Hello, it's me. I know most of you (I hope?) are still waiting for the new chapter of Made of Stars, and I should've translated it by now, so I have no excuse - apart from my exams and my thesis, of course. I'm so sorry, I hope I'll be able to update soon, but I'll (hopefully) finish my exams on January 19th, and then (again, hopefully) I'll be working on my thesis. Still, I hope I'll be able to update, I really, really want to.
Now, I found this list of prompts and my mind just decided I had to write - I started this a while ago, actually, but there are only four stories right now. Ops. Maybe four and a half.
These will be mostly modern AUs or Enchanted Forest AUs, since canon divercence is not exactly my thing, sorry. I'll put the M rating because I honestly don't know how many will be actually M rated, but I'll make sure to let you know when my muse gets wrapped up in smut.
While the fics won't be all set during one specific day, the month - or yeah, even the day, if it's important in any way - in which the fics begin will be the one indicated on the banner (here on I can't post it, but I'll tell you when it'll be).
Side note for this first OS: Emma wasn't pregnant in jail - she's just turned eighteen - so she and Killian can legally be together. You know, because on the show this problem had never been addressed.
I hope you like this one, it's just something small, but I'd like to know what you think. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 1 – Just classic when we met (now you made me new)
Prompt: "new beginnings".
She didn't even knew how she'd arrived in Maine from Boston. No, really, she didn't know. She only knew she'd pickpocketed a wallet from a man in the midst of the chaotic crowd in the train station and that she had taken the first train going outside the city.
What she truly couldn't understand was how she'd arrived in that small town in the middle of nowhere, in that Storybrooke. Honestly, she had never heard such an absurd name, but, apparently, its inhabitants carried it with honour, the first of which was the woman behind the mayor's desk.
The actual problem of small towns was that, if she had stolen something, she would've been the first one to be suspected, and her yellow Bug wouldn't have been able to win a race against the police car.
What gnawed at her from within, instead, was the fact that, if she had committed a theft, she would've disappointed all those who, in the last week, had showed her nothing but kindness, something someone like her didn't deserve at all.
Don't think about it, she tried to convince herself, don't think about how Mary Margaret will look at you with eyes filled with pity, or how David's shoulders will sag with disappointment.
A long time ago she used to feel excitement in stealing things, were them wallets or knick-knacks in souvenirs shops, or food from minimarkets. Or already stolen cars, she thought with a grimace. She hadn't stolen just out of necessity, but because she liked it, because it was forbidden, and she had passed all her life trying to be perfect and still nobody had wanted her. She had crossed the line, bringing herself on the other side of the law, on the wrong side, and there she had found someone who wanted her, someone who she had thought she loved, someone who, instead, didn't love her and had only wanted her just for her to spend eleven months behind bars in his place.
Emma fought the tears away, the pendant with the swan burned like a hot firebrand pressing against her chest, remembering her how much pain trusting someone caused and how much pain you felt in loving someone.
She had thrown to the wind the chance of a new beginning because she knew no one would've ever accepted her; she was an orphan, after all, a girl with no GED and a criminal record. She could've explained what had happened to her, that it hadn't been her fault, but it would've gone the same way it went in the foster homes when she tried to defend herself from her foster parents who didn't believe her when money disappeared at the hand of on the boys who had been able to run away and, maybe, build himself a life. They had not believed her when Lily happened.
She tightened her hands into fists at the memory, the spot on which she had drawn the black star seemed to burn even after many years.
She leaned against the icy bricks in the dark alley, the light of the lamppost didn't touch her, hiding her from the eyes of the few pedestrians. She was wearing the heaviest – stolen, of course – jacket she had but it still didn't prevent the cold from penetrating her bones and leaving her lips almost completely numb.
It was 3 am, or at least so the clock on the tower over the library marked, and everybody was at The Rabbit Hole or at Granny's to celebrate New Year's Eve. She pursed her lips, remembering Mary Margaret's invitation to spend New Year's Eve with her and David she had gently – okay, maybe a little brusquely – declined. She couldn't accept, she couldn't risk getting attached to two amazing people just to lose them once they'd discovered what she had – not – done.
Listening to Storybrooke's silence, she pulled out a bobby pin from her hair and walked towards Mr. Gold's shop's backdoor; inside she surely would've found something interesting to resell in another city.
