A/N: Smut ensues in this chapter- if that wasn't obvious by now, so if you're not interested, skip it when you're there. (I'm not that good at writing smut anyways, so… lol)

It's when she wakes up realizing she hasn't screamed from the fear of the night, hasn't been pulled down by the voices in her head- it makes her happy. Happy in so many ways, because somehow along the path of confessions, being truthful to herself and Killian, is where she found herself. And maybe it's a one-time thing, but if it is, she's at least experienced one time of sleep without waking up in the middle of it with a dreadful punch to the face for weeks, or a painfully stunning loss of air for five seconds being stuck in the back of her throat from the paralysation.

Her breath hitches the moment her eyes open slowly to see herself still in his arms, wrapped up tightly by his warmth and there's a sense of safety, and sense of home. Home is Killian Jones to her, and she doesn't care what will happen, as along as she can have him by her side.

"Good morning, love," he hums. "What's with the no nightmares all of a sudden?" he asks, his voice low and thick of sleep.

"I faced the truth, reality even," she answers honestly, nuzzling herself closer under his chin. "The avoiding method was a bad choice, you were right. And when did we get into bed?"

"Of course I was," he teases, kissing the top of her head. "And, I carried you of course."

She tsks. "Egotistical man," she mutters under her breath, closing her eyes. "Anyways, any plans for today?"

"Oh, I don't know, love, that's up to you."

Suddenly, she remembers something. "Laundry. I think with both our piles, it's going to be a large mess." She yawns, breathing in the faint smell of his light cologne- and he smells like salt? "I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer. And, why do you smell like salt?"

"Ah, well I was by a place with water, dealing with Pan's body," he mumbles, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. He's considerate.

She winces at the mention of Pan, and now she doesn't want to know a single detail. She doesn't want to know how he did it or where (specifically) he did it anymore. Nevermind her horrible idea.

He sighs pressing a small kiss to her lips. "Laundry day, let's go, Swan," he encourages, getting out of bed quickly. "You're going to regret beating me at darts now, love."

"Regret it? Dude, I don't have to wash my own clothes for an entire month! I think I'm safe with that option hung above my head," she exclaims, stretching under the covers. Her feet swing over the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of the bed disappearing. "Plus, we have our own laundry machine which saves us the trouble from the open one downstairs. Even better."

"Ah, but the aftermath," he taunts, giving her a sly grin. "But as you wish, love. If you think you're so triumphant, I suppose I'll let you drown in your giddy feelings."

"Giddy feelings?" she mutters questionably, dragging her feet across the floor.

They both manage in the washroom, occasionally she would slap him with the towel because of his innuendos, and he would point his razor playfully at her if she was to slap him again. They bump shoulders, push each other around, and act like ten year olds who couldn't get the pizza they wanted for dinner.

In all seriousness though, her watching Killian deal with her clothes has her silently choking on laughter in the hallway. She can hear the string of curses that spill from his mouth, varying from 'Bloody hell, woman,' to 'Fuck me for losing that game.' It's a wave of laughter and happiness that keeps her mind away from any stray, dangerous thoughts of the past or the possible future.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Sorting through all her clothes has been the hardest thing he's ever encountered, because his eyes tend to drift away and look past his shoulder to the door that's open by the smallest bit. He can hear her laugh, and it echoes in his mind, bringing joy to him. He can imagine her smiling at how he's miserably failing at dealing with the laundry, and that sends a jolt of rustling nerves throughout his body. He can look at her undergarments and still recall every event from that one night of fiery sex.

It takes him time, a lot of time to get through her side of the laundry. Laced bras and underwears are the only things making him fall into a dying pit of desperation, being covered by the other casual shirts, jeans and sweatpants burying him down below. He can feel the burn of her gaze on the back of his head as he stands on his unfairly weak knees, his jaw clenching tightly to the thought of her in bed calling his name. Can't blame a man for having dirty thoughts once in awhile, right?

So, when he finally shuts the lid of the washing machine and turns the knob he's glad he's done the first part. It leads him to letting out a large sigh of relief, though that tight ache under his pants isn't going away anytime soon. Neither are the unparalleled thoughts ever thinking of vanishing behind the curtains, because this time around, there's a possibility of little patience. He's not sure how long he can hold it in before he wants his ways with her, unless she decides to reject him- he knows her well enough to know she's putting him through hell on purpose.

