely could not find it in himself to complain about them.
Rusty as he was, it took him a good ten minutes before getting the hang of it, a basic platform game he never would’ve thought could be this difficult. Bloody hell, not even Super Mario Bros. was so difficult, not to mention, the boss at the end was worse than the ones on Kingdom Hearts he’d spent weeks battling - because, when Killian said he was not a gamer, he failed to mention the obsession over that trilogy of video games - and nearly threw the console in the water.
He was so deep in concentration that he didn’t notice the few kids hovering over his shoulders until one nearly yelled in his ear “press X!” with such passion Killian jumped on the bench, the game nearly falling from his hands.
After that, he restarted the first, endless level again, helped by the teens and spurred on by their excitement.
It took him two more tentatives before he finally defeated the boss. «Woohoo!» he yelled, fist in the air, before addressing the four boys: «Thank you, lads.»
They exchanged high-fives before the group went on its way and Killian was left with an elf jumping up and down and throwing confetti all around on the screen of the old console and a huge grin on his face.
«I cannot believe I had to pay four kids to help you win such a simple level!»
Killian whirled around, almost falling over at the sight of his wife. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen her at the hospital. The feeling, not almost falling at her feet - though he’d done that, too, metaphorically speaking.
Emma Jones was as beautiful as ever, green eyes sparkling with mischief and nose slightly scrunched up as it always did when she grinned. Something was up indeed, but he still had to figure out what even after over an hour of playing that video game.
«Do you mind telling me which special occasion I’ve missed I had to be humiliated like that?»
He was not angry: in fact, he was grinning like a fool.
As she walked closer, Killian couldn’t hold a dreamy sigh. God, how he wanted to just teleport home, get into bed with his wife, and never leave the cocoon of blankets they’d wrap themselves in.
Once she was within reach, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, her nose immediately finding his shoulder, nuzzling into it. «Press X,» was the only thing Emma said without meeting his eyes, the tightening of her arms about his waist the only telling sign that something was up.
Obeying her once more, Killian pressed the command and the elf winked, he bloody winked - before lighting up a firework, which exploded in even more confetti, only to create two words.
Congratulations Daddy!
Killian blinked. Then blinked again. And blinked some more.
The words suddenly became blurry, and he didn’t realize he was shaking or that his eyes had filled with tears until Emma’s hands cupped his cheeks and all he could see was green.
«Daddy?» was all he could choke out, overwhelmed by the news.
«Well, it could call you Papa, or Dad, or-»
Her words melted into a moan as he cut her off with a kiss. Emma’s smile widened even more against his soft lips, and Killian did his best to pour his utter, devoted love into the kiss, holding her tightly against himself, never wanting to let go.
(«Wait, what do you mean you had to pay those kids to help me?!»)
(A pat on the shoulder. «Come on now, dear, don’t be a sore loser.»)
(Killian had to wash the coffee off Emma’s favourite cream sweater after he’d spluttered all over it.)
A/N: whew, it’s been too long since I’ve updated this series, but hey, day seven is finally here! It’s (not quite) Lieutenant Duckling fluff. I had this whole idea but the fic went down another road, but part of the original idea did find its way into the fic - all because I rewatched La Seine no Hoshi (Star of the Seine) one too many times with my niece and nephew.
Hope you like it!
Prompt: “gilding a lily” (7/365)
Rating: T
Words: ~5.1k
(ao3) - (ffnet)
«This is a gift from Master Jones,» her mother told her, placing the flower crown upon her head, using some hairpins to hold it in place, her long blonde hair loosely braided at the nape of her neck, curly strands escaping it, giving her a false sensation of freedom.
As much as she liked to think so, Emma wasn’t free, not exactly: she was a Princess, and with the title came duties, such as marriage. Especially marriage. Which meant she had to soon find a suitor, one her parents – and the council – would approve of. Not her. Well, not entirely, at least.
Even though her parents were True Love, Emma still had to respect the laws, stupid, archaic, laws written by men and intended for men only. Which meant, her husband must be noble and preferably one with whom form an alliance.
All her life, Emma had wondered what it would be like marrying for love, even if her partner was a lowly subject of hers. Especially… She shook her head, careful not to ruin her hairdo, she didn’t need to be reprimanded once more by her mother that evening.
