#OuaT missing moment ff

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Moonlit Ghosts"

I thought that for the weeks in October (and maybe even into early November) I would post some Autumn/Fall/Halloween-themed fics I've written over the years. Our particular fandom and ship has a wealth of fall/Halloween fics really, but hopefully someone might enjoy these contributions of mine - most have a few years on them now, so they might even be ones people have missed or not seen for a while...

Anyway, this first one is a little one shot with some Halloween-tinged feels. There are a few small mentions from 6a episodes of the show, but nothing major as far as spoilers. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: The Storybrooke crew has enough time and peace to plan a little Autumn revelry aboard the Jolly Roger for the kids of the town. The young Author, the librarian, and Emma and Killian, work together to provide some Halloween thrills and chills as well as a haunting story...

Can also be read on AO3 or ff.net if you would prefer...

by: @snowbellewells

Moonlight trickled down a lovely, filtering illusion of brightness amidst the night's shadows, illuminating the surface of the water and glancing off the copper sides of the lanterns Belle had hung around the deck, burning low for effect. Grinning widely in spite of herself – a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous quirk to her smile, Emma Swan waited in the hall below decks, just past the stairs up from the crew and captain's quarters on the Jolly Roger, where their special guests couldn't see her. The elegant old girl bobbed gently with the rise and fall of the waves where she lay at anchor a mile or so out of Storybrooke harbor.

The children circled on the floor around Belle's seat at the stern were wide-eyed, rapt, and silent at the story she wove for them, the lights flickering intriguingly over their faces. Not a single one fidgeted or spoke, their eyes focused on the petite librarian – familiar to them in her pretty skirts and high heels from everyday life in their little town, but transfixing to them tonight in the dark, flowing garb of a gypsy, the moon and pale glow of the wavering lantern flames glancing off the golden hoops in her ears and the rings on her fingers and bracelets clanking together on her arms while she gestured in telling her story. Shadows played over the upturned little faces as well. It said something about just how immersed in the little nighttime cruise Belle and Henry had dreamed up as a fall community event, and Killian had all too enthusiastically agreed to, that even as the story of a horrible cursed monster who chose exile and his strength over love concluded and Belle paused, the sadness in her eyes only visible to those who would know to look, that they didn't recognize her story was in truth woven more from fact than fiction. Belle paused and gestured for a bashful Henry waiting in the wings to join her. Emma couldn't help but smirk even more, adoring the young man her little boy had long since become, as he flushed and looked to Violet seated at his side on an old barrel and she urged him forward with an enthusiastic grin.

Belle's natural storytelling gift had been so evident that no one else would notice she clearly needed a moment to compose herself once more and a pause to gather her still raw emotions. But she looked up at her grandson from where she sat as Henry came to stand at her side, Emma could see her mouth a "thank you" to him, which he responded to with a quick squeeze of assurance at Belle's shoulder. Soon he was beginning to read his own story, voice just a bit shaky at the start. Emma knew that Henry was more than a bit anxious, as he had not read any of his works aloud for an intended audience before, and she smiled fondly at her lanky, dark-haired son, bespectacled, and wearing his school uniform with a maroon and gold striped scarf in an effort to look like Harry Potter for his costume. He cleared his throat and his ever-deepening voice had soon wrapped them all up in his own tale, just as Belle had done before him. He will never have a more captive audience, and her maternal pride in his gift wants this moment, this recognition of his talents, for him.

Her eyes flitted over to find Killian at the helm, one arm propped on the ship's wheel, looking at ease and happy with the scene set before him. He wasn't actually steering them anywhere while they sat at anchor, but he still looked the very picture of dark, dashing pirate captain in the red vest and black leather duster he had brought back out for the occasion, appearing more dangerous Captain Hook than he had for some time. It had been all she could do not to snicker and pat him on the cheek when a few of the little girls had been too meek to talk to him upon boarding the Jolly and their wide, guileless eyes had lingered uncertainly on his curved metal appendage. Unable to bear the hurt puppy look on his face for long, however, Emma had plied him with caramel apples on sticks to hand out as snacks, and felt herself fall for him even more to watch her pirate charm and befriend every last child, even the most shy and uncertain – those ones most of all, if the truth were told.

Startled out of her reverie and the loving perusal of his face, her eyes tracing its strong, handsome lines beneath the stars, Emma's attention was pulled abruptly back to her son, focusing in on the words he was reading to make sure she didn't miss her cue. Henry's writing had set the mood perfectly; an atmospheric tale of an abandoned navy cutlass much like the one they were all on at that very moment, drifting on the open sea, empty and alone except on quiet nights when a bright full moon shone down on the ghost of the mad captain's sweetheart, a pale, white shadow haunting the deck where her faithless love and mutinous crew had all died, doomed to walk the site of her heartbreak forever.

Drawing a deep breath into her lungs and calling on every bit of poise and composure she could muster, Emma topped the steps and with measured gait began to glide across the rough wooden planks to the bow, hoping to convey the solemn, otherworldly, floating quality of a restless ghost. They had powdered her hair white earlier that afternoon, and her mother had applied thick, pale stage makeup – something that had been used in a production of The Christmas Carol at the school at some point and had then wound up with Snow – to Emma's face, neck, and hands, getting into the bonding moment of a mother helping her daughter put together a Halloween costume, even if it was a decade or so late. Those spots were all that really showed beneath the high-necked, long, bell-sleeved diaphanous gown Emma wore, which Snow had tearfully drug from some trunk in the loft when Emma had first mentioned the whole idea.

Now as she progressed the length of Killian's ship slowly and she heard him call out lowly, "Avast, me hearties, look there!" to their youthful audience and gasps of shock and surprise at the appearance began to repeat, she knew the effect was working.

She almost broke character to shoot a concerned look over her shoulder as Killian's voice sounded oddly strangled, stumbling halfway through his well-rehearsed and overly cheesy line, but he continued more softly yet. "Yonder at the bowsprit, it's the ghost of the ship's lady!" as Emma stayed her course, pausing like an eerie statue to look out over the moonlit waters.

Henry's story continued to its end, everyone playing their parts, and though she badly wanted to turn and see the children's final reactions and Henry's face at the choruses of "Again! Tell it again!" and the hearty clapping, she didn't want to break the illusion.

It was only when she heard Belle announce it was time for popcorn and hot apple cider below in a real pirate's galley, where both her parents waited to serve the refreshments dressed as a ship's cook and first mate, and Emma heard the excited hoots and hollers of excitement and all the pairs of little feet moving to follow Belle's lead, herded at the rear by Henry and Violet, both blushing and Violet clearly impressed, moving to the stairs below deck, that she ventured a glance behind her and relaxed her stance to lean against the ship's railing.

She was startled when she did so to find Killian right at her back, a tormented look of pain emblazoned across his face. "Killian, wha – " she began to ask, concern creasing her brow, fingers reaching up to brush soothingly across the scar on his cheek. The movement was aborted and her words knocked from her by the fierce way he lurched forward and clutched her to himself tightly. His grip was almost desperate, and Emma's confusion and concern only grew as he held on, the trembling in his wiry frame plainly felt throughout her own and his heart pounding as though he had run for miles to reach her. Though she couldn't really think what it was, she knew now that the distressed note she had heard in his voice during the story, that catch which had made her think something was wrong, had been all too real.

Finally, he released his grip a bit, took a step back and tilted his head to stare into her eyes. "Emma, love, I just…" he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and almost wild, as he pulled her in again, whispering against her hair "I just need to hold you for a moment. Seeing you that way – as a wraith, a shade – it ran my blood cold. I was not prepared for that."

It nearly stole the breath from Emma's lungs to see the raw anguish on her True Love's face. For a second, it genuinely did look as though Killian had seen a ghost, and Emma's heart ached for him at the fear she knew had been awakened once more, that he would again lose the one person he loved most in the world. There wasn't a thing she could do to take the awful, sinking sensation away, but she tried all the same. Running her fingers through the gentle curls at the nape of his neck, she aimed to soothe, squeezing his back and whispering, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. It's just a costume. You saw it earlier."

He shook his head, the strangled little noise in his throat twisting her gut in sympathy. "I know that, Swan. But that for a moment…you were so pale, almost unreal… for a moment it seemed as if you were already gone…"

She merely nodded, running her hands up and down his spine and out over his shoulder blades; anxious to provide even a bit of calm. Slowly, she felt the tremors between them begin to subside. Killian blew out a deep breath, and Emma could sense him steadying himself and bringing himself back under control.

Resting his forehead against her, Killian placed his hook under her chin, fingers smoothing her windswept hair back off her face in a gentle caress. "I cannot lose you, Emma," he whispered hoarsely, voice controlled once more but still fervently sincere, wobbling the slightest bit as he added, "I won't survive it, not this time."

Shaking her head, Emma reached across to press her hand over his heart, eyes drinking in his beloved face and swearing with all she had, willing both her love and herself to believe. "You won't have to, Killian. We'll find that third way."

He nodded, rubbing her upper arms to chafe warmth back into them in the chilly night air off the open water. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke, merely stared into each other's eyes – not wanting to lose the soft moment together, however it had come about, and turning to look out over the waves back to the lights of Storybrooke in the distance. Then, laughter and the rush of exuberant voices began to drift toward them again as their young charges began to climb back above deck for the short voyage home.