He tries to casually slip out of the washroom and into his bedroom to change, the reminder of the encounter with Pan coming back. Buggering damn, he says mentally while he rummages through his drawers for a pair of more comfortable clothes. His wants are not his needs, but it's safe to say that throbbing sensation is not going to be subsiding at all, not until he gets it.

Killian quickly rids himself of the jeans for a comfortable pair of fleece pants, however he's only in his boxer briefs when she walks in like it's nothing. Ignoring the view, he tells himself. "Are you happy, Swan? You've gotten what you rightfully won," he asks, pulling his pants on. The last thing he needs is her knowing he's got a thing for her at the moment.

"Yeah," she drawls, holding the word for longer than usual as she approaches him. "How'd you fare with your new responsibility?" Her hand wanders down his body as he fights back a groan.

"You know bloody well how I fared," he grumbles, ignoring the blood rushing to his ears.

She laughs, shaking her head. "You're right, I do. "

"Swan," he breathes, "you're going to need a lot more than your wonderful clothes to get me into bed." It's a lie, he's already going to get her into bed either way. She's just making it easier for him to agree to it at some point, but he's setting himself up for a hell lot of intensity later, then.

Emma scoffs. "You're bluffing."

He hums, ignoring her bold, yet true statement, his eyes darting down straight to her lips. Without a second of time to waste, he crashes himself against her, pinning her against the door of his bedroom. It's a small gasp that comes from her where he lets his tongue slip through her soft lips, the lips he will never get tired of, no matter the amount of times they kiss.

Because every time they kiss, it's something new, like something is revealed for the first time.

It's only a mere matter of short moments where she rips his t-shirt over his head, and hers is pulled off quickly by the tug of Killian's impatient hands. He lets himself trail kisses down the curvature of her neck, always hitting the one spot that gets her best. The next moment, both of them fall onto the bed, his lips too busy to do the work he's been wanting to since the moment he laid eyes on her clothes. He knows he seems rushed, like he wants pleasure her to the ends of the world, but he also wants to take in the time he's been given with her.

He wants to take in every inch of her wondrous skin. Pay attention to every moment a noise escapes her kiss-bruised lips. Mean every word that comes out of his mouth which compliments her beauty that has been hiding behind layers of clothing all this time.

This time, this sex, this love isn't made for him to play around with. He wants her to know, even by the simplest actions, how much she means to him- the entirety of his life revolves around her orbit. If it wasn't for her coming around, he'd still be stuck in a deep, dark hole of depression for the rest of his life. If it wasn't for her risky attempt to escape him when they first met, he'd still be mourning the single soul of a past lover. If it wasn't for her working with him as a team with a somewhat foolish deal, he'd still be pouring rum down his throat each night in attempts to forget.

So, she means everything to him. Her happiness means his happiness. Her freedom means his freedom. Her lost means his lost. Her struggles mean his struggles. Her love means his love.

All these thoughts rush through him as he's kissing her senseless, both of their lips in sync as she's pressed under him. He's making no attempt to appeal her with his arousal, but he's also making no attempt to hide it either.

Emma's hand trails down his bare chest to the edge of his pants, and it sends a satisfying shiver through his body as he groans into their connected lips. Shortly after, his recently I-just-put-them-on sweats are off, and he's only in his boxer briefs, while she's in her jeans and undergarments. He quickly tugs at the zipper, and she quickly shoves them off her legs, leaving her only in underwear and bra. An impossibly stunning view lays in front of him, which he will never get tired of.

"You beautiful woman," he mumbles, kissing her forehead. "For many months, I can't believe I missed out on all of you," he whispers, pressing kisses down the side of her neck, to her bare shoulder. His hands slip around and unhook her bra, throwing it to the side.

She sighs of contentment, pulling his body closer to hers. His lips are rocking against hers, and that lets a soft moan escape. "How long have you been this hard?" she asks softly, too busy getting kisses all over her body.

"Since the beginning," he answers mundanely, his hand cupping her right breast, his finger flicking around her hardened nipple. He squeezes and tugs at it, which makes her cry out gently. "You know how to tease a man, Swan. Bravo," he mumbles, his lips dipping down hers. "It's time I make you pay."

Making it hasty, his hand slowly slips down to her panties, pulling them off quickly. It's quite obvious she's got a pool waiting for him to jump into here. He smirks as he brushes his fingers against her flaps, giving her a considerate look before doing anything. She nods, which gives him the permission to slip a finger into her. An immediate whimper comes from her, and it's far from over. "You alright, love?"