«It’s lovely,» she commented. It was more than lovely, it was beautiful, attentively crafted. Gypsophilas, white roses, wildflowers and tiny leaves formed the crown, matching her gown. Her favourite flower, however, was the middlemist, but she’d never told Killian, aehm, Master Jones that. However, he knew. Emma wasn’t sure how exactly he’d acquired that knowledge, but he had.
Biting back a sigh, Emma stood, her feet already aching in her shoes and she’d not even started dancing yet! Her heart fluttered at the thought that there would be someone she wouldn’t tell no if he asked her for a dance. Unfortunately, that someone would never do that.
Perhaps… perhaps she could take matters into her own hands. Emma blushed at the thought, the only thing stopping her from actually doing it apart from her introvert nature was the fear of being rejected.
As far as she knew, in fact, he could have someone he was courting. Perhaps he fancied someone and she had no hope of catching his attention.
Suddenly remembering her mother was still there, Emma squared her shoulder and walked out of the room, skin flushed from the tip of her ears to her cleavage. Snow clearly disapproved, the frown on her face a clear sign.
The ball was boring. Obviously. Rarely those events weren’t, especially when they were held in honour of some guest. Sure, her mother always tried to give each important guest an unforgettable and personal welcome when they came to Misthaven. Emma didn’t understand Snow’s love for such big events. In all honesty, Emma didn’t care about being a princess at all.
«Duckling,» her father greeted her, placing a light kiss on her cheek, «you look radiant.»
Emma blushed gracefully: the only one who ever was true in his compliments was the King. Although he might have been a bit biased, David was honest.
«Thank you.» She adjusted her gown, the almost-blinding white of the fabric shimmering under the candlelight. It was rather beautiful, the hem of the skirt decorated by shiny silver embroidery shaped like flowers that climbed up to her waist and then up to her bodice, the sleeves slightly falling from her shoulders and continuing down her arms like bells. She looked like a bride, which wasn’t as appealing as her mother thought.
As she’d thought, the ball was boring; not even an hour into the celebration, the muscles of her face hurting from all the smiles she was forced to plaster on her face and her feet aching. They wouldn’t if some kind of prince from Oz – a very strange thing considering that Oz was no monarchy and there were no rulers – didn’t step on her feet every other moment. At one point, Emma had to bite her tongue so hard she thought she would cut it off.
Thankfully for her, her father swept in and saved her feet from further damage. Right now, in fact, Emma was trying to hide away from any possible suitor. It wasn’t an easy task, her presence required by many and sought by even more people. It was exhausting.
In the distance, dimly lit ships floated on dark waters, making her wish she could just sail away. In about a week, she would, but alas not forever, nor for long. It wouldn’t be a pleasant journey either: although she loved Alexandra dearly, Emma didn’t want to attend her birthday ball.
Salty breeze moved strands of hair, now almost silver under the starlight. It would’ve been fascinating hadn’t she been such in a bad mood.
«A red rose can’t go unnoticed in a field of snow.»
The male voice behind her startled her, making her heart beat wildly in her chest. Turning around, Emma brought a hand to her heaving bosom, air escaping her lungs as she realized it was Master Jones who’d spoken.
It was quite strange to see him outside his beloved and holy sanctuaries, the greenhouse and the garden. For example, the flower decorations inside, those beautiful bouquets she wanted to steal and put in her chambers, Killian had prepared them in the greenhouse, only for the servants to be the ones to bring them in the ballroom.
«Apologise, your Highness,» he said, bowing his head, «I didn’t mean to startle you.»
A smile blossomed on her face, all she wanted to do was put her fingers under his chin and force him to look her in the eye. Perhaps, Emma only wanted a pretext to touch him. «You needn’t worry, Master Jones, your presence is one I welcome gladly.» If possible, his complexion reddened even more. It made her grin grow wider. «Oh! I wanted to thank you for the flower crown. I love it.»
He’d brought his blue eyes back on hers, breath catching in her throat. What her heart did when he smiled, however, could not be described. «I’m glad. You’re beautiful.»