Reminded that they weren't alone and their passengers needed returned from their Halloween excursion, Emma gave one last squeeze of the hand to her pirate, whispering quickly before moving to help get them underway. "It's because of you that I finally know we deserve this future together," she vowed, "and I intend to have it."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @sotangledupinit @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @blackwidownat2814 @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @anmylica @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @stahlop @justanother-unluckysoul @wefoundloveunderthelight @artistic-writer

[snowbellewells]

@spartanguard Oh wow, I am ridiculously late in getting a chance to read and reblog this lovely little birthday fic, but it was truly sweet and touching and really a just right sort of treat to enjoy this Saturday morning!! I loved that Emma had taken the trouble to find Killian’s true birthday and went out of her way to mark it, and to show him how much his presence matters. And not only to her either, but also to his extended Charming family.

It makes me a bit teary-eyed to think that really neither he or David were exactly sure when they had been born and that both have probably not been celebrated as they should have been over the years, but that is true for Killian especially. No wonder his bro’s heartfelt words bring up the lump in his throat there towards the end.

The memory he has of his mother and at least how he knew the season of his birth was both lovely and heartbreaking as well. I do like that he at least has that little bit of memory though after so many years, and when he hadn’t really even felt it mattered. But that his True Love has now given him many more precious memories to mark his birthday is the perfect way to end this little story, even if their still many more years left to celebrate in their adventure together!

Thanks for sharing this with us!!

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook388 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich​ @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke [let me know if you do/don't want tags!]

[kazoosandfannypacks]

“Always Remember (the burning embers)” by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: General Word Count: 1380 Summary: Killian and Emma have a late night conversation about careless words that've left their scars Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, one shot, post canon, canon compliant, fix-it-fic, missing moment Author’s notes: I've been planning this fic for a little while here, since sometime during season 5. The title is based on the taylor swift song "the great war," which I feel nicely sums up Killian and Emma during the Dark Ones arc, though this fic takes place probably a couple years later. Taglist:@zahara@kmomof4@jonesfandomfanatic@booksteaandtoomuchtv@jrob64@tiganasummertree@anmylica@teamhook@undercaffinatednightmare@gingerchangeling@lonelyspectator@caught-in-the-filter  @ultraluckycatnd  @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Killian had gotten so used to waking up next to Emma that it always felt weird when he didn't- especially when it was two A.M., and she'd been right there when he fell asleep, and now she wasn't.

 At first, he suspected maybe she'd gone to the bathroom or to get a drink of water or something like that- but then he saw her, sitting at the foot of the bed, seeming a touch unwell.

 "Is something wrong, love?" he whispered.

 She turned around, a bit startled.

 "I didn't realize you were still up."

 "Love, it's two in the morning," he said, "have you been awake this whole time?"

 "I guess," Emma said.

 "What's wrong, love?"

 "Nothing," she shook her head.

 He knew her better than to believe that.

 "What's wrong?" he repeated.

 "Nothing important." Emma said, quickly.

 "Emma," he said, hoping his soft tone could soften whatever armor she'd been crafting, "if you're up thinking about it at two in the morning, it must be important. What's wrong?"

 She sighed, and glanced back at him for a moment- and in that moment he nodded to her, like you'd nod to an injured animal to ask it to trust you, to tell her, "Go on. Let me help you."

 "It still feels like a fairy tale," she said.

 Rather than try and read into that statement, he simply asked for clarification.

 "What does?"

 "All of it," she said, in a whispered breath like an angry laugh, "you, Henry, my parents, our home- our happy beginning."

 "Aye," Killian nodded, knowing she still hadn't hit the point of her problem.

 "And the problem with a fairytale is the story always ends, the book closes, and you're back to being whoever it was you were escaping from."

 "Emma," Killian crawled out from under the covers and over to the foot of the bed so he could sit next to her, "what we have here is real, and it's not going away."

 "I know," Emma shook her head, "and I'm trying so hard to believe that."

 "What's stopping you?"

 She shrugged. "Myself. For someone whose job is happy endings, I'm pretty good at destroying my own."

 "What's that supposed to mean, love?" Killian asked, trying to sound reassuring and not like that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

 "I…." she shook her head.

 "You don't need to push me away, love."

 "That's just the thing- that's what I do," she shook her head, "I push people away- people I love."

 And she tacked on, on top of it all, so softly he almost didn't hear it: "and that's why I'll always be an orphan."

 "Emma, love," he said, carefully but desperately turning her face to his, "where did you get such a ridiculous idea?"

 She pushed away physically this time, shaking her head and turning away from him.

 "I'm glad you don't remember," she said, almost smiling.

 "Remember what?"

 "It's nothing."

 "It's not," he insisted, his voice raising above a whisper for the first time that night, "talk to me."

 Her eyes almost seemed the blue ones for all the tears they held back as she looked up at him. He wanted to help her, wanted to dry the tears she was afraid to cry, wanted to clean up the mess she was afraid to spill, and wanted to make everything right for her. That's all he ever wanted for Emma, to be that for her, to be the one she could turn to no matter what she was facing- to be the one who made her burdens lighter.

 "The conversation at Regina's," Emma took a deep breath, "back when we were Dark Ones."

 He'd tried so hard to purge those awful memories, choosing to dwell on their happy moments instead of ones like that, those moments where they didn't trust each other, where they closed themselves off to each other, where they argued with each other….

 "That moment when I told her she'd always be an orphan," He recalled, "her pain now is my fault."

 He didn't know what to say now. All he knew how to do was throw his arms around her, pull her close to him, hold her as tight as he could and choke out an "I'm sorry."

 So, that's what he did.

 "It wasn't you," Emma said, "it was the darkness. I've tried not to mention it, because I know you'd never…."

 Though he couldn't see her face (which was buried in his embrace,) he could tell by the way her voice trailed off that she was crying, and he quickly let go of his right arms' grip around her, so he could catch the tears as they rolled down her cheek.

 He knew his apology was nowhere near sufficient, but he still didn't know what to say- what could his words do to make up for such loveless atrocities?

 "I'm sorry," Emma said, "I shouldn't've brought it up. I shouldn't've mentioned it."

 "Nonsense," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling it close to his chest, "I never want you to think that a problem you have is too big to share with me. Understand?"

 She nodded. He sighed, unsure what words would tumble out after his breath.

 "I love that you're my anchor, Emma," he said, "a ship would be lost without her anchor, and I'd be lost without you. I love everything you've ever done for me. Do you know what else I love about you?"

 "What?"

 "Call me a bit of a narcissist, but I love that you're my mirror. When I see you, I see a lot of myself. I see someone who never gives up, someone who risks their life for those they love, someone who does everything they can to be a hero, no matter what mistakes they've made.

 "And when I first met you, I saw what you were," he continued, "and what I was- a lost boy, a lone wolf- an orphan. And when I said those angry dark words I wish I could take back, words I never should've said- I was talking to myself too."

 He'd never seen a perfect blend of confusion and understanding quite like the one he saw on her face now.

 "We did push people away, love. We did hide from the people who cared about us. That's why we should still be orphans. But that's not what we are anymore."

 "Why not?"

 "Because we turn to the people we love. We've set aside our armor and chosen something new."

 "What's that?"

 "Trust."

 Still holding her hand close to his heart, he instead brought it to his lips and kissed it.

 "Emma Swan, you will never be an orphan again. That's not who you are anymore. You're the Savior. You're my True Love, my happy beginning and ending and everything in between. You're a mother and a daughter and a hero and the most perfect wife a man could ever ask for."

 "Some days I have trouble believing that," Emma shook her head, "but I believe in you."

 With the hand that he wasn't holding, Emma reached up and stroked his face, her cold hand warming against his cheek. "So if you can believe in me, I can believe in me too," she said.

 "I'm glad to hear it, love."

 "And you're not an orphan anymore either, Killian Jones," Emma said. She kissed his hand, then pulled it close to her heart, "You're my family. You're my best friend. You're my true love. My hero."

 "Aye," He nestled his head against her forehead, gently, then whispered "I love you."

 "I love you too," she whispered back, "thank you."

 "Anytime, love," he said, "now, let's get back to bed."

 They both let go of each other, only so they could crawl back across to the other side of the bed. As soon as they were both under the covers, Emma slid into his arms, wrapping her own arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

 "Goodnight, my love," he said, craning his neck forward so he could kiss her forehead.

 "Goodnight, Killian." She replied, sounding sleepy but satisfied.

 And with that, Killian fell asleep the only way that felt natural anymore- with Emma in his arms.

[sambethe]

CS FF: Hush

A/N: I wrote a little something for the CS Storybook, Volume 2. I opted for a missing scene that falls at the end of Dark Hollow and before the events of Think Lovely Thoughts picks up. @gingerchangeling did a lovely little piece of Emma sitting by the fire to accompany it - go check it out here!

Summary: Emma just needs a break, figuratively and metaphorically. Hook may be the one to give it to her.

Words: 1400 | Rated: gen | ao3

+++

It’s another day down, and another night with Henry out there, alone. It’s enough to make Emma want to steal Neal’s lighter and burn the island down. Take her – take Neal’s - cutlass and hack a path to Henry. Instead she distracts herself by poking at the fire in front of her, watching the embers spark and pop as she disturbs them with the stick she pulled from the brush earlier.

From the corner of her eye she can see Mary Margaret roll out her bedding next to David’s. They still don’t seem to be talking, exactly, but there's a thaw between them. They have once again slid back into that practiced ease of theirs, moving around and with one another seamlessly. It both warms her heart and makes her burn with jealousy. Leaves her with a whole host of what ifs that she tamps down brutally before they can take up residence in her chest, where she is already too full of wants and worries for Henry.