Gold wasn't one of her favourite people, too shady and always trying to make deals that didn't benefit anyone but him, but she liked his wife, Belle, well enough to make herself feel slightly guilty. At least I won't be stealing a book from the city library, she thought with a half-smile, not amused at all, kneeling on the frozen asphalt and starting to work on the lock.
Once she'd successfully opened the door without making the alarm go off – probably Old Gold hadn't even thought about it – she slipped inside the backroom. She didn't turn on any light, using a little flashlight instead, holding it with frozen fingers.
She almost had a stroke seeing the enormous spinning wheel in the centre of the room. What, he spins straws into gold?, she thought ironically, looking attentively at the other things. Her gaze fell upon a sword with a golden pommel embellished with rubies, rubies that were probably worth a fortune.
She kept looking around, noticing the strangest of things she'd ever seen, including two creepy dolls, before crossing the curtain that divided the backdoor from the actual shop. She admired nostalgically a crib mobile from which hung unicorns made of blue glass, brushing them gently with her fingers. She had never had one, no one ever cared about giving her a happy childhood, the only thing she had was a blanked with her name embroidered on it. Why bother with knitting a blanket like that – and naming their child – only to abandon said child on the side of a road?
She moved behind the counter, observing the painting there, more precisely the hinges on the side of the frame, and reached out with her hand to detach it from the wall when a manly voice stopped her every movements.
«I wouldn't do that if I were you, Swan.»
Despite the fact that she'd known him since last week and had seen him every morning at breakfast at Granny's when he stopped by to pick up donuts and coffee for his brother, David and himself to bring them to the police station and had tried to dismiss his attempts to engage in a conversation, Emma would've recognized that voice anywhere.
Killian Jones, twenty-three, maybe one of the most beautiful guys Emma'd ever seen in her life, stood with his shoulder pressed against the doorframe that led to the backroom. His expression seemed hard, but his eyes betrayed a sadness Emma couldn't exactly how to classify.
With her back stiff, Emma stepped away from the painting. Knowing she couldn't compete with him, not when he surely had a loaded gun on his side – not that he would shoot her, of that she was sure – she held her wrists out towards him.
When she saw him standing motionless looking at her hands, she snapped: «So? You're going to arrest me or not?»
She was surprised when she felt his fingers imprison her wrists, stroking her hands to bring her warmth. «If you keep not to wear gloves, your fingers will fall off.»
She gulped loudly, looking at how devoutly he touched her, as if she was some rare treasure. Not even him had touched her like that, only taking what he wanted. Her heart skipped a beat at the memory of stolen moments in the backseats of the Bug or in motel rooms they hadn't paid for in which they entered by picking the locks.
«What are you doing?» she asked him quietly, eyes wide fixed on his long fingers that, even without gloves on, were surprisingly warm.
«I'm arresting you,» he said jokingly but with a clear note of sadness that fed Emma's want of escaping from Storybrooke as soon as possible. If Killian was sad because of some reason that concerned her, that meant he somehow cared. And she couldn't risk caring about him in the same way. She simply couldn't.
«I need to go,» she murmured, trying to free her hands from his. His grip tightened even more as he brought their joined hands to his lips, blowing air on them, warming them up a little.
«You could stay,» he countered, his lips a few millimetres from her frozen fingertips. Emma felt something breaking inside her, as if she wasn't broken enough, feeling the pendant becoming more and more heavy around her neck, dragging her into the abyss.
«I'll stay only if you'll arrest me. After you'll have released me, I'll go away from here,» she whispered between her teeth. «How did you know I was here? I thought…»
«We were all getting drunk somewhere?» Killian laughed, not stopping warming her hands. «I was enjoying myself a drop of rum, actually, all alone at the station. Then I thought I could share it with a certain girl who lives in a flashy yellow bug stolen almost two years ago, so I came to find you.»
Emma tried to get her hands out of Killian's grip, failing again. He knows, she thought, panicked, the urgency of running away even more acute, now. She inhaled sharply, trying to step back, but she only ended being dragged towards him. She collided against his chest, feeling the air leaving her body. Now she was breathing in only his scent, rum and what seemed like coffee.
«I need to go,» she repeated, tears in her eyes as he finally released her hands, only to wrap his arms around her waist and pressed her against his own body. Emma closed her hands into fists, placing them on his chest trying to move away from Killian, in vain.