Lips parted, Emma felt as if the balcony had crumbled beneath her but she was still able to stay afloat. Was it the frantic beating of her heart? She shook her head slightly. «I-I… Thank you,» she stammered, absentmindedly licking her lips, «you’re not bad yourself either.»
Killian let out a soft, quiet gasp, a noise that would have Emma laughing softly at if she wasn’t so intent on studying his clothes. She’d rarely seen him in such an elegant attire, the times she visited the greenhouse and saw him working there, or the even fewer times in which he stepped foot inside the castle in places that weren’t his quarters, Killian Jones was always impeccably dressed, white and light shades of green or blue wrapping around his toned body, his nimble fingers with dirt under the nails if he was planting seeds or meticulously clean in every other case. Emma knew his habits were more a residue of his life in the Navy, one he couldn’t serve in anymore after his brother’s death.
Tonight, however, Killian Jones was more elegant than usual, with leather pants – which Emma tried not to stare at for too long, mostly for her own sake and the one of her heart’s – a white shirt topped by a red velvet vest, such a bold colour for his standards. What shocked her the most, was the leather coat that completed his look.
«Pirate.»
The word escaped her lips before she could restrain herself. She paled, eyes wide in fear: the last thing she wanted was offend him.
But Killian Jones managed to surprise her once more. He chuckled. Admittedly, the blush tinging his cheeks had not disappeared, but it was now accompanied by a grin. A shy one, but a grin nonetheless. «Not exactly what I was aiming for, I must admit, but I didn’t want to outshine those… gentlemen.» He cleared his throat before pronouncing the last word, restraining himself before saying something not fit for a lady’s ears. Emma bit her tongue to keep herself from asking him to speak freely. She felt as if she could be bold and free with him.
She tilted her head, a smile pulling at her lips. «Believe me, Master Jones, despite your efforts, you failed in your intent.»
One of his black eyebrows rose high on his forehead, a reaction that had Emma bite on her cheek to keep herself from smiling even more. «That so?» he muttered, but Emma was sure he didn’t mean to say it out loud if the deeper shade of red colouring his ears was any indication.
Ducking her head, Emma nodded slowly, glancing away from him. She wasn’t sure why she’d been so bold, but what confused her the most was that she’d liked their little exchange more than she thought she should have.
«I’ll take my leave, then, your Highness. I must’ve not followed you out here when you clearly wanted to escape everyone’s attentions.» He was about to turn around and leave when her voice stopped him.
«Please, don’t!» Emma begged him, breaking all the rules in the book. Realizing what she said, Emma opened and closed her mouth as she tried to come up with a reason why he should stay, a reason that wouldn’t involve her own selfishness. «I know this is unorthodox, but… can I have this dance?»
If Master Jones was astonished before, now he was utterly shocked. «It would be an honour, Princess,» he replied, bowing slightly and offered her his arm to go back inside. Emma’s fingers wrapped around the buttery leather, sensing through the layers the strong muscles beneath.
Albeit having talked to him several times, the only physical contact they ever had was a casual one, just once, when he handed her a middlemist. This was too much and too little at the same time.
The moment they stepped back into the ballroom together, everyone seemed to stop talking, surprised gasps echoing against the high walls. Emma flushed a deep red but held her chin high. Thankfully, the music had not stopped and, as soon as she and Killian had bowed to each other, the other couples began dancing again, still giving them quick, curious glances.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as soon as she wrapped her fingers against Killian’s, stiffening a bit when he felt his other hand on her waist.
«What is it, your Highness?» Killian inquired, searching her eyes from beneath his dark lashes.
Glancing away from him, Emma tightened her grip on his hand. «I’m just afraid,» she admitted, shyly looking up at him, «I’ve never had a good dance partner aside from my father. Tonight was no better.»
A warm, kind smile spread over his face, dimples forming on his cheeks. «There’s only one rule, Princess,» he told her, securing her hand over his shoulder, «pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.»
And then he started to move, guiding her through the dancefloor with such gracefulness she found herself impressed by his coordination and knowledge of the steps. Mostly, though, Princess Emma was impressed by the man himself: he was nothing like her suitors, always stumbling over one another to earn her affections while Killian, simply with his presence and quick glances, made her heart beat faster than ever other man ever could.
