After Emma’s partner dies in the line of duty, she’s sent to departmental mandated therapy. And while she’d not happy about the idea at first, Doctor Jones might just be able to help her find her inner strength. And maybe more.
this is my take on the evening after the wedding venue search…without interruptions… and maybe a bit more… (rated decidedly M)
A few steps upon her deck is all it takes for Killian to feel grounded, the ancient wood beneath him welcoming him as it always has, no matter the realm. Fatigue from a seemingly endless day has him moving slowly, wishing he could go back to the start of it, to the first crack of dawn where he’d been nestled deep between Emma’s thighs as they’d made love in time with the morning birdsong. It had been more languid than the previous night, lover’s hands wrapped and probing as they kissed, nearly bringing each other to completion before he even slipped inside. He’d been unable to stop thinking about doing it all over again as he’d showered, quickly tossing on his clothes to seek her out in their kitchen downstairs. But then, life had intervened, in the form of Snow and his perfect morning had become just a tad less so.
Finding himself at the helm, he looks out onto the open water and lets his mind wander as he watches the moonlight dance atop the gentle tide. Marrying Emma here, while apparently impractical, is still what he would prefer. And Emma, the way she’d looked at him when he’d suggested it, he’d thought he’d seen agreement there in the sparkle of her eyes and felt it in the tightening of her hand around his waist. But then, life had intervened, again, and they’d been whisked all over town and found themselves making promises to wait, something he understands but doesn’t want with his whole heart.
For a man hell bent on revenge and misery for so long, he continuously amazes himself at his apparent capacity to chase happiness now, his course firmly set on a life with Emma no matter how long that life may be. Speaking of, the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the sound of her boots coming closer on the dock and he smiles into the wind, the damp chill ruffling his collar as he turns to welcome his love as she comes aboard.
“You didn’t have to come out here, love. I told you I’d meet you back at home if you called.”
Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website. (AO3) Rating: E (fuck it, I’m upping the rating bc I know this will turn into filthy smut by the end) Word Count:~3000 Chapters:OneTwoThree
well this was a bitch to rewrite since the original chapter got accidentally deleted. sorry for the wait, babes. have some UST. 🍕😏
It had been nearly a month since Emma had gotten stupid drunk at home and thrown herself at the very attractive pizza guy whose name she now knew was Killian Jones.
Jones, as in, “Jones Bros. Pizza.” Literally his last name, and apparently a poorly executed cartoon caricature of his fucking face, was on the logo on every pizza box she’d gotten from them and she’d had no idea. She hadn’t really given a flying fuck to the name of the place before; she just knew that they had a website, online ordering, quick delivery since they were located only a few blocks north of her apartment, and actually great tasting pizza that wasn’t hit-or-miss like the big chains.
With that revelation came another: Killian was not a delivery boy.
Well, he wasn’t supposed to be one. He was co-owner of the place, along with his older brother, and only went out on deliveries if he was filling in for a sick employee, or if he needed a break from the atmosphere (read: his overbearing brother), or, as it turned out, if her name came up on the order list. (He’d been sick the night that his sister-in-law had delivered to her sober self; go figure.)
It had been a pretty damned good feeling to know she got special treatment. After their first encounter, he’d been “captivated” and felt “compelled to see her again” (his words) – yeah; sweatpants, HANGRY, hot mess Emma in all her broken-hearted glory. She sent him a middle finger emoji as a reply to that particular text message, assuming that he was being a sarcastic ass but somehow knowing that beneath it all he was probably sincere.
Emma shut the door behind her, momentarily leaning against
it. The day started so…well, innocently is definitely not the right word, but happy? She’d been so
happy, still was happy. But after what she’d seen Zelena give up, happiness
wasn’t at the top of her list of emotions. Mostly, she was just tired.
Forcing herself to move, she pushed off the door and
shrugged out of her coat, hanging it next to Killian’s. A small smile quirked
at the corner of her lips; somehow just thinking about him could improve her
mood. Speaking of her fiancé (and holy shit, how incredible was that to think about? She, Emma Swan, was
getting married!), where was he?
He wasn’t in the kitchen. He wasn’t waiting for her on the
couch. The lights going back toward the shed were all off. Maybe he was
upstairs? Emma only paused long enough to unzip her boots, kicking them over by
the door. No doubt her fastidious pirate would pick up after her later. She
didn’t think of herself as an untidy person, but that was before she started
living with Killian Jones. She didn’t know if it was his days in the Navy or
what, but he was…aggressively neat. There had been a few bumps in the road the
first week or so after he moved in; both she and Henry got a tad short with
him. One day she came home to him scrubbing out their bathroom. He was
literally on his knees scrubbing, whistling an old sea shanty and all she’d
wanted was a hot bath and…she might have said some hurtful things. She wasn’t
proud of it. The way he curled in on himself, blue eyes hurt and apologetic,
broke her heart. He’d left without a word, brushing past her. He didn’t even
get to the upstairs landing before she went after him, apologizing profusely.