A series of drabbles I posted on tumblr - put all in one place for your convenience!

She can feel his eyes on her across the crowded party and she frowns, wringing her hands together as she shuffles further back against the low wall that circles the patio. She furtively keeps her gaze on the ground, choosing to count the cracks in the stone instead of looking across and meeting his stare.

She was stupid for coming – there is no way she is making it out of this weekend intact. She is still too broken, still too hurt. One look from him and she is reduced back to that lost girl he had left without a word – cheating on her with her best friend and decimating her to dust in the process.

She was stupid for coming.

Two black shoes appear in her line of sight and she sighs, a different kind of anticipation twisting in her gut. Her eyes trail up slim black plants, over a crisp white button down (hardly buttoned at all, she muses, his chest hair painfully distracting at the open v of his shirt), finally meeting his quirking lips and blue eyes with a slightly exasperated sigh.

She was really stupid for hiring an escort.

"Where have you been?" She mutters agitated, choosing to channel all of her aggression into him. He doesn't seem to mind, instead handing her a champagne flute and taking a step closer to her, invading her personal space.

She inhales sharply as his scent surrounds her – clean and masculine and fuck- she is paying this man to pretend to be her boyfriend. Jesus is she pathetic.

"He's looking over here, isn't he?" His lilting voice makes her body feel strange and dangerous things and she tries to take a step back as he moves closer, but she is met by the low wall at the backs of her knees. He reaches around her to place his glass on the stone and lets his hand slide lightly down the bare skin of her arm, tangling his fingers with hers and ducking his face down close.

"Bloody hell, lass. Try not to look so terrified when I touch you. You'll give us away."

She tries to relax because he is right and she is stupid and this whole thing is just so ridiculous –

"Lean your face into my hand." He mutters lowly and his free hand brushes her cheek, fingers dancing across her skin. She obeys and tilts her head further into his grip, his bright blue gaze mesmerizing as he grins lightly, tongue sliding along his bottom lip.

"Now smile." He sing-songs into her ear and she forces a shaky grin. He huffs a laugh through his nose.

"Gods above – a real smile, darling. Am I truly that miserable to be around?"

She chuckles lightly and he responds in kind, nose brushing hers in a sweet little nudge.

"There's a good girl. Put your hands on my chest." She obeys, the warmth of his skin radiating through his thin shirt and into her hands. She sighs at the humming in her blood, her nervousness fading away into a slow simmering heat. His fingers drift back against her cheek and into her loose curls, anchoring there and tilting her head up slightly.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He whispers and she tilts her head up slightly, lips brushing gently at the corner of his mouth. She can feel his grin the moment before his lips close over hers – warm and gentle and electric and fuck this was a terrible idea – but she just pushes herself further into his grip, chasing the gentle rolling of his mouth against hers, parting her lips when she feels his teeth nip lightly.

She sighs and tangles her fingers in his dark hair and for the first time in months – doesn't think a damn thing at all.

-/-

"Emma."

She wakes with a start, immediately meeting his slightly concerned gaze in the stillness of the room. He's leaning over the ridiculous mound of pillows between them (it's not that she doesn't trust him, it's not), hand outstretched like he was about to shake her, fingers instead twisting around a loose thread on a pillow shaped like a cat.

Weird pillow.

"You alright?" He whispers.

She nods and runs the back of her hand against her cheeks – the moisture there not at all surprising. She's had nightmares for as long as she can remember – quiet ones that tug and pull at her, only getting worse after everything that happened with Neal. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, shuffling further under the blankets.

"Did I wake you?"

He frowns down at her and then huffs lightly through his nose. "A bit." But there is no annoyance there, just gentle concern and the way he's looking at her makes something in her stomach flip. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

She shakes her head and his frown deepens, scratching his hand roughly through his hair. His gaze darts from her to the pillows between them and he narrows his eyes, picking up the strange cat pillow between his thumb and forefinger (like the thing personally offends him) and flinging it off the bed. He begins dismantling her precious wall - pillow by pillow - tossing them every which way and she stares up at him with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?"

He ignores her, lips tilting up in a stupidly happy grin when there is nothing no longer between them. He looks at her expectantly (she does not stare at the sudden reveal of his body, does not allow her gaze to trail the strong line of his throat, the smattering of dark hair that covers his broad, bare chest) and motions with his hand for her to turn over.

Panic flashes in her chest and it's like he can read her thoughts because he rolls his eyes, fingers carefully landing on her arm and pushing her over so her back is to him.

"You need to be held, love." He manipulates her pliant body easily, careful to touch her in only appropriate places, fingers avoiding any and all skin contact. She relaxes almost immediately at his touch, the warmth that blossomed in her chest with his kiss returning tenfold.