Emma wishes she could say the same of her and Neal. He’s been quiet since they returned from the hollow and set up the night’s camp, curling up on his own bedroll, his back to the fire – and all of them. She doesn’t know whether to huff a sigh and roll her eyes, or hit him in the chest and tell him to get it together. Petulance isn’t what she needs from anyone at this point. She’s feeling enough of it herself.

She meant what she said back in Echo Cave. It would be easier to put everything with him behind her. She doesn’t want face all of it again, doesn’t want to think about the way every part of her cracks when she sees his face. How the ache forms in her chest and begins to gnaw once more, a steady reminder that she has never been enough for someone stay.

But if Neal being here, being back, means there’s a chance Henry doesn’t have to grow up without him, she would face that age-old ache and then some. Because she’ll be damned if Henry ever has to spend one moment more wondering if he matters, to her or anyone else.

Then there’s Hook.

She stabs at the fire again, sliding the stick deep into the embers, shifting them around even when she knows she should leave them be. He shifts behind her as she does, ducking beneath some branches at the edge of the clearing. She wars with herself about whether she should ask, and the words slip from her mouth before she’s realized she’s made up her mind.

“Where are you going?”

She keeps herself from turning as she asks, though, not wanting to see the hint of a smirk on his face or the teasing lift of his eyebrow. She can hear him pause, the swish of his overlong coat fading, and she wonders if he’s turned back towards her or if he, too, refuses to look.

“There’s a river nearby, thought I would get us some fresh water.”

She turns at that point and finds him with the straps of a few canteens wrapped around his hand. Before he can move further, she stands, brushing dirt from her pants.

He waves her off. “You don’t have to. I’ll be back in a tic.”

Not answering, she grabs the cutlass from the top her own bedroll and moves past him. “Let’s go,” she grunts, hacking at the brush in front of her despite the fact they had cleared it away on their way in.

They aren’t more than a few steps from the clearing when his hand wraps around her wrist, stilling her before she can raise her arm for another useless swipe. She glares back at him but doesn’t shrug him off.

“How about we try for a quieter approach?” he asks, one finger rubbing at the side of her wrist. “Not attract any Lost Boys unnecessarily?”

His thumb at her pulse point makes her want to lean back, to sink against him, but she catches herself before she follows that instinct. Slowly rolling her shoulder, she steps forward. Hook drops her hand and steps past her with a nod, taking the path that forks to the right. He doesn’t look to see if she’s followed and she wants to roll her eyes at that, but falls into line behind him instead.

They are quiet as they walk, allowing the sounds of the crickets and cicadas to settle around them. At least she imagines them to be crickets and cicadas. She doesn’t want to ask and risk finding out that even the bugs on this island are the stuff of childhood nightmares. It isn’t long before the trickle of water joins the chirping, and after another bend, the overgrown path dead ends into small river.

Hook drops the canteens to the ground along the bank and shrugs off his coat. She stands at the edge of the water. The quiet that surrounds them is almost soothing. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend they are back in Storybrooke. Home and safe, or whatever counts for that there.

“Take off your shoes, love.”

“Huh?”

Emma turns back to find he has shed his vest as well, leaving him in his thin, billowy shirt. His boots are discarded and he’s rolled up the ends of his pants, exposing his ankles and shins. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen this much of his skin and she’s sure she’s staring with her mouth hanging open.

If she is though, he ignores it and nods to the water as he takes a step forward. “The water runs warm. When nights go cold like this one, it’s a good respite.”

“You came out here to play in the water?”

“There’s nothing more we can do for Henry tonight, and we are no good to your boy if we haven’t rested. This...” He reaches his arm out and gestures for her to join him. “This allows me to relax. Come, try it.”

She narrows her eyes and drops a hand to her hip.

“Swan.”

The way her drawls her name sends a shiver through her that she tries hard to ignore. Rather than answer, she rolls her eyes, but lifts a leg so she can remove her boot. She does the same with her other foot and then leans down to roll up her pants. Hook is smiling by the time she is done and encourages her out into the water.

He’s right, not that she wants to tell him that, and for a brief moment she wishes the water was deep enough to dunk herself in. Then she shakes away the thought. She doesn’t want to think about the last time she’s had a shower, or have a reminder of just how long it has been since Henry was home and safe.

After a few minutes, Hook moves back to the river bank, settling down on the soft grass there, stretching out to leave his feet at the water’s edge. She watches him, drawn to the way the bones of his ankle stand out, the lines and sinews of them tempting. The hair of his legs stops just above the knob of bone, and her fingers itch to follow the swirls of it in the same way he held her wrist earlier.

She stops herself though, sitting down next to him and purposely leaving a decent gap of space between them. Her fingers tangle through the grass beneath them, and she tugs a bit but not enough to pull it up. Keeping her attention at her hand, she quietly asks, “Can you tell me again?”

“What’s that?”

“That we’ll find Henry? That we’ll keep him safe?”

She slaps her toes against the surface of the water, enjoying the small beads that land on the tops of her feet and how their warmth seeps into her skin. Hook extends a foot towards hers, poking at her ankle with his big toe until she finally relents and looks at him.

“You’ll get your boy back, love, of that I’ve never been more sure.”

He then turns towards her, stretching one foot over his extended leg, planting it on the ground and creating a bridge with his leg as he lies down on his side. He props his head in his hand, his hook lying between them.

She shifts to face him and gives him a small smile. “We should go back,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Hush,” he whispers. “We’ve time, just rest.”

[foxofthedesert]

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: Ch. 4

Chapter 4 - An Intimate Interlude

The arrival of dawn ushers in a glorious morning. Overhead, the sky is a clear azure blanket dotted by wispy puffs of white that swirl, stretch, and swell into fluffy amorphous shapes. Rays of adolescent sunlight bathe the world in a gentle coat that makes every surface it touches shimmer a soft amber hue that is reminiscent of honey fresh from the comb. Through the flung open bay window, crisp and fresh air rolls through the chambers, underscored by the sweet coniferous note of the nearby forests. A merry chorus of birdsong trumpets from every corner of the citadel, ringing in a new day full of such promise that the atmosphere practically simmers with an undulating vivaciousness rapidly building toward a terrific crescendo.

To Regina, who has just risen from slumber, it feels as if the universe has given its stamp of approval upon the decision made the night before. Adoption. Becoming a mother. Although she is no less apprehensive about taking such a risky plunge into the terrifying unknown, Red is no less buoyant, and her pervasive excitement about their future is so infectious that it drowns out a majority of Regina's negativity. Of course, it also helps that the chances are looking good of fulfilling her end of the bargain Lord Maurice successfully negotiated on her behalf. If she and Red are seen speaking repeatedly with Vilenda over the next few weeks, the Council will have no further reason to doubt her resolve to solve the looming crisis of succession. Politically, things can then finally start returning to normal. For that reason alone there is cause for cautious optimism.

As per their ritual, Red rouses early and then wakes Regina soon thereafter for a brisk morning run prior to breakfast. Regina loiters in bed a few minutes to shake the hazy crust of sleep from her brain and eyes while Red answers nature's call.

"Up and at 'em sleepy head! We've got eight miles to cover and time's a-wastin'!" Red singsongs as she exits the bathroom, smiling for the whole world as if no evil has ever befallen her and she has never known the debilitating touch of sorrow. The woman's ability to greet each day as if it is a gift is as insufferable as it is enviable.

"'M'up. Stop yellin'," Regina mutters, furiously rubbing her eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes.

When Red chuckles at her post-sleep misery, she shoots her a withering glare, wishing for all she is worth in that moment that she had the power of Medusa to kill with her gaze. Turning Red into stone is not ideal, but if it meant she could get an extra hour or two of sleep…? Red just stands there, head cocked to the side as is her way, grinning so brightly that the gloomy clouds hanging over Regina's head have no choice but to flee. She sighs, shakes her head, and then surrenders to the inevitable.

"Fine. I'm moving, Miss Bossypants," she grouches, then slides out of bed. Red does not chide her for the reappropriation of the colorful epithet she often uses to refer to Regina, though she does arch a dark brow. Complaining under her breath, Regina ignores her too-chipper wife as she trudges into the bathroom to take care of her own morning business.

Once she's relieved herself and splashes some cold water on her face, she feels much better. The Regina that reemerges back into their chambers is much nicer to her spouse, even goes so far as to greet Red with a sweetly offered 'good morning, darling' emphasized by an even nicer kiss that Red eagerly returns. After they part, and then sneak in a few extra smooches and hugs for good measure, Red gestures to the bed where she has already laid out their clothes for the morning. As a team, they quickly tie back their hair, throw on the custom designed cotton shirts, form-fitting with long sleeves for the mildly chilly autumn air, atop similarly crafted ankle-length pants. Running sandals are then strapped to their feet before they head out into the corridor and meander their way up to the ramparts ringing the citadel. They chit-chat the entire walk through the Royal Wing, east towards the scullery, through the doorway halfway down that hall that leads to the northern wall and the winding staircase that eventually grants access to the ramparts.

At this hour, only a handful of guards are present upon the siege wall ringing the entirety of the citadel. Each of them is familiar with their Queens' daily routine and spare them greetings of respectful salutes and amiable smiles before returning to their duty patrolling the walls. After a brief series of warm-up stretches to prevent injury during their morning jaunt, Red issues no warning before taking off at a spirited pace, tossing a cheeky challenge back over her shoulder. 'Betcha can't catch me slow poke!' Regina grins as she surges forward to catch up. Soon enough, they settle side-by-side into a steady churning rhythm, and the passing of seconds becomes marked by the pounding of their sandals against the implacable stone.