"Perfect," she murmurs.

It doesn't take long before he puts another finger in, curling inside of her as her walls clench around. "You're so tight, darling. Wet and ready for me the moment we got on this bed," he mutters hungrily, bringing his head down to kiss her. It's hungry, it's passionate, it's desperate, but it's loving, it's caring, it's gentle all the same.

This woman does questionable things to him- godly questionable things. Things he won't bother actually questioning because- fuck- she's irreplaceable.

Her head falls back as he maneuvers his fingers back and forth, pumping at a steady pace. Her loud groans, the small whispers, the small actions make him wonder how worthy of a man he is to have her. How lucky he is to have her in his arms every night.

"Fuck," she sighs, her fingers digging into his skin deeper. His thumb manages to rub right at the soft bundle of nerves, which seems to get her out of control the moment he does so. "Killian," she moans loudly, eyes closing in pleasure. It appears that she comes quite quickly, as he slips his fingers out which is covered by her wet release. "You know how to work your fingers, Jones." She's quick, managing to turn the tides, making him end up on his back, facing her eyes which are full of lust.

He likes this. Her taking control over him, as if she's a professional, which they both know is far from the truth. But, he's willing to let her explore, learn, and it's like she's quite natural. He would even go to the extent of calling this woman a goddess. Then again, he is the one in love with her. Far too deep to reach the shores now.

Her hand rubs on the bulge showing through his boxers briefs, and he lets out a husky, rumble of a groan. She knows how to pleasure him quite well. More credit than he can give her for. And recently through all the emotional stress, and the frustrating tug of a problem Gold has proved himself to be, this is like finding an escape, just enough for him to forget all of his issues, and only focus on loving and pleasing the woman he wants so dearly.

Needless to say, her hand quickly finds her way to removing his boxer briefs off, his stiff cock in the grasp of her firm hands. At first, it's tolerable with the way she uses her hands, but the moment her head drops down and her mouth takes him in, his entire body feels like he's falling down a neverending abyss of pleasure. His groans soon come as grunts of her name, both vulgar and soft. His hand becomes her guide, resting it on top of her blonde hair as he pushes down, her lips being the one thing he's focused on.

He's breathing heavily, catching his breath as she licks off his pre-come. "Gods, Emma," he huffs out, trying to take in everything at once. "I need you, now," he demands, pulling her arm so he falls on top of her, their lips meeting like a fierce battle on the war field. He nips on her bottom lip, his hand tangling throughout her blonde curls, their bodies flush against each other, both burning with the heat of the moment.

He quickly finds the condom in the drawer, placing it on at his fastest speed because he's growing impatient with the amount of time that's being wasted on simple things.

Without much time at his hands anymore, as if it's his last desire, he positions his feet firmly on the wooden floor, her thighs spread apart for him. He teases her slightly, nudging around. "Fuck, Killian, come on," she breathes out, propping herself on her elbows.

There's a quick nod. "As you wish," he whispers, and then he's inside of her, using his steady stance to his advantage. He stays at a constant speed until she asks for him to go a bit faster and harder, and he gladly complies. She bucks her hips against his, both of them working well at the same time, at the same pace. It's like they were meant to fit together like this- dumb theory and all, but it's worth considering just for the shits and giggles, right?

It's just a mix of skin slapping, grunts, groans, moans, cursing, and other noises that can't be claimed with a names. At some point, she ends up clinging onto his torso, her nails digging deep into his skin, but he can't find it in him to feel any sort of pain. It'll leave a mark, but he's enjoying too much of being inside of her to worry about the scratches, bruises or any other marks that will eventually emerge into the light and make itself present.

"Emma," he breathes out, nearing his limit. "You're tight, love. Let go," he mumbles in between breaths.

"Killian," she mutters, her breath radiating on his neck as she leans her head to rest on his shoulder.

His body freezes the moment his release occurs, his legs feeling stiffer than usual, his body feeling flimsy and overexerted. She falls back onto the bed, her chest heaving. Not long ago, they were having the time of their lives in sexual action, now they're laying on top of each other, both trying to catch their longing breaths.

"A bloody marvel you are, Swan," he drawls out, pressing his lips to the side of her head. He quickly rushes to the washroom to get rid of the condom, and when he comes back, she's still laying there pretty motionless. "Are you sure this was only your third time?"