«You could stay,» he whispered, begging her with his gaze. That was the same gaze she'd worn when she'd hoped that Neal would come back for her, that he hadn't left her taking the fall for a crime she hadn't committed.
She had to avert her eyes, she couldn't sustain the intense blue of Killian's irises. She felt tears stinging her eyes. «Since when have you known?» she asked in a whisper, afraid of the answer.
«Since the day you've stepped over the town line.»
Emma closed her eyes, letting the tears streaming down her cheeks. A warm hand wiped them away, and she felt herself automatically leaning into that touch, allowing him to caress her skin with his thumb.
If he knew about her criminal record, then his brother would surely know, too. And if his brother knew, then David would surely know, too. If David knew, there was no doubt that even Mary Margaret would know. And if Mary Margaret knew, it was sure that the whole town would know.
A sob escaped her lips. Why does everybody know but still want me to stay? Why can't they just let me go?
Killian pressed a kiss on her forehead, the first intimate contact she ever had with him, yet something more deep than simple comfort.
«It's easier caring about you than hate you, Swan. Hating you would be impossible,» he murmured stroking gently her back.
They've seen me in town for a single, fuckin week, they can't have already gotten attached to me, she tried to protest against the little voice that was telling her to stay, one she'd never heard before.
She shook her head. «You now have the proof that they did put me in jail for a reason,» she whispered with clenched teeth, feeling the lie burning her throat, as if it didn't want to come out.
Killian didn't lose his grip on her. It was strange, but that part of her, that lost girl that had always wanted a home, had finally calmed down. No, I can't stay, she said to herself, but those words lacked conviction, now.
«Why?» she could only ask, her gaze fixated on the counter in the dim light. «Why should I stay? I have nothing to offer, I'm a criminal, I don't have a GED, I don't have… anything.» I just have an emotional baggage of broken hearts and broken promises.
A kiss brushed her hair. «Because everyone deserves a second chance, God only knows how many Liam and David gave to me, and even Mary Margaret did. I too was a loose cannon, Emma, especially after… a relationship that ended badly, when she cheated on me with her ex-husband, the chances of a happy future crushed before my own eyes as the door of my apartment closed. Because even Liam and I had had our share of disappointments from foster parents before arriving here when Liam had turned eighteen and could finally take legally care of me, as if he hadn't done that during all those years in the system.» He traced her cheek with his long fingers, pushing her to look him in the eyes. «We all understand you, Emma, that's why. And not only Liam and I, but even David and Mary Margaret didn't have the best of childhoods. We want to help you, but you have to allow us to do so.»
Now tears were falling freely, choked sobs shaking her chest, even more painful than the ones she'd cried when she'd been arrested. «How can you still trust me after… this?»
It was ridiculous, really, she had always been the one to have trust issues, especially after Lily and Neal, so why was she having problems with them trusting her?
«Because we all make mistakes, love,» Killian whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. «I too did my fair share of nights behind bars, I'm not a saint, no one of us is. The important thing is to understand where you went wrong.»
She grunted, a noise that completely disagreed with the current state of her tearful face. «I've been wrong to trust someone. I can't trust anyone, Killian.» Not you, not all of you, and least of all myself.
Killian shook his head. «No, Emma, you weren't wrong to trust him, it is him who was wrong to not understand how precious what he had in his hands was, much more precious than some bloody watches.»
She felt herself freeze at that statement. They had always blamed her for not being adapted for being adopted, they had blamed her for having dragged Lily on a wrong path made of thefts and darkness, they had put her eleven months behind bars because, in their opinion, she had stolen some watches, but no one, no one, had ever asked themselves why families had not chosen her, nor they had ever believed when she'd said it had been Lily who had convinced her to run away from her own father, nor they had ever asked why would someone frame her for a theft she had not committed.
She had screamed "it's not my fault" a thousand times in her head, but that phrase always came out without the "not", because it was better to believe it was her fault than not others', others that would always get away with it, despite her claims of innocence.
«Mary Margaret would've proposed it to you,» Killian whispered after a few seconds, his hand still caressing her back. «Mary Margaret would've asked you to help her at the elementary school, and in the meanwhile you'd have had the time to study for your GED. She would've have offered you the guest room in the loft. For free, of course, until you had found a job of your liking.»