As always, the exertion helps Regina to soothe any clingy troubles from the night before. Sometimes running is the only way to purge any nagging demons remaining from being visited by yet another nightmare or to get her productive juices flowing after an annoying bout of insomnia even Red's normally effective assistance could not conquer. The exhilaration of pushing her body to the limit is also uniquely helpful to clear out the latent cobwebs of slumber from her mind, which is of particular importance today; she needs to be sharp at a tack for the upcoming session of court. It will do her no favors to dwell on how fit she is to become a parent when she has a more immediately pressing and demanding obligations to fulfill as Queen of a populous realm.

An hour later, both panting and drenched with sweat, Regina allows Red to drag her by the hand through the winding, sparsely populated corridors of the castle all the way back to their chambers. Inside, she then leads them straight into their bathroom where she releases Regina's hand to turn on the spigot of their newly installed shower, an invention fed by pipes pressurized by steam-powered pumps. For the sake of convenience should anything require repair, the copper supply pipes running down the wall from overhead are all exposed, though for appearance sake have been polished to a fine sheen and installed with a level of neatness and artistry that passed her demanding standards. A floor drain which carries the waste water away is sealed into the tile floor by grout tough enough to withstand water erosion, and it dumps directly into the convoluted system of large diameter cast iron pipes held together by lead-packed joints, the near three hundred foot long trunk of which terminates deep within the bowels of the castle. The tile decorating the shower itself matches the rest of the bathroom, black with silver accents, though a number of strategically selected tiles upon the three walls comprising the stall are adorned in the center with the coat of arms Regina and Red adopted for their new family line: a stylized crescent moon hanging over a sprawling apple tree. The final feature is a wall of tall, half-inch thick glass which segregates the stall from the rest of the bathroom, which is by some trick of chemistry lightly frosted so as to provide occupants much needed privacy seeing as servants can be flitting to and fro at any given time.

The shower system, unique upon the continent as far as Regina is aware, was designed by none other than Victor Frankenstein – who cunningly modified a similar scheme from his world to utilize materials available in his new one – along with Lord Maurice, who it turns out is not only the second most wealthy individual in the realm but a self-educated engineer whose proficiency and ingenuity are, according to Victor anyway, second to none. The Royal Quarters were the first wing of the castle to be fitted with this amazing and wonderful conglomeration, though plans are currently in the works to expand access to the entirety of the castle. In anticipation of this project, Regina has already rewarded the two architects of the system for their industriousness with a sizable contract that will make Victor a wealthy man and Lord Maurice even more so. Once the audacious undertaking is completed in the nebulous near future, she has every intention in backing what will undoubtedly be a lucrative enterprise to offer installation of the system to the rest of those in Misthaven with the means to afford such a luxury. Although purchasing hers put a sizable dent in her purse even with a queenly discount, it was so worth it. The convenience of showering versus bathing when time is of the essence is beyond quantification.

Once the taps are adjusted for the correct heat – an important fringe benefit of the steam-powered pumps is the ready availability of piping hot water – Red unceremoniously divests herself of all clothing and then oh-so-generously volunteers to aid Regina in doing the same. Now nude and evidently frisky, she tosses a saucy wink back over her shoulder as she climbs into the relatively spacious stall, having just helped herself to a handful of Regina's rump before giving it a firm squeeze followed by a vicious swat that leaves behind a mean hand-shaped splotch. As payback, Regina rushes in after Red, throws the opaque glass barrier closed as she enters the stall, grabs Red by the hips and pushes her face first against the wall opposite the faucet. Pinned between the unforgiving wall and Regina's unyielding frame, Red gasps, eyes fluttering shut, head turned to the side so that her cheek is resting upon the damp tile.

Torrid rain streams from the large conical head sitting atop a tall standpipe, dozens of tiny holes in the polished brass lending extra oomph to the thin jets of water being forced through them with enough pressure to pleasantly sting Regina's flesh. The torrent relentlessly batters her back and shoulders, splashes over onto Red, depositing an unending flow of rivulets that meander down the pale valley of Red's arched spine.

"Such a troublemaker," Regina says, molding herself to Red's back, lips moving deliberately against the shell of her ear. Breasts mashed against Red's lower shoulder, she wraps an arm low around Red's side, hand splayed dangerously southward over a toned belly that is far more fun to touch than it is to look at – which is plenty of fun, indeed. With her free hand, she flips her long hair, now soaking wet, free of the knot holding it back and then does the same for Red.

"I swear, you do so love to live on edge. You're a bold little tart, aren't you?" she then asks, sweeping Red's sopping tresses over her shoulder.

Bottom lip tucked between her teeth, Red nods, responding with a half-hum of agreement and a half-moan of approval. She cries out when Regina moves the hand that was in her hair around her other side, snatches a pert breast, kneads it a bit and then pinches at an erect nipple.

"I see you still haven't learned to not start shit with me if you're not serious about finishing," Regina says, voice low and rumbling just how Red likes it when they are engaging in amorous play. "Guess I'll have to teach you another lesson. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you insatiable tease?" Red doesn't answer, just moans, her hips starting to grind back into Regina's pelvis. That is an unsatisfactory response when they are pressed for time and Red knew exactly what she was doing with that provocative ass slap. Adopting her most imperious tone, Regina squeezes Red's breast more harshly than before, "Answer me. With intelligible words. Tell me whether or not you wish for me to punish you for your unwarranted display of impertinence."

"Please, please," Red gasps, then cries out again when Regina returns the favor with a hard slap to her rear that is even more forceful than the one that started this impromptu tryst. "Gah!  Yes…m-more. Punish me. Please!"

"Not good enough," Regina says, bucking back defiantly against Red's gyrating rear as she vigorously massages the modest breast straining against her hand. "I need details. Tell me how much. How much do you want it? Are you desperate for it? Willing to beg for it? To humiliate yourself for it?"

"Yes...oh, gods, yes!" Red cries, eyes open now, pupils so dilated there is more black than green. "I need it so bad. S-so bad I can't think straight. And I'll do anything for it. Anything you want! I'll beg and plead on my hands and knees if you want, just...please, hurt me."

"With pleasure," Regina smiles, a dark, joyous arousal arcing through her.

When she discovered Red liked to mix some controlled violence into their intimate encounters, she was hardly able to believe her luck. Until Red, she did not feel safe enough to fully unleash the desire to control and possess the object of her lust, nor had she ever found a partner who relished sexual roughhousing to the degree Red does. The inevitable result of such an indulgence would have been either a corpse to clean up in order to protect her reputation or a body whose pleasures she would never again enjoy because while her victim would be too scared of her to blab about what she liked to do and have done to her but would also be far too traumatized to repeat the experience. With Red, she had none of those worries because she was not the one to initiate their memorable descent down the rabbit hole of what most in polite society would perceive as unforgivable sexual deviance. Not only is Red tough enough to take whatever Regina can dish out, she is equally eager to give every bit as good as she gets.

'It's the wolf,' Red told Regina after their first time experimenting left Regina's lip bloody, the entire length of Red's back welted with angry nail shape scratches, and both of them sporting a myriad of bruises and tooth indentations in intimate areas they treasured for days afterward. 'She can smell your power, your pure alpha energy, and it gets her so excited and aggressive she surfaces even when there isn't a full moon. Nobody else ever made her do that – come out like this, I mean, like she's as crazy for you as I am. I guess she's finally found a mate who can handle her appetites. And so have I.'

'Well, I'll be happy to oblige those appetites any time you're in the mood, my dear,' Regina had replied, and has since proved her willingness to do so on any number of occasions through the years. Such as this morning, when she accommodates Red with a blistering open-handed swat to the exact same spot she struck moments ago. She follows it up with another. Then another. Then another. And then thrice more in rapid succession for good measure. Each time her hand cracks down, the satisfying thwack of lovely pristine flesh being abused chimes enticingly in her ears and Red whimpers, gasps, or groans, her thighs clenching together as her entire body shivers with pleasure and uncontrollable eagerness over the prospect of what else is to come. A veteran at reading her wife's body language, there is no misinterpreting that it will not take very long to push Red to the edge and then send her toppling headlong over it. Regina salivates over the prospect.

Seizing the moment, she snatches a handful of wet hair, looping it around her hand a couple times as if it were a set of reins by which to steer a prized filly. Red whimpers in anticipation, knowing the action is a foreplay to unbearable ecstasy.

"How do you want to be fucked?" Regina asks, soothing the wet, angry skin beneath her hand with appropriately gentle circles. She doesn't always give Red a choice when they engage in this sort of behavior, but this morning she's feeling uncommonly benevolent.

A shudder passes through Red at the coarse question. "Just like this. From behind. With the...thingy..."

Ah, the thingy. Regina smirks, wondering Red will ever be able to wrap her bashful lips around the proper designation for their favorite toy outside the reality-shattering throes of passion.

The 'thingy' was a rather inappropriate wedding gift Regina received to augment their wedding night – or a very appropriate one considering it was from Maleficent. It is similar to the one that naughty dragon had personally, and thoroughly, introduced a disgustingly naive Regina to many years ago. Essentially it is a soft, pliable leather dildo set into a custom made strap harness, designed alike for the unadulterated gratification of lesbians and heterosexual men who also enjoy penetration. Apparently Stefan is such a man if Mal is to be believed, not that Regina has any intention of inquiring into the minutiae of the foreign king's private proclivities. It is no business of hers what any couple gets up to behind closed doors so long as it is consensual, nor is it of any concern what others think about what she does within the sanctum of her own bedroom. That said, she is as unashamed of her progressive, liberated sexuality as she is of the devices utilized – by her own hand or Red's – to facilitate entertaining it. If the whole world were to discover what she was about to do to her wife, she would not be deterred.

