Not the first time and won’t be the last,

But a similar story inspired Bubble Boy a few years ago

The Placeholder (2/2)

Summary: Emma is not the girl that boys date. She’s the girl that he sleeps with but never tells his friends about. She’s the girl that he’ll cuddle with and then ghost. She’s the fun one who he goes out with but not the one he goes home with. She’s the one that fixes him so he can be with someone else. She’s the placeholder, the one who works for now but won’t ever be his forever.

A/N: This fic is based on a TikTok video that was just heartbreaking, where the creator always came in second. If you want to watch the video, you can find it here, but this story can be read without watching it.

It’s three months later when she runs into Robin in the street, turning her entire world upside down. Killian is engaged.

 There’s a bottle of rum at the back of the cabinet above the refrigerator. She finds it while looking for her favorite mug, completely certain and irrationally irate that Killian took it with him when he left. Because that’s what she does. People leave and unable to deal with the pain of being left behind, she looks for reasons to hate them instead.

 It’s his favorite bottle. The expensive bottle that he bought when he started his firm. The one he was saving for a special occasion, so it was hidden away out of sight.

 She’s angry, and turnabout feels fairplay. She’s two tumblers in when her anger turns to grief, and she decides to make her first Tiktok video. It takes her a second to figure it out, especially in her slightly drunken state, but once she does, she catches sight of herself on the screen. Tears fall, and before she knows it, she’s spilling out all of her pain.

Love If It's Torture 2/?

Summary: Emma Swan’s life is a disaster; the culmination of one poor choice after another nearly causing her ruin. Dramatic? Perhaps, but then again, arriving late to work only to find her one-night-stand introducing himself to everyone at the firm calls for nothing less than a full emotional breakdown.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I'm still working on the ending so not regular updates just yet, but I didn't want to wait anymore to post up this one...

AO3

She rises with the sun, her body not quite having received the message that it’s Saturday and there’s no work. But her head has other ideas and screams for pain killers. It’s not until she’s up, moving to the medicine cabinet in her bathroom to muddle around for some aspirin that memories of the night come flooding back. It’s ever-so-slight soreness that sends flashes of blue through her mind.

She drank. And she had sex.

Love If It's Torture 1/?

Don't say I didn't warn ya...

Days like this are meant for drinking, for getting drunk. Because being drunk is better than being heartbroken, again. She hates herself for the number of times seeing a dark gray peacoat or a stupid scarf has sent her running for a bottle. She isn’t an alcoholic by any means. She drinks on occasion with her friends over dinner or at special events, but now at the ripe age of 31, Emma has learned that her body is slowly becoming less inclined to support her ability to bounce back after..

But on days like this it doesn’t matter.

She needs him out of her head, to drown the thoughts away. Ruby texted her earlier to let her know she was going out with the new guy at work, showing him around town as she put it, and Emma knows that the Boston city tour will find itself coming to a close with a sightseeing adventure of Ruby’s bedroom. Fraternization rules be damned, but then again, who was ever going to fault the woman that brought in half of their new company’s new clients with her cleavage alone?

Ruby invited her to join them at the Mad Hatter, a new club downtown with over priced drinks but little other description. Exclusivity being the driving force of entrepreneurship these days. Originally Emma had declined, unexcited by the idea of her entire body vibrating along with the thrum of a music beat she couldn’t talk over, and disgustingly married financiers looking for a side piece.

But that was earlier, and now she's ready to not hear the thoughts in her head and to let a scum buy her a few twenty dollar whiskies. To let down her walls just long enough to raise her self esteem in a way she’ll hate herself for tomorrow.

Tease You Tuesday

For anyone following this, I've decided to wait on posting until it's completely finished so people don't have to risk waiting 6 months between updates this time. Currently I'm looking at about 10 chapters total, but here's a little look of what's to come...

Tentative title: Love if it's Torture

Tease You Tuesday

So I missed sneak peek Saturday/Sunday so I'm making up my own thing, just to wet your palettes.

New Fic Sneak Peak

Don't have a name for this yet, but I knocked out more than a few pages of this pretty quickly so I guess the muse has returned...

Emma Swan’s life was a disaster; the culmination of one poor choice after another nearly causing her ruin. Dramatic? Perhaps, but then again, arriving late to work only to find her one-night-stand introducing himself to everyone at the firm called for nothing less than a full emotional breakdown.

A one time thing, she’d told him as much in the bar bathroom after one too many shots of tequila, and some goading from Ruby.

He’s hot Emma. Either you go jump him or I will.

She’d had a crappy day and needed to let off some steam, and it had been awhile since she’d scratched that particular itch, so maybe it didn’t take that much convincing. There had been some banter, just the most minor of verbal foreplay before they both headed towards the back hallway, into the women’s restroom. She’d barely had time to check all the stalls and lock the door before he was on her, lifting her up onto the marble slab, his tongue doing devastating things to her neck.