He scoots in close, wrapping his arm snug around her waist and dragging her back into him. His body is deliciously warm against her always frigid toes, and he only hisses through his teeth once when she makes contact.

"Bloody hell, are you always this cold?"

Tears prick behind her eyes at his question, and she knows he didn't mean it like that, but it burns her all the same. She sniffles and clenches her eyes shut.

"Yes." She whispers, a little bit broken, because she is – cold, emotionless, and –

He tenses behind her and she thinks he's going to say something else, but instead he just brushes back her hair with his free hand, settling his chin on her shoulder. His breath is warm against her neck and he sighs.

"Sleep, Emma."

She doesn't have the energy to overthink his actions right now - doesn't even think to ask him how much more this is going to cost her (in more ways than one, she just knows it). She relaxes into his arms and sighs, letting sleep pull her under again.

-/-

She moans as he pushes her down into the mattress of the bed, cat pillows tumbling every which way, his fingers gripping her thigh tighter, pulling her leg higher against his hip – stretching and burning and fuck – he hits her just right and her fingers scrabble for purchase against his shoulders, a low whine caught in the back of her throat. His blue eyes search hers and he grins, slow and predatory.

"There's a good girl. That's what I want." His head ducks down and his thick black hair brushes her chin as he closes his mouth around her nipple, running his tongue over it in a rough stripe before tugging it between his teeth. She arches her back and god – how did they even end up here?

She thinks of soft looks and gentle touches and kind words and tension thick like summer haze and blue eyes and sinful smiles and drinks at the bar and –

He swivels his hips and pushes his arm behind her back, angling her up slightly and she ceases to think anything at all. She drops her hands from around his neck and falls back to the bed as he rears above her, thrusting hard and sliding his hand down and around her thigh. Heat coils and pulses low in her belly as his thumb finds where they are joined, a deep groan rumbling from his chest when she arches further into his touch.

"Come on, love." His thumb drags roughly against her, circling harder, faster, tighter. The heat is in her blood now, singing and simmering and she can't breathe, can't even think of anything but him and this and them –

She comes without any warning at all, white spots bursting behind her eyes as her fingers tangle in her hair and she moans his name, long and low. He pushes her through it with gentle strokes against her and when she comes down he falls on top of her, fucking into her hard and fast as he chases his release. She wraps her legs tighter around his waist, crossing them at the ankles and he lets out a growl. She bites into the sensitive skin under his ear with a sharp nip and his hips lose their rhythm, pressing against her in stilted and disjointed movements as he finally comes. He circles his hips and then collapses fully on top of her, his body heavy and warm – chest slick with sweat.

Shaking fingers twist through her curls as they struggle to catch their breath and she sighs – feeling used but so perfect.

He presses a kiss against her temple and then pulls off of her with a groan, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling with wide blue eyes. He chuckles lowly and she smiles, wiping a stray strand of hair off of her forehead and falling back against the pillows. She watches his chest rise and fall, a floating sort of happiness mixing with delicious exhaustion to make her feel light.

She didn't know it could be like that.

"Gods above." He groans on a heavy sigh and tilts his head towards her, blue eyes shining as a smile curls his lips. "You sure do know how to make a man earn his pay, love."

And just like that, it evaporates. Her throat constricts and her stomach plummets down, down, down – a searing coldness seeping into her bones. Of course it was meaningless to him. She was paying him to be here – paying him to kiss her and rub her cheek and hold her while she slept and –

Her breath hitches and she averts her gaze quickly, hands blindly searching for the sheet to bring up and cover her exposed chest. She scans the floor for her shirt and jeans, cursing lightly under her breath when she finds her sweater – over a lamp – because she needs to get out of here, now. When did she become this person? This person who pays some guy she found in a newspaper for sex because she's too broken and shattered to be normal. And then think it meant something.

"Emma?"

Fingers graze her cheek and she winces, pulling away from his grip and practically falling out of the bed, taking the sheet with her, twisting it tight around her like a fucking toga. She keeps her eyes on the floor instead of his sprawled out and naked body – tan and lean and jesus she is stupid – stupid, sad, alone, broken –

"It was only a jo –"

"Please, stop." She shakes her head hard and desperately tries to ignore the burning behind her eyes as she snatches her sweater off the lamp and shuffles towards the bathroom door. She just needs to think for a moment, just a second to catch her breath and stop the humiliation. She pauses at the door and forces her voice to be even.

"I'll add it to your check." She whispers and she knows she's failed because his sharp inhale is the last thing she hears before the bathroom door clicks quietly shut behind her.