Of course, the same cannot be said for Red, who blushes scarlet at the slightest mention of sex while in the presence of company, familiar or otherwise. At first, that public innocence was perplexing when in private and made to feel comfortable Red is the most viscerally sexual being Regina has ever been fortunate enough to have relations with. Not even Mal at the height of her form and attractiveness can compete with Red's effortless, raw, overpowering sex appeal; and not even at the peak of her reproductive cycle could Mal keep up with Red's seemingly endless stores of energy on an ordinary day. With Mal at her most rambunctious, they were usually both done for within two or three orgasms a piece. Not Red, though. Once the arousal switch gets flicked on in Red, she becomes someone else altogether – a boisterous, dynamic, impulsive, and audacious woman who oozes a sensuality so thick it is tangible and so delicious it makes Regina's mouth water like a ravenous woman set before a bountiful feast of the finest delicacies. Honestly it's like whatever obstructs the wolf from gaining access to Red's conscious mind is ripped away when the shift occurs so that the two disparate personalities are allowed to coagulate. The new amalgamated version that emerges is the perfect sexual partner for Regina: a tender, thoughtful, knowledgeable, immensely talented lover with a filthy mind, a filthier mouth, and ridiculously flexible limbs, who would seldom be ready to call it quits before Regina reaches the extreme limit of her ability to endure any more pleasure lest her higher brain functions are put in danger of permanent disability.

But no one can know any of that, because if she told a single soul, Red would withhold sex for far longer than Regina is willing to be deprived. Pathetic, maybe, but I'm content to be pathetic if it means I have Red at my beck and call. Which she does for the most part, as it seems Red's libido is auspiciously and inextricably entwined with Regina's. So she lets her wife keep her dirty little secret. And besides, there is an extra thrill knowing she gets to see a side of Red no one ever has, or will if she has any say in the matter.

Shifting back a pace, Regina snaps her fingers, magically donning the harness fitted with the appendage specifically chosen for Red after some very careful and mostly enjoyable trial and error. With another snap of her fingers, the material of the long, moderately girthy, proudly erect appendage is transformed into a substance closely resembling flesh with all associated rigid elasticity and throbbing warmth. A neat trick she also learned from Maleficent to enhance the pleasure given by the toy.

Heart racing in her chest, as wet on the inside as she is on the outside, Regina steps back up and aligns her hips with Red's. "Any other requests?" she asks, rubbing the head up and down Red's glistening entrance to gather up lubrication for the dildo. The sight of Red's swollen nether lips, so pretty and inviting, is overwhelming to the point she can hardly contain the urge to surge forward just to hear that irresistible mewl that invariably follows penetration.

"Mmmmmm, yes," Red hisses the final consonant when Regina grazes her clit. "Don't hold back. Make me scream."

Regina grins devilishly, all teeth and power and domination. "Your wish is my command." And then she pushes forward, burying herself in her personal paradise one slow, torturous inch at a time. Her head dips back in wanton joy upon hearing Red emit a keening mewl, which begins as she pushes past a threshold that offers little resistance because Red is absolutely drenched and does not remit until she is buried up to the hilt.

"How's that feel?" she asks once fully sheathed, the hand still tangled in Red's saturated hair reflexively tightening.

"Good. So, so good," Red pants, pushing back against Regina's steadily applied pressure and the occasional roll of her hips.

Regina grunts her approval. Time to maintain my stellar studly reputation. In preparation, she braces herself by grasping Red's shoulder with her free hand.

"Ready?"

No reply is given by Red save a shuddered whine. While they are both accustomed to rough handling, they are always mindful of the other's safety. Verbal responses are required before tethers binding their more insensitive sides are turned loose. To that end, Regina pulls Red's upper torso back toward her with the hair bunched in her hand until Red's back is arched further than she would be comfortable with were her wife not a supernatural creature of ancient primordial magicks whose bones, muscles, and joints can bear abuse far beyond the capacity of the most hardy human being. Red alleviates the strain by wedging herself into position with her arms, extending them out so she can place her palms on the tile wall. Even so, Regina might worry this extreme angle will hurt Red if she was not confident from experience that it will only intensify her wife's pleasure once she starts moving in earnest. It always does...

"I said," she says, volume rising with each syllable as she punctuates the words with tiny thrusts that only frustrate Red, "are you ready...to be...fucked?"

A rumble starts low in Red's belly rises up through her torso, into her chest, up the tense column of her throat. "Yes!" she growls, trying to nod but unable to due to Regina's iron grip on her hair. "Fuck me. Fuck me right now! I'm ready. I'm so fucking rea – hnnnnnng!"

Not one needing to be told twice, Regina pulls all the way out, stalls with the tip of the appendage encircled by Red's picturesquely distended lips, then crashes back home with the full force of a grunted effort. Red's subsequent groan is not even spilling out before Regina repeats the process, then again, then again, then again each time picking up the pace until she is hammering away as frantically as she is able without losing control of her limbs to the slick tile beneath her feet. The noises Red makes as she is taken over and over are nothing short of undiluted, addictive, unapologetically erotic sin. Getting into the rhythm now, Regina yanks Red the rest of the way back by her hair until she can bury her nose in it, smell the salty sweat through the cascading water, can see Red's eyes slip closed and her jaw hanging slack around a perpetual moan intermittently interrupted by hoarse expletives.

After a good while rutting away like this, she pulls back enough to glance down and takes a while to observe the hypnotic motion of their bodies crashing together. The rippling of Red's shapely flank with each impact, the predictable disappearance of the dildo as it slips inside a core so flush with arousal it leaks out and drips from the toy every time it reappears, the sweet yet tangy smell of their combined excitement swirling amidst the water vapor, is all so mesmerizing and intoxicating that she can hardly tear her eyes away. So enthralled is Regina that she is only vaguely aware that she is panting for breath as if having run ten miles without a moment of reprieve and that the muscles in her legs and back are burning as she relentlessly pounds into Red with all the crazed fury of a woman unhinged from the restrictions so cruelly imposed by entropic nature upon her frail, limited mortal body.

And then she glimpses one of Red's hands slide down the moisture slick wall, only to slip off and immediately snake between her long legs. The muscles in Red's forearm start to twitch frenetically and within a heartbeat her eyelids crinkle from the extra force being exerted upon them.

"Oh, fuck!"

That cry of infinitely concentrated bliss is Regina's cue to initiate the final phase of this unexpectedly welcome rendezvous.

All the while without ceasing her merciless attack on Red's delightfully tight cunt, she slides the hand clinging to Red's shoulder along the collar, past the junction of her neck, up onto the column of her throat, which is corded and veined under the strain of their immensely gratifying activity. Mindful not to hurt Red, she wraps her hand around the front of a pale throat, closes her fingers around it and begins to squeeze. In response, Red's eyes shoot open, irises nearly invisible within dual wells of liquid black lust, and she locks gazes with Regina, pleading wordlessly for more, harder, faster, tighter. Regina is all too happy to oblige. Adjusting the hand fisting Red's hair all the way up to her scalp, Regina complies with a gusto that would petrify most sane individuals. She ups her pace another level and squeezes Red's throat until her entire face is glowing a lush crimson and her eyes are bulging with a pain so intense and rapturous and beautiful that Regina feels her walls involuntarily clench then start to flutter erratically – a mini-orgasm that is not uncommon when she is using the harness.

"Holy shit!" Regina gasps, shuddering, her thrusts temporarily derailing off tempo as she recovers from the shock of cumming without having been touched even once.

But recover she does, just in time to watch Red's eyes glaze over, her brain entering that state of euphoric overload where its primary function is reoriented to processing the stimuli originating from the erogenous zones. A bead of drool creeps down Red's chin in confirmation of that assessment, and Regina follows its path as it drips onto her heaving chest, then rolls lazily over a pebbled pink nipple straining at the humid air. And then Red begins to babble incoherently as if the language circuits in her brain have been disrupted. It's a phenomenon that took some getting used to. The first time it happened Regina abruptly stopped moving, legitimately terrified she'd given Red a stroke. When the wave passed and Red regained lucidity, Regina actually dissolved into a fit of horrified tears. Now, though, having witnessed it more times than she can recall, she recognizes it for what it is: the prelude to a gushing orgasm that will wind up with Red in a boneless heap on the shower floor if Regina is not prepared to hold her weight.

Readying herself for the burden she will be soon required to bear, she increases the pace of her thrusting to the bleeding edge of her capability so that what was once steady slapping of flesh is now a cacophonous percussion more pleasing to her ears than the strings of a stirring melodic concerto. She then releases Red's hair to wind that arm around her shoulders, and with Red thus confidently secured, she further tightens the grip on her throat to where Red's breathing becomes a struggled wheeze. It's as far Regina will allow herself to go despite Red's insistence she can take her airway being totally arrested while also under the strain of sex for at least two and a half minutes before losing consciousness.