"I lost count," she taunts him, her eyes closing shut. She rolls onto her side, her legs getting tangled with the covers.

Safe to say they both take quite a bit of time to recover. Emma seems weak on her knees, and Killian's back is sore as hell. They both laugh at each other though, because whatever it was, it was still mind blowing sex nonetheless.

They take their slow time to get dressed (tired, exhausted- thanks sex!) because it's still the afternoon, and that means doing other business. Other business includes yelling at each other while buying things at the store because they can't agree on the type of apple they want. Red? Green? Big? Small? Then, there comes the endless amount of looks and mumbling in line about how they look. Some are nice enough to keep it in, others decide to compliment them really loudly which causes both of them to just glare at each other.

By the time they get back to the apartment, the laundry is done, and the both of them are called for being hungry. For food. Not sex. At least not yet. (It may be awhile before he can do that again.)

However, somewhere in his mind, something keeps reminding him about Gold. How they could be put in some precarious situation at any time. How he could come in and kill the both of them. How he could hire another man (which he highly doubts) to slaughter them in their sleep. It's not the most settling thoughts at all, especially after a busy day of other events, but he attempts his best to keep it away, tucked in the corner of his mind for later.

That later comes by quite quickly. Emma's fallen asleep already, but he's just laying there with his eyes wide open, being paranoid to no end.

If he was to ever lose her, how would he fare having her gone? How would he ever be able to love another person again? How would he be able to move on, without her? If it was to happen, he would feel like the anchor lifted, and he was no longer grounded. He would feel like a torn sail from a storm. He would feel like he'd be traveling against the wind, instead of traveling with it.

His heart bleeds from the thought, his lungs burst and he loses oxygen at the possibility. There's always a chance of it happening, but perhaps, once again, he's over analyzing. Perhaps, it's time for him to face his fears as well, the truth and all that. Except, he's already done that. Maybe it's time for him to confront Gold again, break it down with that man once and for all. Rid of the poison in their lives, rid of the toxic man who's damaging their relationship slowly.

He contemplates on approaching Gold again, and to his defense, there's no other choice but to confront him. In fact, he finds it absolutely necessary to end everything with him once and for all. Killian isn't sure about killing him, because he can't walk in there and expect not to have a fight be put up between them all. He also needs to tell Emma, if he can. He probably won't. It's too much for her to handle, too much for her right after she's finally calmed down from her nightmares, finally feeling as if she's found the right place of where she belongs. Killian is all-around considerate, trusting her, believing in her, but there are some things that are just inevitable when it comes to sharing. This is one of those things.

And then the voice in the back of his head, and if you die, then she'll blame herself for not noticing earlier, echoes loudly, if you die, she'll hate you for the rest of her life because you left her like everyone else, it continues. Even worse, she loses the one home she's found, the nagging voice says, pulling on every string in his heart. It's painful for him to think of it, and to admit the fact that whatever voice it is, it's horribly speaking the truth, yet he doesn't know what to do. The very thought of it puts him in a repeating cycle of stupid thoughts that he could be thinking of later, but isn't, and it's the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling with one hand behind his head, the other laying on his stomach.

He listens to the calm breathes Emma takes, and it slowly puts him to a deep sleep of exhaustion. The thrumming of the sound of his heart bursts in his eardrums, but he finds himself able to quickly ignore it, and just remember that she's next to him in bed. Not in trouble. Sleeping peacefully.

Killian awakes to the soft light streaming through the curtains, and it takes him multiple times for him to open his eyes. His eyelids feel slightly heavy, but nothing he can't handle. It's when he looks at the clock at his bedside, does he realize he's slept in for a lot longer than intended. 12:28 PM in red numbers. Emma is still next to him, back facing him with her hands stuffed beneath the pillow.

He yawns, rubbing the tired tears from his eyes as he slowly gets out of bed. He crosses around to the other side to place a gentle kiss to her forehead before he changes and decides to go on a small walk around the city. Just to clear his mind, and then maybe bring back brunch since they are clearly not going to be able to cook by the time he gets back. Not after the activities from before. Too tired.

His back is still horribly sore, but has recovered a lot more overnight. The woman know how to break a man, even with the smallest requests.

After finding a pen and paper, he scribbles down what he's doing and where he's doing in case she wakes up panicking her guts out. They need to sort out a plan, and eventually get phones now that they aren't… totally criminals. That's good enough right?