Against protocol, they danced together through three dances consecutively, evoking shock and disdain in the other guests. Or rather, in those who not so secretly aimed to be the ones spinning her around the room and put the bright smile she had now on her face. Not that most of them cared about her happiness whatsoever.
When the third song came to an end, Emma felt dizzy, drunk, almost, drunk on that happy feeling she’d never experienced before that night. How, people would wonder, how could she feel so happy only now, only with him, when she’d been pampered all her life. It wasn’t about comforts, it was about being complete. And with someone only after her title and money, how could she be?
Perhaps… perhaps with someone like Killian she could be.
Emma covered her eyes with her forearm, moaning in pain at the light flooding her room. That was probably her mother’s doing. Why couldn’t she just leave her alone? Emma sighed, burying her head beneath her pillow to escape the light.
She’d been home for three days already, three days spent in bed, throwing up livers, lungs, heart and even her soul.
Of course she’d feel awful after her trip, as if she’d not been visited by the green-eyed monster at all the balls held for Alexandra’s birthday. It’d been overwhelming and tiring, so much Emma slept for almost an entire day when she embarked for the journey home.
Curling up on herself to find a bit of warmth, Emma tried to imagine what Master Jones was doing, wondering which flower he’d planted and grown in her absence. Had he ever thought about her at all or what she felt that night at the ball was only her foolish imagination?
The week before her departure they’d exchanged only pleasantries, formal nods in each other’s direction and shy smiles. More than once she’d wondered if the man she’d danced with was the same one she admired from afar. If only she knew how Killian looked at her whenever she glanced away, torn and longing.
A knock, too loud, echoed in her ears. Whining, Emma covered her head with the quilt, knowing she would come up for air in a few minutes, sweating even more.
The door opened as her prayers went unheard. Of course, it was her mother, bringing her more ginger tea. As if Emma wanted more ginger tea. She would feel sick – again – if she smelled more ginger.
«Oh, honey,» her mother murmured, concern lacing her tone. The Queen didn’t try to move the cover from above her head, nor Emma felt the mattress dip. When Snow spoke once more, it was to give her the cure she needed. Or rather, the cure her soul and heart needed. «I’ve brought you some peppermint tea. Master Jones was very firm in his opinion that you should try this other method.»
Emma almost leapt out of her bed at her words, heart palpitating in her chest at the mention of the man who filled her thoughts. Many times Alexandra or Melody caught her staring at nothing in particular, questioning her about her dreamy sighs and heart eyes.
The moment she heard the clicking sound of the door closing behind her mother’s back, Emma threw the blankets aside, cold assaulting her skin and seeping through the soaked shift. She didn’t care, all she cared about was the fact that he’d sent her a cup of tea. It didn’t matter if he’d been the one brewing it, it was the thought tha- Oh.
On the tray, next to the teacup – one belonging to her favourite set, with light blue decorations that recalled the sea – was a middlemist. A soft sigh escaped her lips, hand reaching out to take the flower, rolling the stem between her fingers, gently, admiring the different shades of pink in the petals’ creases.
Only when she noticed the parchment tied to the flower she came out of her reverie. A smile pulled at her lips. Carefully, Emma freed it from the white ribbon, one she knew Killian – gods, Killian – used for the flower crowns he created for her.
Your Highness, the short letter rad, please forgive my bold gesture. If you do not wish to read further, I beg of you, burn or rip this parchment and forget it ever existed. If you don’t, however, please consider my advice. I have heard you’ve been unwell lately, and while I wish I had a better remedy for your illness, I do hope peppermint tea will be the cure you need. While ginger tea is a good method to cure nausea, it doesn’t mean too much of it won’t make you feel even worse. Hoping I didn’t offend you and that you will get better soon, perhaps even grace the garden with your presence if I’m not too presumptuous, I now leave you be, Princess. Sincerely, Killian Jones.
Emma’s cheeks hurt, her smile so wide she could almost feel her lower lip split in the middle. A pang of sadness shot through her heart like a poisoned arrow: he’d not mentioned the night of the ball, though she’d not expected him to. The tone of the letter, shy and tentative, along with the clear invitation to join him in the garden as soon as she felt better and was ready to leave her chamber, was telling enough.