They didn’t even shed most of their clothes, both taking the situation for what it was. Hard and fast, just two ships passing closely in the night. The both took what they needed, and as he helped her down from the counter, pulling up his pants, she saw a look in his piercing blue eyes. Something hopeful for more.

One time thing.

He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that was almost enough for her to drag him back to her place for another round, but that would have broken the rules. Emma was strictly a one and done woman. And when he’d had the audacity to tell her his hotel and room number, she’d rolled her eyes.

I’ll be in town through next week should you wish to continue what we’ve started.

Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 4/4

There’s a clanging sound that almost makes her flinch. A bus boy is cleaning off a nearby recently vacated table a little too haphazardly, signaling the end of the breakfast rush.

She’s exhausted and all of the coffee in the world isn’t enough caffeine to revive her.

“So you’re actually considering it then?”

Emma wasn’t completely certain how to answer the question. Not when the answer had been so black and white three days ago, and now so grey.

“I told you I was.”

“I know, I just-” August shifts in his seat across from her, aimlessly moving his scrambled eggs around his plate. “To be honest, I thought it was just a passing thought. You know, one of those things that you just talk about but never actually do. Like when I said I was going to get my pilot’s license.”

To be honest, it was just a passing flight of fancy when David first mentioned it to her. Boston had been her first real home. The first time she’d put down roots of her own, and she had a family here now. One of her own making. And if anyone had asked her a year ago where she saw herself in the future, she damn well knew she’d still be in the city.

But a lot can happen in a year, and a lot did. And now Boston was just a reminder of all of the pain she’d endured. She was screwed up now, broken beyond belief. PTSS, according to Archie. Her therapy sessions had been less than productive, unable to come to terms with all of the trauma she had experienced on the job.

“I don’t know how to be here anymore. I, I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe a fresh start is what I need.”

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal  3/4

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: Guy, I suck so hard core. I don't even know how I let so much time lapse between chapter 2 and now, and then to really top off my suck-o-meter, I realized that there's going to have to be a chapter 4 because I can't fix what I've done so easily. Not realistically at least. I promise, and happy ending is coming though, and it won't take me another 8 months to get it up. I hope to have it up and finished by the weekend.

The AO3 version

It’s been a hell of a night. She’s not sure where exactly it falls on her list of worst days ever, but it’s in her top five. It has to be. It’s not the worst, that honor is saved for the night she almost lost Killian, but it’s still up there. She’s spent hours now going through all of the details over and over again with Graham and Lance, her story never changing. Getting poked and prodded by EMTs, despite telling everyone that she’s fine.

She’s not, but they can’t stitch up her insides.

It’s The Hope That Kills You 1/?

Summary: Sometimes sleepless nights and unanswered phone calls aren't the worst things that can happen.

A/N: So I've been in a funk. Partly because my job is exhausting me socially, but I just haven't felt that spark. But today on my drive home I got an idea based very very loosely on the premise of the show The Call on apple tv. Essentially the viewer is told a complete story over the course of multiple phone calls, but the viewer only gets the phone call audio. And I thought that would be a fantastic way to ease myself back into something creatively. The chapters are short in the beginning (this one is more of a drabble) but will get longer. I promise. And yes, I plan on finishing Be Alright and Wounds Won't Heal. Just gotta get the juices flowing again first.

Tuesday, January 2 9:24 pm

There’s a tremble in his fingers as he goes to dial. He’s not quite sure why though at this point. He’s called dozens of times, maybe up into the triple digits now. She never answers. Never.

He used to leave voicemails, but by now, he knows they won’t change anything.

But if he could just talk to her, hear her voice, to hash everything out. He knows they belong together, and all he wants is a chance to prove it. He’s almost given up. Even tonight he’s started to call twice and stopped half way in. Her number isn’t saved in his phone book anymore. She’s not on speed dial. But despite it all, despite it being over five months since she left, his stupid brain hasn’t been able to purge her number. Those ten digits are clawing on for dear life. What's the saying? It's the hope that kills you.

He hits the green send button and waits.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

It’s about this point that he knows to expect the click over, that small change in the tone over the line that tells him the voicemail is coming. She isn’t going to answer, and he isn’t going to stay on the line, but he’s waiting for the ‘hello’ anyway before swiping the call end button.

Because he’s a masochistic and her voice is the twist of the knife in his heart. He can’t hang up until he’s heard it.

“Hello?”

His mind must be playing a cruel trick on him. Did her message change? Where’s the rest of it? The part that tells him she’s unavailable to take his call right back. The lie that if he leaves his name and number she’ll call him back as soon as she can.

“Helloooo?”

“Milah?”

He’s breathing hard and his heart is pounding in his chest. Part of him is worried that he’s having a heart attack, because the universe has always had a particularly cruel sense of humor when it comes to him.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong number.”

Click.

His phone returns to his home screen on it's own. What the absolute hell?