/-/-/-/-/-/

It's empty sheets of a bed next to her, the cold bed filling up the empty presence in the room quickly. Emma glances around, her body sore to a far extent. For one, she can totally start getting used to having sex with him, especially because what comes before it is just inevitably some of the funniest stuff she's seen in years. Two, he's awfully careful and gentle with her even when they're in the most desperate of stages. And three, it just feels great, like an escape of sorts. It makes her forget about any other troubles that live in her mind.

She finds the note on the counter which says he's out for a walk, and that he's going to get some takeout. It doesn't even bother her, but without him in the apartment, the entire place feels… dead, quiet, boring, even some sort of lurking sadness. Plus, she hasn't got a clue about when he's going to return, so she's going to have tolerate the empty apartment for now.

She settles with reading that book she never finished. Honestly, she has no clue why she's reading it, it's just another typical thriller novel. But, time flies by pretty quickly before she starts to realize that Killian's been out for hours. Too many hours to be specific. Too many for her liking.

That ends up making her pacing back and forth in the living room, wondering if Gold has taken his revenge. No, not in broad daylight, right? All the other options are crossed off the list, unless he's decided to take a taxi through hours of worthless traffic. Just as everything starts to become a worry to her, the door swings open and Killian has a tray of coffee cups from Starbucks and a takeout bag. Relief flushes through her as she feels her body relax to the sight of her… boyfriend. Sounds so fucking childish for some reason, she thinks, making her way around to him.

"Apologies for returning later than expected," he says, plopping the tray down on the counter. "Horrendous waiting lines."

He's not lying. She smiles and nods, taking one of the cups, which are still quite warm, and pops the cap open to take a sip. Refreshing. "I was just about to start worrying about why you were out for so long. I was reading a book that I was about to throw out the window." She drags her feet along the wooden floor and sits on the couch carefully. "What did you buy?"

"Chinese," he answers, unpacking the box. "Didn't know what you wanted, so I took a chance and bought the fried rice and barbeque pork. That sound good?"

She gulps down the warm drink. "Yeah, it's good."

He hands her the takeout box, and she sets down her coffee on the coffee table (hah, ironic right?) to start eating. The aroma is great, and he plops down next to her on the couch, eating his own food. Not long before those takeout boxes are empty and left to be thrown in the garbage.

Then, the inevitable conversation starts.

"Swan, I've been thinking…"

She sighs, finishing her drink. "Great, what is it this time, Killian?"

"I need to talk to Gold," he bluntly states, scratching a spot behind his ear.

A faint, 'Oh' escapes her lips as it strikes her. It's obvious, he needs to confront Gold about everything that's happened. It hasn't been that long since Pan's attack, but it feels too good to be true for Gold to just leave them be. He doesn't seem like a man who likes to fail, so there's a likely chance he's going to return anyways, and that just sets out as a mission for Killian to embark on.

"It's just that with Gold around, I fear he will return and harm the both of us, love. I don't want that, and the last thing I want is for him to lay a finger on you." He lets out a shaky breath, quite evident he's nervous and touchy on the subject. "But, I don't know what the old man has prepared for me. He's a demon, he's addicted to his power. He'll do anything to make us perish off this world, and that's not how I want this to go. It'd be too early for that, however, I don't know what to expect from him. The better or the worst?"

"Trust me, he's going to find away around the both of us sooner or later anyways. Do you have a plan, or anything in mind at all?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "Nothing too precise. We have our lives at stake, and there's only the subtle way of compromising that proves to be a valid prospect of defeating him. Otherwise, I'd have to kill him. News will spread quickly of his death, and it would lead to me if his rats rally together and testify."

"So talking." Emma glances down at her lap, closing her eyes for a second to think. "That's the only way here right? I'm sure you can get the upperhand on him. Last time I checked, he apparently stormed off in anger of his pitiful defeat. If you can somehow bring it to his attention about something, perhaps you can win him over easily."

Killian chuckles, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek. "I suppose I'll see to it then. Thank you, Swan."

She nods, resting her hand on top of his. "Of course. When do you plan on going?" She at least needs time to prepare for whatever and whenever.

"Now that, well, uhm, tomorrow."

A/N: So, I'm warning you now about being prepared for the next chapter. Please don't kill me. I'm valuable because then no one will be able to finish the story if you kill me.