Another of her dreamy sighs, the one her friends teased her about, left her mouth as she fell back on the bed, clutching the rose and the letter to her chest, as if wanting to imprint it into her heart so she would never forget those gifts, far more precious than any she’d ever received.
Suffice to say, the lukewarm peppermint tea was the best one she ever tasted.
It took her two more days to heal completely.
Her mother kept fussing and her father brought her more peppermint tea but no more middlemists. It saddened her, but Emma rather enjoyed the quick glares her Papa shot to the still blooming flower in the crystal vase on her vanity.
Finally, when her legs didn’t shake so much to move her skirts and what solid food she did eat managed to stay down, Emma decided she’d had enough and that it was about time she took a breath of fresh air.
Her complexion was slightly paler than usual, the freckles on her face starting to stand out more and more as she kept her head titled back, sun kissing her skin. Her hair was loosely tied in a braid, a look her mother would frown upon if Emma hadn’t been firm in her decision to dress as she wanted.
For a moment, she contemplated dressing down to her undergarments and really enjoying the sun. Part of her liked to think about the reaction she would trigger, but she didn’t want to send either of her parents to an early grave. Perhaps, one day, she would enjoy the sun’s caresses on her bare skin.
Heat crept up her neck and face when a tiny voice in her head suggested she would go on such adventures with a certain Master Gardener.
Gasping in surprise at her own thoughts, Emma stood from the stone bench, driven by a sudden spark of flaring fire in the pit of her stomach. She licked her lips, eyes wide and greener than ever as she exhaled and strode into the greenhouse.
High glass walls rose towards the sky, closing above her head in a vault ceiling. Whoever conceived the building and built it must’ve been a genius. White-painted steel kept the glass upright, a staircase spiralling up to a balustrade that ran almost completely all around the greenhouse and hosted various other plants. The greenhouse’s architectural style contrasted with the castle’s, too modern to seem to fit. And yet, it did. More than, it looked the perfect place to escape from routine, even if, or perhaps because, the only inhabitants were flowers and plants from all over the realms. It didn’t hurt that its guardian was such a gentleman and helped her quiet her mind even just with his presence on the other side of the greenhouse.
There he was, at very end of it, bent over an orchid, her mother’s favourite flower. He was carefully tying the stems to flower spikes so they wouldn’t bend and break, but grow strong and beautiful. She was in awe of him, and she thanked the gods her sight was still good enough to clearly see him even from afar.
Her mouth suddenly ran dry. Not for the first time Emma deemed him as a celestial being, but now, enveloped in the morning light which wrapped around his figure like a halo, testifying his otherworldly nature, enhanced by the white linen shirt he was wearing, sleeves rolled up past his elbows showing off strong forearms. It was unbelievable that she’d touched them just several weeks ago, albeit from over layers of clothes.
More than once, when Emma only caught just a glimpse of him, so fast she’d believe it’d only been her imagination if she didn’t know he existed and spent all his waking hours in the greenhouse, she found herself in awe of his seraphic appearance. The adjective had vehemently swirled in her mind for so long she’d sometimes sketched wings springing from between his shoulder blades.
Her fingers twitched, desiring to hold a charcoal and take time to sketch him like this, beatific as he focused on his task. One thing she wouldn’t be able to give justice to would be his mouth: so perfect, with plump lips enhanced by his short scruff and always moving. It was barely noticeable, at first considered a mere tic, until she caught him softly talking to a bouquet of wildflowers. He’d been talking nonsense, sweet nothings, but Emma never doubted he’d told his flowers his deepest secrets and revealed them his thoughts. Oh, how she egoistically wished she was a flower so she could hear them, too. Perhaps, one day, he would confide in her.
Some undefined feeling enveloped her heart as her green eyes roamed over his ethereal figure. A deep breath and she was – still elegantly – striding towards him, only to slow down to better admire him a bit more. Half his face was hidden by shadows, but she was enraptured by the strands of hair falling over his forehead and eyes, not irritating or hindering him in the slightest as he carried on with his task. Another wonder were his fingers, so delicate when touching the flowers – and Emma – yet still rough at the touch, hands which had known hard labour and the bite of steel as the scars on their palms and backs testified.