At the edges of her own endurance, Regina grunts and growls as she smashes ever harder into Red's increasingly inflamed but ever receptive womanhood. Her vision blurs from over-exertion. Sweat pours from her forehead as if to rival the impressive output of the shower spigot. Every muscle in her body is on fire, but the best form of flame, a purifying inferno that reduces her world down to what is most vital in that moment – serving up an insurmountable deluge of pleasure to the woman who gives her life meaning. Her focus narrows to Red, watching her face intently so that she can alter the angle of assault ever-so-slightly until hitting exactly the right spot. When she finds it, Red's facial muscles slacken, her eyes roll up into her skull, and her mouth contorts around a silent scream. Regina feels Red's walls tremor through the artificial shaft and relishes the sensation as she continues to diligently work Red through on into proper completion. It doesn't take long, perhaps half a dozen thrusts, before Red stiffens from head to toe as if an invisible string linked to her muscles has been snapped taut with a violence that would have sent Regina reeling if not for her having prepared for such an event. In the same instant Red clamps around the dildo with enough power to have broken it if were attached to a flesh and blood man, a flood of liquid spurts out around it that soaks Regina's legs, and then Red's walls are clenching with such strength and ferocity that the appendage – now resting so tantalizingly close to Regina's clit – vibrates quickly and forcefully enough to transfer downward into the super-sensitive bundle of nerves aching for attention because of how painfully aroused she is. Still thrusting with manic fervor, in a matter of seconds, Regina's vision whitens and an electric fire springs to life within her loins. Control snapping like the branch of a tree severed by a catastrophic vortex, she shouts a strangled cry of half-deranged ecstasy to the invisible heavens that occupy the stars hidden from view by tile, plaster, and stone.

How long they stay locked that way, caught up in the spasms of an indescribable euphoria, she cannot say. They have both ascended to the planes of another world, that erotic Elysium where time loses all meaning, pain and pleasure are one and all, and nothing else exists aside from their joined bodies and united communion with the gods of pure sexual, emotional, and spiritual fulfillment.

When Regina does finally recover her senses some indeterminate time later, she is surprised to find Red is no longer facing away, held tight to her front. Instead her still-trembling wife is nestled in her arms, face tucked into the crease of her neck, holding her up instead of the other way around.

"So, that was a lot of fun. Let's do it again some time," Red says after a while, and Regina can feel the playful smile against her flushed skin.

She cannot help herself. She laughs.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Start of the Dance”

Okay, I realize I just posted this yesterday for Self Promo Sunday, but at the ever-persuasive @kmomof4​‘s urging the gifted and generous @motherkatereloyshipper​ so kindly created a cover art the the vision I had for Emma and Killian’s attire in the story could be fulfilled. I can’t see enough how much I love this - and I wanted all of your to be able to see it too. So, I’m reposting (despite it being Monday now) to share the new and improved dreamy cover art!!! <3  Thank you so much again @motherkatereloyshipper​ !!!

This week’s little Captain Swan fic takes place post-Season 3 finale, but parts of it had been in my mind ever since David’s dream sequence at the beginning of "The Tower" episode. I just had to find a way to fit the vision I had into a whole story framework. I love looking back at this time period in the show, and this was when my mind was really going wild with all the missing moments/canon divergent fic ideas for the first time - between seasons three and four. This didn’t actually happen, obviously, but it could fit in there after the season four finale without changing anything canon up to that point.

(There’s a good bit of David/Charming in this one as well, because I love Daddy!Charming getting to do father-daughter things with Emma that they missed out on, and that sorta started the ball rolling on this one to begin with. ;)

Summary: Emma enjoys one of the good moments with her father before turning to the one she will have by her side from now on... (Post S3 finale, lots of fluffy goodness)

Also available on AO3 and ff.net, if either of those are your preference...

"Emma, it's okay. Don't get frustrated," David's gentle chiding, his light, guiding hand at her waist, and the humored light in his paternally adoring eyes put Emma Swan somewhere between wanting to laugh along with him at her own expense or growl at him in frustration. "Don't be so hard on yourself," he continued. "You're doing fine."

Emma squared her shoulders once more and blew out a breath, concentrating and preparing to start over again. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes and call him out on his blatant lie. She was not catching onto this easily at all – didn't know how many times she had already stepped on her dad's feet, kicked him in the shins, or gotten their legs tangled together and almost pulled him down with her. She might be a princess by birthright, but attempting a traditional dance for her first ball (of sorts) was proving that royal graces had not been born into her naturally.

She put her hands back out, rested them lightly where her father had showed her and tried to relax into the starting hold position, to let herself be led. At that, David's eyes took on a sort of lost, misty quality, and Emma pulled back, concerned, studying his expression. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The prince shook his head and blinked rapidly, as if clearing the dismal thoughts from his consciousness. He didn't quite seem able to meet her clear-eyed gaze, and when he did, the sadness and guilt within his gentle eyes caught Emma off guard. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Lost track of where I was for a second…forget it…"

She wasn't buying that excuse for a minute, so when he glanced away, trying through a choked-sounding voice to begin counting time and leading her through the box step once more, she resisted and didn't budge. "Oh no," she said firmly, staring at him until he met her gaze, "out with it."

Her father's shoulders slumped, and his hand took hers, leading her over to the couch, which they had pushed out against the wall, clearing space in the living room of he, Snow, and baby Neal's loft apartment for their dance lesson. When they were seated next to each other, he squeezed her hand gently before releasing it and then running his own over his face and beginning to speak hesitantly. "Sometimes I just can't help mourning how much time with you we lost, Emma. At moments like this, my vision of how our lives would have been if you were always with us physically hurts. You went through so much pain. I put you in that wardrobe to save you…but in doing so, I sent my baby girl away to face a world alone. I failed you… Teaching you to dance now seems so ridiculously little to do in return…"

He trailed off, refusing to break down, but not able to keep speaking either. It went without saying that letting someone else lead and relinquishing control – which would make dancing so much easier for her – was difficult because of the life she'd had to live. Still that knowledge was there in the following silence, and they both knew it. That it was even harder for her to trust, to open herself, in relationships and in love was even clearer and more troublesome.

What Emma did offer at length, breaking the pained quiet between them with the best comfort she could give, seemed to bring a shaky smile back to his face. She grabbed his hand again, lacing their fingers together impulsively and holding on tight. There was steely strength in her eyes, but vulnerability too, allowing him to see a grown child's tentative hope. "What's done is done," she whispered hoarsely, holding his gaze with determination. "And I'm done dwelling on the past and being angry. I understand now the kind of impossible dilemma you were facing…and about loving your child enough to give a best chance. Henry taught me that." She swallowed convulsively and buried her face in the crook of his neck for a moment, then offered him a tremulous smile, trying for playful when she continued. "Besides, Dad, what did you tell me about living the moments? This is a good moment here. Despite my complete lack of skill, we're getting back one of those times we lost."

David nodded, hugging her with a hand cradling the back of her head in that way he had which made her feel like the cherished and protected child she should have been. "You're absolutely right," he agreed. Brushing a quick peck to her forehead, he stood and pulled Emma to her feet after him. "So what do you say, Daughter? Want to give this another try?"

She nodded with an almost shy grin. "I'm definitely not ready to dance in public yet, so we'd better keep at it."

Both of them were laughing as they began to move together once more, slowly but surely finding their way, both in the stately, measured steps of the waltz, and as father and daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night of their Storybrooke Ball was as gorgeous as any enchanted tale could have spun. Though they were still in a small town in Maine in the modern age, having now been there, Emma could honestly say that the combined efforts of Snow, Ruby, Belle, and Blue had rendered the simple town park and pavilion into what looked for all intents and purposes just like the grounds of some fairytale palace. The wooden planks of the stage for outdoor concerts were freshly painted a pristine white and surrounded all along the sides, up the support columns and across the ceiling by strings of white twinkle lights and trailing ivy. Handmade luminaries lined all the walks with a welcoming glow. Ruby had even cajoled Viktor into producing a dj booth he'd acquired from somewhere and spinning music for the town's celebration.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle had married nearly alone in the woods, but when the others had learned of their news, the townspeople had wanted to at least have a reception. It seemed there was much to celebrate – not only the wedding, but the Wicked Witch's defeat, the young prince's birth, and in general, the town's survival of yet another catastrophe. These folks were, after all, from a magical kingdom which knew how to lavishly make merry and enjoyed traditional pomp and circumstance. The seemingly reformed Dark One and his beloved had graciously accepted their congratulations and recognition without too much argument, and Emma couldn't help being somewhat softened toward Henry's other grandpa as she watched him swaying gently with Belle in his arms on the dance floor, their foreheads touching, with eyes only for each other. Though she wasn't sure she would ever completely understand how, Emma was glad that Belle could see the good in her "beast", and that the other woman could encourage a dangerous and bitter man to find the true and honorable heart beneath his dark façade. She knew, deep down, that there were surely people in the town who thought she and Belle had much in common, who were unable to see what she had found in a vengeful, broken pirate either.

Her thought of Killian Jones caused her to look away from the happy couple opening the festivities with their dance and scan the gathered faces for her Captain. Just the thought of him as "hers" warmed her insides and caused the corners of her mouth to quirk up in a tiny, satisfied smile. She didn't see him anywhere and a small bit of worry touched her brow. Obviously, it wasn't easy for him to see his "Crocodile" so happy, the truce the two of them had managed notwithstanding, nor did she expect him to desire to toast the Dark One's good fortune, but she had hoped he would focus on the aspect of town revelry and her parents' joy at her younger sibling's arrival. She knew that David and Snow had personally made him welcome, and she herself had teased him with the opportunity to see her in regal finery for only the second time ever. There was no way she could slip off unnoticed just yet, so for the moment she could only hope he wasn't somewhere drowning old wounds with rum in stalwart silence – at least until she could go find him. He had certainly come after her and pulled her from grief and self-pity often enough… Still, this night was supposed to be for happiness and the future, things she had in large part due to his efforts. Killian deserved to be part of it.