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 2/3

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: No, you’re not crazy. The chapter count grew a little. My sincerest apologies guys (especially to @searchingwardrobes​.) I have a lot of stuff going on in my personal life that’s taken most of my attention. I really didn’t mean for this next part to be so delayed, and honestly, time has become an illusion at this point and I didn’t even realize that 6 weeks had passed. I was thinking closer to 3, so thank you for staying with me on this little journey, and hope you enjoy.

If AO3 is more your jam...

His jaw is killing him and he’s realized all too late that it was a mistake not taking the ice from Emma. But he couldn’t. He can’t have anything to do with her. He can’t even look at her. It’s just too damn painful in every way fathomable.

Sometimes, his heart aches to be near her, to see her smile and pretend for just a moment that it’s before. That everything is still fine and that they’re going to meet up for drinks later. To imagine that they’ll go back to one of their apartments and put on a movie. That she’ll fall asleep on his shoulder and he’ll move so that they’re spooning each other on the couch. It’s on those days he turns to the bottle.

Other days, the very thought of her sends him into a rage and it’s all he can do not to throw her desk out of the bullpen. He never should have agreed to take the Captain’s position. He should have gone back to the narcotics division, far away from her and the ghost of Liam imprinted into the very fabric of his chair.

He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal 1/2

Summary: It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself.  It’s not his fault. 

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.

Rating: Mature (mostly for language)

A/N: I'm a day late but hopefully not a dollar short. Happy birthday to @searchingwardrobes​. This woman has the most generous heart and I hope she knows how much she is loved and appreciated by all of us! If AO3 is more your jam...

She’s been listening to Annie drone on for the better part of their lunch break. The girl is sweet, she really is, but she talks. A lot. So much so that Emma started to tune her out sometime between finishing her chips and opening her brownie. She nods her head in what she hopes are all the right places. But when she hears Killian’s name, Annie has her full attention again.

“I wonder what he’s like in bed.” It’s said with the longing sigh of a high school girl with her first crush and Emma has to physically hit her chest to dislodge the bite of brownie she just choked on. “Have you and he ever...”

The sentence drops off but Emma knows exactly what Annie is getting at. Have she and Killian ever slept together. The answer is no, despite half of the station house being 100% sure they have before. Past tense. No one thinks it’s happening anymore.

“No.” Her voice catches and she hopes that the woman doesn’t pick up on it.

“Well he’s a goddamn masterpiece. I mean, just look at those arms!” Emma is well aware of how toned his arms are. She used to be intimately familiar with them. "I can only imagine how cut he is under that uniform. Like a flawless Greek God.”

It’s not her fault. She’s still new and doesn’t know. He’s not flawless. Not anymore. He’s got scars, ones she’s seen first hand. Ones she helped tend to. His body is covered in them. There’s a thin red line where he took a bottle to the face during his early beat cop days. There’s another angry red mark on his torso from where he was stabbed with a knife in his ribs. The one where he had his hand slammed in a locker as a teenager has long since faded, only the barest hint remaining, only visible in just the right lighting.

There’s two oval scars now too. One in his stomach and one on his chest. Those are from the worst day of her life.

But none of those scars compare to the ones he carries on the inside. The self-inflicted cuts he makes to his soul never quite healing over. He blames himself. It’s not his fault. Liam was always so headstrong and there was no way Killian could have talked him out of confronting the guy.

Sometimes she still has nightmares. She sees the gun raise in slow motion but she’s frozen. In her dreams the bullets get her too and she falls to the ground right next to Killian. She watches helplessly as he tells her that he loves her, and then he’s gone and all she can do is wait for her turn. That’s when she wakes up gasping for air, clutching her chest.

That’s not what really happened. But the truth almost feels worse. She heard him yelling for backup over the radio. Heard the officer down call and then nothing. The speaker went silent. She and Boothe raced there, sirens blaring, red lights run. They were the next on scene.

Liam was already gone. Boothe told her that, but at the time, her only focus was on Killian. There was so much blood and it was all she could do to keep it together enough to keep pressure on both of his wounds. Boothe tried to help, but she wouldn’t let him. She couldn’t bring herself to let Killian go, so instead she screamed at him to get away. That she had it.

She heard the ambulance coming, but it was still blocks away and Killian was fading. She pleaded with him to hold on. To stay with her. To stay for her. But he was tired and she knew he’d given up. When he told her that he loved her, that he’d always loved her and he was sorry that he never told her before, she knew it was a goodbye.

He lived by some miracle. The doctors couldn’t even explain it, but he didn’t come back whole. He changed after that. Those fleeting glances, the flirtations and innuendo, the easy physical affection all gone now. He’s shut her out. He’s shut out the world and whatever chance they once had is now long gone. She’s never stopped loving him, never will stop, despite him being lost to her now.

There’s a scar on her soul now too. One he left. A piece of her heart forever missing.