Of course he didn’t need to raise his head to understand she’d arrived. It felt very much as if, by entering the greenhouse, or the garden, really, she’d crossed some magical boundary which informed him of any visitor.
«Good morning, your Highness. I confide you feel quite better?» he greeted her, casting a glance out of the corner of his eye. Would the peculiar shade of blue of his eyes be found in nature? It looked like the blue of forget-me-nots, yet not the same.
«Much better!» Emma exclaimed, blushing at her own excitement. How little self-control she had in his presence. «I wanted to thank you. You’ve been my savior. Weren’t it for the peppermint tea, I’d still be bedridden.»
At last, he straightened his back, turning to her and if wings appeared behind him she wouldn’t be surprised. It was the smile he was giving her that didn’t make her feel silly.
«I’m glad to hear that.» After the last word left his mouth and stopped echoing against the glass walls, he turned towards a pot, watering the plant there, one she didn’t recognize.
Albeit gentle, his words sounded very much like a dismissal. Was he perhaps toying with her? Was his invitation – not quite an invitation, she needed to admit – only a ruse?
If there was one thing Emma was, though, was a fighter. Despite her demeanor and gentle manners, she’d been raised by a former bandit and a shepherd-turned-king. She could take time to gather her courage to act or voice her thoughts, the fact that she was a Princess not discouraging her from being herself.
Licking her lips, Emma headed closer, putting the wooden work bench between them. Since her visit to Alexandra, a thought kept nagging at her. The Princess wasn’t a vain person but, much like other women, there were times in which she loved to look – or rather, feel – beautiful. Void compliments still ran common through the nobility, and her innate ability to detect lies only saddened her when she received one. It hurt, but like many things, Emma buried her sorrow deep down, trying to forget it.
«Master Jones,» she began, eyes darting to him and finding his attention still on the plants, «have you ever heard of flower used to adorn gowns?»
There it was.
His hands stilled for a brief second, and had Emma diverted her eyes, she wouldn’t have met his. The confusion she read in them almost made her smile. Though she fought it, she couldn’t impede the corners of her lips to twitch.
«Aye,» Killian carefully replied, his voice a tad deeper than usual, «but I rather the flowers grow in vases or bushes instead of adorning already magnificent gowns.»
Decidedly, Emma couldn’t fault him. «What about flower crowns, then?»
Her question seemed to surprise him, and it was quite shocking to see him fumble at her question. Pride shot through her at the red blush painting his cheeks and reaching the tips of his ears in such an endearing way.
Killian cleared his throat. «There’s a difference, lo- your Highness.»
Oh, how her heart ached when he cut himself off. «Is there?»
A low exhale and he met her eyes. It felt more like being pierced through the soul rather than being looked at. Could it be? «To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, to throw a perfume on the violet, to smooth the ice, or add another hue unto the rainbow, or with taper-light to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, is wasteful and ridiculous excess.»
The quote was one she recognized, one she agreed with. While it did communicate his idea, it still didn’t explain why he would consider flower crowns acceptable when the thought of covering a ballgown with fresh flowers was so abhorring.
«What I mean, Em- I’m sorr-»
«You can call me Emma!» she rushed to say, her hand suspended mid-air as if wanting to reach out to touch him before curling her fingers into a fist, bringing it back to her side. «I-if you want, of course.»
They were breaking protocol. Emma didn’t care.
«V-very well, then,» he conceded, glancing away from her. «What I mean, Emma,» – why did she allow him to use her name, again? – «is that you don’t need a flower-covered dress to be beautiful, to gain everyone’s attention, you already do that on yourself.» A pause, a small smile – no, a grin, stretching his lips. «Even if you avoid any kind of attention and hide, you still eclipse every other woman in the room. All their efforts are vain when it comes to compete with you.»
His earnest compliment managed to melt her heart even if she knew it wasn’t possible, because if her heart didn’t liquify, then Emma didn’t know what it did. Her lips parted in a quiet gasp. She wanted nothing more to round the table and kiss the lips from whence those words had fallen.