She hadn't realized that the first dance had ended, a new song had begun, and that other couples were taking to the open floor, until her father appeared at her elbow. "May I have this dance?" he asked formally, a playful twinkle in his eye as he extended his arm.

Emma flushed, knowing that the moment had come, but also that they had a rather large audience and that over David's shoulder, her mother was watching them with tears in her eyes and a camera at the ready. She nodded, nerves evident, but took his offered arm tightly and let him lead the way, just as they had practiced.

Surprisingly, Emma found the rhythm more easily than she sometimes had in the past; her father's hand reassuringly steady at her back. The look on his face was priceless: loving, proud, and happy as they circled the floor, as agile as any of the other misplaced fairy tale dancers around them. "I knew you could do it, Emma," he complimented her, the praising father who would recognize her talents and efforts clear in his voice – just as she had always wished for years ago. "You've mastered anything I have ever seen you put your mind to."

She couldn't help the single tear that escaped her eye and slipped down her cheek, but she shook her head slightly when concern crossed David's features. "No, don't worry," she managed. "I'm just happy – really, actually, happy." She let herself enjoy the moment, even leaning her head on his shoulder before whispering, "This is how it would have always been, isn't it?"

He nodded against the top of her head, and Emma felt her father swallow hard with his own emotion before he responded. "It is. I can't bring back what vanished in between, but…I can promise you that this is how it will be from now on."

She nodded, and they danced on in silence, the moment peaceful between them, all the words needed having already been said. Emma was oblivious to the reverent and intrigued gazes they were drawing – the Crown Prince and his Princess daughter sharing their first public dance at her first official ball. Charming and Snow's loyal subjects – now more friends – had welcomed and loved their only daughter as if she had always been with them, respecting her as if she had grown up a ruler in their world. This dance only cemented it, even if Emma was unaware.

The music swelled around them, Emma's joy bubbling within her and continuing to edge out the pain of her life before, the hurt she had finally begun to let go. True, she and her family were robbed of so many of the previous moments they should have been able to share, but this one, as her father spun her out once more and twirled her back into his arms, would always be theirs. She glanced up at him, perplexed, however when he pulled away to press a kiss to her forehead, then stepped back to place her hand within the grasp of someone standing behind him whom she hadn't even seen.

When David moved away, Emma found herself face to face with Killian at last. If her heart had not already been near to bursting, her pirate's presence was the final piece to complete her bliss. His leather had been exchanged for a fancier tail coat in deep forest green, a white dress shirt (still dangerously, seductively half-unbuttoned), and tan breeches – and Emma found herself melting at the sight of him. The effort he had obviously put in to blend with the other celebrants and belong was almost as overwhelming as his handsome appearance. She gave him a knowing look, realizing that someone, mostly likely her mother or Henry, must have told him the color of dress she would be wearing so that he could match.

Killian's gaze swept her up as though he intended to devour her in a glance, blue darkening from sky to cobalt at the jewel tone green covered with black lace sumptuously contrasting her fair, flawless skin and golden curls. "You are a bloody marvel, Swan," he murmured, even as he stepped easily into the place her father had relinquished, forming a perfect frame and twirling her effortlessly back into the dance as if he had been waltzing properly at formal balls all his life.

She was practically gaping at him, and she knew it, her breath short with stunned attraction. Sure, they had managed a simple dance to maintain their cover on their adventure in the past, but now they were themselves, he was holding her close, and they were moving as one with certain things having been spoken between them at last. This was altogether different… so much more. Killian chuckled lightly, touching a finger beneath her chin to close her open mouth. "I was not always a pirate, remember, Love? Naval officers do attend palace functions rather often."

Looking up at him mischievously from under lowered lashes, Emma finally regained enough of her composure to banter back. She smirked, speaking softly for his ears alone. "You must have been quite the charmer in your day, Lieutenant Jones," she almost purred.

"Must have been?" he questioned in mock offense. "Oh Lass, you can't fool me. It would seem you still find me quite charming in the here and now."

He dipped his head, breath warm on her face, mouth hovering just over her lips, making Emma's heart beat flutter erratically like a trapped butterfly attempting to escape her chest while he made her wait for his kiss. His grin was so smug that she wanted to wipe it off his face, but instead found herself having all she could do not to trip on her own feet and handle the shivers he sent skittering irresistibly down her spine.

With her True Love beside her, silently promising in every look and every touch to hold her, to match her step for step in every dance, for the rest of their lives, Emma no longer had to doubt that she would find her way. He eased her into a graceful dip, and she mutedly registered slight applause as the dance ended. Killian bowed to her, then pulled her even closer in his embrace as the next song began. She might be just learning to let someone else lead, but the feeling it gave filled her opening heart with hope.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @cosette141 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @anmylica @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @tomeandflickcorner @scientificapricot @sotangledupinit @xarandomdreamx @wefoundloveunderthelight @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @zaharadessert​ @xsajx​ 

[snowbellewells]

@welllpthisishappening This was a lovely fic to read right off this morning. I love the spit in canon you chose to start this from (Why didn’t we get to see them order takeout and cuddle up by the fire and just talk without interruption in canon?!?) Thank you for finally giving us - and then- that chance to decompress and heal.

I love how you write these calmer, everyday domestic moments between Killian and Emma, and how real and grounding they feel l, despite the fairytale world still swirling all around them. Even as Emma’s vision of the hooded threat and the weight of those shears hanging over them, it still has a sweet and cozy and lovely quality to it as a whole story. You sense Emma has too much she still wants to know and experience with Killian to let things be cut short now.

There are tons of lovely passages here - too many to pick a single favorite, but it deserves to be said all the same. Thanks so much for gifting us with this missing moment! ❤️❤️❤️

falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]

Someone should revoke her title. 

They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once. 

AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually. 

———

“I lied.” Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer. 

To Killian’s chest. 

Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover. 

With her, especially. 

She closes her eyes. 

“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.” “You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”

Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes. 

Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite. 

She’s not sure she’s ever told him that. 

Stupid, really. 

Keep reading

[onceuponaprincessworld]

CaptainSwan One-Two-Three Shots FF Rec p.7

Hello Beautiful Fandom, in anticipation of tonight’s episode with hopefully lots of CaptainSwan moments I made a new list.  So, I present to you the second list with one-two-three/forth shots but also the seventh list of  one-shots in total. Tell me what you think! Hope you enjoy.

If you liked it you can also check the first part of one-two-three shots here, and my other lists here.

P.S I try to tag the authors by their tumblr url but I haven’t found some, if you know it, let me know!

ONE SHOTS

The Rise and Fall of the Storybrooke Book Club, @phiralovesloki

Killian Jones is sure, beyond a reasonable doubt, that joining Belle's book club is a huge mistake and a waste of time. But he should know better than to judge a book (club) by its cover.

Waterfalling in Love, @acaptainswaneternity

Emma Swan goes on a trip with her friends but she finds out she has to share the room with the guy she likes.

Handy Helpers, @the-captains-ayebrows

Emma Swan's building has gone co-op and now she's forced to fix up her apartment on a tiny budget, but with the Handy Helpers, she may just get more than she bargained for. Otherwise known as: Captain Charming as handymen. A CS Modern AU with a side of Snowing and Ruby being Ruby.

all the ways that matter,  @captainnagata

“I made an appointment with Planned Parenthood,” she tells him, making sure to end her sentence on a high note so it sounds like she doesn’t really ended her sentence. As with most things, Killian gets it. “You want me to come with you?”

Hail to the Chief, @allrightfine

It does turn out, however, that helping that politician often comes with free pizza and that sleeping in the campaign office — whether or not it's because you don't have anywhere else to go — is the mark of a dedicated volunteer. (presidential campaign AU, with speechwriter-Killian and volunteer-Emma!)

What If?, @dassala

Killian Jones comes to the rescue with rocky road and comfort during Emma's latest breakup.

I've Had Worse, @nowforruin

Another birthday, another trip to the ER. It's all fairly routine when it comes to life for Emma Swan, but there is nothing routine about Dr. Killian Jones.

A Pirate Comes to Pemberley,  @mryddinwilt

Years ago Miss Emma Nolan of Pemberley was left heartbroken by the unfaithful Neal Cassidy. Now an older and wiser young woman a chance meeting with the scandalous Captain Killian Jones leaves her determined to not make the same mistake. A OUAT AU fused with Pride & Prejudice where David and Snow are Lizzy and Darcy and Emma is Georgiana. A long one shot!

The Message, @kat2609

Emma Swan thought she was right to stop this thing with Killian Jones going too far - anything to keep their friendship intact for her and her son Henry. But when it looks as though he may have moved on, she is no longer sure she made the right decision... (This was previously in my Whenever, Wherever group but I decided to give it its own story.

There's No Place Like Home, @everlastingcaptainswan

When Emma Swan's relationship ends badly she lands on her brother's doorstep. Only to find that their friend Killian Jones has moved in with David and Mary Margaret. Will close proximity with Killian bring up feelings Emma buried long ago or will she keep denying any feelings she has for him?

Fake Your Death, @literatiruinedme

Hospital attendings au

TWO SHOTS

Two Minutes for Hooking, @always-a-slut-for-pirates

Emma Swan, a member of the newly formed professional women's hockey league, has a chance meeting with hockey all-star Killian Jones after an aggravating loss.