«It's a nice story,» Emma murmured, lips pressed against his shoulder. Hearing those nice words, she'd leant against him, as if she'd suddenly felt tired. Tired of fighting against Mary Margaret's smiles and warm hugs, against David's almost paternal looks he used to throw at her and the faces he made every time Killian came too close to her, against Liam's bear hugs and his big-brotherly behaviour, against the looks Killian always threw at her, full of what had always been complete devotion, even though she didn't know how to explain it, against the voice that kept telling her to stay.
Years before, when she used to think that the next family to cross the threshold would take her away with them just like princes did with their princesses, sitting them on their white horses, she would've thrown herself into their arms, but the fear that, after they'd understood she was a lost cause, they'd send her away, that was a fear she couldn't bear.
«Aye, and this is only the first chapter.» He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing every finger.
They stayed silent for a few moments, Emma battling with herself, a battle she knew the fear of staying couldn't win. Hesitant, she asked: «Do you think it's too late to go to David and Mary Margaret's?»
It was a whisper so faint she was afraid he had not heard her but, in that silent night, Emma wasn't alone, someone had been able to hear her silent and desperate scream of help and had come to her rescue. Not only tonight, she corrected herself, remembering that her rescue seemed to have been planned since the day she'd set foot into their lives.
She felt Killian's smile against her temple, and even her own lips curved slightly upwards. «I think Mary Margaret would be willing to come dragging you out of your bug by force instead of leaving you sleeping in there another night with this cold.» He cleared his throat. «I'd offer you my bed, promising you I'll be a gentleman and that I'd sleep on the couch, but I'm afraid it's too soon.»
Her heart clenched. It has only been a week, but he would give me his heart after what that woman did to him, Emma thought, unable to understand how a part of her had already entrusted him despite her doubts. They both knew she would have never agreed, there was too much at stake beside the chance of a new beginning, but what surprised her was that a part of her would have had.
She lifter her gaze on him, a small smile gracing her lips. Killian's eyes betrayed anticipation and excitement, something Emma had never seen in anybody's eyes. This must be the feeling you have when you trust someone completely, she said to herself, dazed, now understanding that she had never trusted anybody, not the families searching for some lost child to adopt, not Lily, not Neal. She gulped, suddenly afraid of what she was seeing. «It's too soon,» she confirmed with wide eyes, «but… I don't think it will be "too soon" forever.»
The smile he gave her was worth more than a thousand precious watches, the grip around her waist even more stronger than before, as if he wasn't willing to let her go now whereas he would've been just a few minutes earlier.
Killian leaned his forehead against hers, a smirk on his lips, lips Emma suddenly felt the urge to kiss. «Let's knock the sheriff out of bed.»
She frowned, remembering where they were and, above all, of what Killian should've been doing. «He'll give you an earful for leaving the station in the middle of the night.»
She felt him chuckle, and was amazed of how beautiful his laugh was, warm and husky and comforting. «But, my dear, isn't it a good cop's job to ensure that everyone who's lost their way will return home safe and sound?»
Home. At the thought, Emma's heart jumped in her chest. She had never had a place to call home, but, after Killian had ensured Gold's door closed properly, as he took her hand and moved her body closer to his because "I won't allow you to freeze under my supervision, Swan, or the Nolans won't let me hear the end of it!", and as the first snowflakes of the new year began to fall all over the quiet, small town of Storybrooke, she found herself thinking that, maybe, she'd already found it.
«I need to go,» Emma huffed, looking at the time on the alarm clock on the bedside table. She tucked her frozen feet between Killian's ankles, snuggling even more against him and trying to steal his body heat.
She heard him huff as his grip around her waist tightened. «You could stay,» he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Emma shook her head against his chest. «You know very well that cakes and pastries don't bake themselves,» she grumbled, rubbing her nose against Killian's shirt, one of the many she'd stolen several times and now had learnt to share.
That exchange of remarks had almost become a ritual in the year they had spent together, trying to not get scared of the intensity of their feelings, because even Killian was afraid, and she'd better not forget that – and she wouldn't, of course.
«Bloody hell, it's January 1st, everyone will sleep 'til noon, something you should do, too,» Killian replied.
She smirked, languidly caressing his stomach, making her way downward. «Are you sure you just want to sleep until noon?»
Killian breathed a groan, now definitely awake as Emma's hand sneaked under the waistband of his sweatpants. Emma laughed when, with a low growl, he pinned her under his body, laugh that melted into a moan the moment Killian's lips pressed against hers.
Yeah, sometimes staying was the best choice.