Protocol and customs be damned, the princess did exactly that.
Being her first kiss ever, the way she pounced on his lips felt awkward at first, her hands balled into fists around his shirt. She almost fell over as she raised herself onto her tiptoes, feet leaving her flat shoes. How could she care about any of that when his lips felt so soft against her own, the coarse hairs of his stubble scratching deliciously over her skin?
It took Killian the fragment of a second to reciprocate the kiss, eyelids fluttering closed and lips moving against Emma’s. Gently, he guided her through the kiss, daring at one point to sweep his tongue against her lower lip.
She sighed into his mouth, trembling in his grasp as their tongues touched, discovering each other’s mouth. It was paradise, it must’ve been, there was no other way to describe how she felt, as if she was experiencing the greatest beatitude.
One of Killian’s arms tightened against her waist, bringing her closer her higher, her tiptoes barely touching the floor His other arm, instead, brushed up her back, sending ripples of heat straight to her belly, a warm sensation she was new to but wanted to explore, to be consumed by. When his fingers slipped through her hair, Emma was grateful for the loose braid she’d chosen. She wondered how those same fingers would feel actually running through her golden curls. The thought made her shiver.
They broke the kiss, breaths mingling and foreheads touching before Emma surged forwards again, making him stumble back a little. She left her shoes behind, the cold floor of the greenhouse a sharp contrast with the warmth she felt inside, blood boiling and flesh aflame.
Killian pulled away slightly, pulling the hand away from the back of her head to hold her chin between thumb and forefinger, smiling at her.
No, the princess didn’t need flowers sewn onto her clothes, nor any other embellishment, not when Killian was looking at her like that, as if she was the lily and all the other things he’d spoken of mere minutes – or an eternity – earlier.
It didn’t run smoothly for them, some of the council members and the too many suitors claiming a mere gardener wasn’t good enough, not even if he’d served in the Navy. What Emma was grateful of, was her parents’ past and how they’d been firm in their decision to let their daughter follow her heart, whether it’d found a home in a nobleman or in a gardener.
Flower crowns, bouquets and single middlemists never failed to appear out of thin air, lovely gestures or a way to apologize – from her part, Emma brought him seashells or starfishes, her own way to say she was sorry – and while Killian kept his job, his acuity and past were useful, if not indispensable, when it came to alliances and strategy. Emma felt her skin tingle and heat pool in her belly whenever Killian spoke to the council, sure of himself and his ideas; the power he held over the council the same of a captain running his ship.
He was also a good physician, having long chats with Doc about herbs’ healing properties and how plants could be used in medicine.
Suffice to say, ginger tea was never served to Emma again, peppermint substituting the root in the rare occasions she ate something that upset her stomach.
That is, of course, until, several years later, she had to switch to red raspberry leaf tea after midway through her pregnancy.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Far Across the Land and Sea: Noteven now she knew why that was, why her body and magic reacted to Killian thatway, all she knew was that it wasn’t unpleasant at all. Quite the contrary. Andthis scared and excited her even more.
Made of Stars: Marchwas chaotic to say the least, the days leading to Saint Patrick’s Day awhirlwind of activities: wherever she went, Emma found herself surrounded byeven more green than usual and, if possible, by even more tourists, too.
365 days writing prompts challenge - day 8:Emma let out a groan, flying her arm over her eyes in a theatrical way which expressed how she felt more than any word could, only to yelp in pain when she felt the pull of the needle.
Wereleopard AU: Ignoring the fairy’s shocked gasp, Emma gathers her skirts and plops down on the floor, gown flaring around her. She shifts a bit more and he hears the soft thump of her shoes being discarded.
365 days writing prompts challenge - day 8: Home. What a big word. Home was Storybrooke, Maine, not the MIT dorms. Only, she couldn’t just go home, if her parents knew what had happened, her mother would probably lock her in the basement and her father would go on a murder spree to find out who dared hurt his little girl.
Wereleopard AU: Around her, the gown pools like a sea of silk, the way she looks up at him with those big, jade eyes, no matter how hungry for him they appear, makes her look so innocent. The crown on her head, slightly askew, is the last straw.