-/-

He has been moody all morning – shooting her withering glares over the ornate centerpieces at the brunch celebrating the beautiful couple, clenching his jaw in a set line and practically vibrating in his hostility. She rolls her eyes and whispers for him to knock it off because people are starting to stare and the last thing she needs after everything is a scene with her fake boyfriend who is actually a hooker who she slept with and god –

She pinches the bridge of her nose and pulls the napkin from her lap as he mumbles something under his breath, pressing his knife aggressively against his toast.

She didn't do anything wrong. He is the one who reminded her of what they are – a broken woman paying a man to love her – jesus.

How did she end up like this?

Her eyes drift over to Neal, sitting and laughing with his arm around her, brown eyes bright in happiness – and her answer hits her like a sucker punch to the gut. She throws her napkin onto her empty plate and pushes back, excusing herself with a half-hearted excuse and making her way to the large double doors that lead back to the ornate country mansion booked for the weekend.

Her footsteps are quiet in the empty hallway and it isn't until his loud footsteps sound behind her that anxiety comes clawing up her throat.

"Emma!"

She shakes her head, blonde hair curling around her shoulders and bites her lip. "I'm just going to freshen up."

But he doesn't listen, instead catching up to her quickly with his long strides, muted fury in every heavy step. He grabs her arm and tugs her roughly to the side, wrenching open the first available door and pulling them through.

It's a closet.

She pushes against his chest as he swings the door shut, plunging them into darkness. There's a wool coat scratching against her cheek and she's pretty sure her foot is stuck in a box of pillows (probably cat ones) and she is pissed. He has no right.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" He seethes and if possible, her blood pressure rises, red flashing behind her eyes.

She opens her mouth to respond but he plows on. "It was a comment made in jest, Emma. I was not actually implying for you to pay me for that, gods. How callous do you think I am?"

His elbow brushes her shoulder as he runs his fingers through his hair agitated and her throat squeezes, eyes blinking as she tries to catch up with this conversation. "I don't –"

"What happened to you? Why do you believe yourself so undeserving of a person's affections?"

She freezes at that, body locking down. She breathes out hard through her nose and he sighs, fingers suddenly making contact with her collarbone, sliding up slowly so that his hand cups her neck.

"Is that what you feel for me, Killian?" Her voice sounds dead even to her own ears, the tone flat and dull. "Affection?"

Because it can't be true – no one could ever feel anything for someone like her. She will end up alone because she always ends up alone – left behind in the dust – left for something better.

His voice is careful when he answers her, sad and a little bit vulnerable and she recognizes herself in it, the paralyzing fear of feeling.

"Maybe." He whispers.

But it's suddenly too much, this idea that maybe he is just as broken as her, that around him she feels something – forgets the terrible thoughts and dreams and nightmares that have plagued her ever since Neal and –

The idea that maybe they can fix each other.

She steps back away from him and presses both hands against his chest, holding him back and away from her. She looks down at the ground.

"I think you should go. This was a silly idea."

"Don't do that." His voice is desperate between them. "Don't push me away. Please love, talk to –"

"You need to go." She cuts him off with a quiet whisper and she just needs him to leave because in this small space - so close, so knowing - it's too much and she is going to break again if he keeps talking. She is going to break and crumble and there will be nothing left but smoke and ash because he will leave her eventually, leave her and she just can't.

She needs to leave him first.

"Is that what you want?"

She tries not to hate herself. "Yes."

The sudden light of the hallway blinds her and she falls back against the wall when the door closes quickly behind him.

-/-

When she finally makes her way back to their room – her room – it's empty. His shoes are missing, as well as his suitcase and the jacket he had strewn over the chair in the corner. She fingers lightly at his pillowcase and resists the urge to press her face down into it.

Stupid.

A fluttering piece of paper catches her attention on the dresser and she slowly walks over to it.

Her heart breaks when she realizes it's the check she wrote him for his services, a post it note with the words Keep it written neatly on top.

-/-

And she's crying (because she's been crying for hours because she is stupid for sending him away, stupid for pushing him away) when she opens the door, the pounding on the other side aggravating her headache, the bottle of wine held loosely between her fingertips already half gone.

But she doesn't care because he's suddenly standing in front of her and his shirt is kind of half buttoned like he was in a hurry and his hair is absolutely wild on top of his head and she just –

"You forgot your money." She whispers and she wants to smack herself because she sounds so broken but he just shakes his head and throws his suitcase on the floor, reaching for her and bringing her close.

"No." He says quietly and his nose brushes hers. "I forgot you."