Chasing Thursdays, @nowforruin

Elsa has no desire to follow in her politician mother’s footsteps and Emma wants to quit working at Granny’s. They decide to open Frozen and take advantage of the summer tourist season, but Emma doesn’t count on their neighbor, tattoo artist Killian Jones, showing up every single Thursday for more than just ice cream.

Quick Prompt (½) &(2/2), @blessed-but-distressed

Friends to Lovers in a Small Town

Untitled & p.2, @distant-rose

High School AU

The Not So Neighborly Noise, @optomisticgirl

After an exhausting day, one which started with her annoying neighbor waking her up with his singing, all Emma Swan wanted to do was sleep. Little did she know when she crawled into bed that night that everything she thought she knew was going to shift dramatically. Can a closed off woman give a man a chance to prove her wrong?

OUAB99 & OUAB99 (pt.2), @thesschesthair

Captain swan in Brooklyn 99 scenes.

Inbox (1), @captainnagata

She knows him, more or less, the way she knows all her mutual followers – the online equivalent of nodding at each other in the hallways – and so knows he particularly likes to reblog seaside landscapes and history posts. So when she sees the post – nothing but a “charleia, reblog if you agree” that has 8 notes – and sees that it’s coming from him, she can barely hide her surprise. Because, really, what are the odds that some random guy on Tumblr would read the exact same book at the exact same time, only to share her feelings about some obscure couple? The odds aren’t that good, and yet…

THREE/FOURTH SHOTS

But Darling, @herfairy

AU: Breaking and entering is a crime, no matter the intentions, but Emma knew she would freeze to death if she didn't do something.

Never Hurts, @laschatzi

based on the following prompt: “we’re co workers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff christmas party and admitted your love for me I don’t know how to act around you now”

Hit me with your best shot,  StrawberryFields4ever

AU Three-Shot. Emma is a tough, sarcastic bartender who replaces love with hard work and is perfectly fine with that lifestyle. Until she meets the cocky singer hired to play in the pub she works in.

Remember This Moment With Me, @cutieodonoghue

The one where Emma's in prison but Killian's waiting for her when she gets out.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Every Crappy Morning by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 1K words Summary: When Emma and Killian find themselves running late for Regina's coronation, Emma's surprised by her husband's calm demeanor. Author’s notes: This one's a bit of a missing moment from the season 7 finale. I hope you like it! Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart  [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 This morning wasn't quite going like Emma had planned. She'd planned on getting herself and her family up early, getting to Regina's coronation early to greet the guests in attendance- give them a chance to dote on the new royal baby before the ceremony started.

 But the problem with schedules and plans is that newborns rarely stick to them. Sometimes they end up keeping you and your husband up until three in the morning, giving you a late- and groggy- start to your morning.

 And as soon as they did get up that morning, later than they would've liked, they got changed and had a quick breakfast.

 "I think we can at least make it in time for the coronation," Emma said, picking up her daughter, "not as early as I'd've liked, but I'm sure they'll understand."

 "Aye," Killian said, putting an arm around Emma, "how's our little princess doing?"

 Before Emma could answer, Hope volunteered a response of her own. Unfortunately, Hope's response was to spit up all over herself and her mother.

 "Great," Emma thought, swearing under her breath as she looked at the stain on her dress- a dress her mom had made a huge deal about, one that they'd spent three afternoons with a seamstress making sure was perfect for the coronation, one that was now ruined.

 "Regina didn't happen to teach you a 'vomit stain removal spell,' love, did she?" Killian asked, taking Hope from her arms.

 "No," Emma snapped, a little annoyed with her husband's attempt at humor, "I've gotta change."

 "I'll get her cleaned up," Killian said.

 "Alright," Emma sighed.

 She ran upstairs to change, racking her brain to figure out what dresses she had that she could wear for a coronation. Mary Margaret had said she could dress however she wanted, that it was an event to celebrate the United Realms, and the real world was one of those realms. But Emma knew how important it was to her family that she at least try to dress the part- and deep down, she enjoyed the ballgowns, at least a little.

 Begrudgingly, she pulled a dress out of the closet. Unlike the former dress, it wasn't the latest in style in the Enchanted Forest- it had been years since it was in style in this realm- but it was better than nothing, and at the very least, this one was pink and shiny. She quickly changed, then looked in the mirror, still thinking she was missing something.

 Emma noticed her red leather jacket, hanging on the back of a chair. She threw it on over the dress, half jokingly, and looked again in the mirror- and though it didn't quite go with it, with the way her morning had been going, she felt a little more comfortable once she'd slid her arms into her familiar armor's sleeves.

 "This'll have to do," Emma thought, "we're late enough as is."

 She grabbed her phone on the way out the door and sent her mom a quick text, explaining that they were running late but were on the way.

 When she got downstairs, she found Killian, having cleaned up Hope and wrapped her in a fresh blanket, now rocking her gently and humming a lullaby.

 "Ready to go, love?" Killian asked, looking up at Emma and smiling.

 "I think so." Emma said, "how do I look?"

 "Beautiful as ever, Swan" Killian smiled, as if the mere opportunity to compliment Emma was a delight to him.

 "Then let's get going," Emma said, "we're already late enough as is."

 They hurried out of the house, Killian carefully buckling Hope into her carseat as Emma set the diaper bag in the opposite seat, then opened the driver's side door.

 "I'll drive," Emma said, "we're already running late."

 "Are you saying I'm a bad driver?" Killian asked, already willingly taking the passenger seat.

 "You're a great driver," Emma said, "you're just a little more… careful."

 "One does not drive fast and take chances when hauling precious cargo, love," Killian said, "and there's nothing in all the realms more precious than you and our daughter."

 "Alright, Captain," Emma rolled her eyes, knowing it wasn't gonna hurt anyone to drive five miles over the speed limit- or the ten miles over it she'd have to go to make it to the coronation on time.

 "I still can't believe we're so late," Emma thought, knowing it would be a close call to get to the Enchanted Forest before the ceremony started, "I could've magicked us there, but it's not good to teleport with a child. I hope we get there before Regina does, and that no one bats an eye that we're a little late. It'll be alright, I'm sure."

 She glanced over at Killian and noticed that he didn't seem nearly as stressed as she was- in fact, that he was smiling at her, smiling the way he did when he clearly had something on his mind.

 "What?" Emma asked, glancing at him with a smile to mask her state of exasperation.

 "Your dress," Killian smiled, "you wore that color on our first date."

 "Our first date?" Emma asked, "Killian, that was years ago."

 "And?"

 "I don't know," Emma shrugged, "I just didn't expect you to remember.…"

 "How could I forget?" Killian asked, "it was a moment spent with you- and every one of those is a treasure."

 Emma smiled a little, and tried to coyly hide her insecurities behind humor, "even this morning, when I was a frantic mess covered in baby spit?"

 "You mean when you almost managed to get us out the door on time, despite being up all night with a crying child?" Killian asked, "and when I looked up at you and saw you, my princess, my wife- and our daughter, our little princess- and I thought to myself, 'Killian, how did you get so lucky, to get to call such a rare treasure yours?' And when we got to spend another moment longer together, with just each other and our daughter, because of that 'frantic mess and baby spit?'"

 Emma couldn't hide her flustered smile.

 "So what you're saying is," Emma asked, "that even though this morning was crappy, you treasure it because it was spent with me?"

 "Aye," Killian smiled.

 Emma couldn't remember anyone in her life who'd ever made her feel this treasured.

 "Ya know what," Emma said, "this morning started with your groggy 'good morning' and sleepy smile. When our little princess caused a little mess, you were right there to help take care of it. You've been so great this morning, and always. I don't know what I'd do without you."

 "Nor I without you, love," Killian said. He placed his hand on Emma's shoulder, "I want to spend every 'crappy morning' with you."

 Emma glanced over at him and smiled, reflecting a hint of his own smile back into his blue eyes. "I want to spend every crappy morning with you too."

[bughead-fic-request]

I would like to thank @leaalda for making these amazing banners.

This is an effort to spread the word about all fan fiction writers in our little fandom. If you would like to be featured or nominate a writer, please contact me. Please reblog this post if you can and check out some of @onceuponamirror work!

1. First things first, if someone wanted to read your stories where can they find them.

Ao3! url: onceuponamirror, same as tumblr. i also post on them tumblr at this point. no longer using FF, but it's got old ouat stuff.  

2. Tell us a little about yourself.

I'm Sarah, i work in a creative field (i always vacillate between how much i like talking about my work on my blog, because i like to keep careers and hobbies separate) and i live in the states.

3. What do you never leave home without?

A hairbrush! my hair is wild

4. Are you an early bird or a night owl?

The utterly terrible combination of both

5. If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?

HP universe, obv, as long as i'm not also a muggle in this scenario. i mean. magic. need i say more??

6. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met.

I mean like, what is fame / it's a different barometer for everyone. for me, i met Regina Spektor when i was 16 and that was like touching god for that time of my life but wouldn't be now. More currently, i've met some artists/musicians that meant a lot to me, but like...feel like they might not be considered famous in the sense asked by this question.

7. What are some of your favorite movies/TV?

Parks and Rec and The Office for tv. and for movies: tbh, The Princess Dairies.

also, i was mostly an OUAT blog for the last 5 or so years, though at this point have a love-hate relationship with that show, but all those years still gotta count for something.

8. What are some of your favorite bands/musicians?

Right now i'm listening to a lot of Sade, Rhye, and Sylvan Esso but Belle & Sebastian are one of those bands i've listened to my whole life and never gotten sick of, so there's that.

i like a real range of eras though; lot of groovy 70s disco, a lot of 50s dreamy doo-wop, etc. just depends on my mood.

9. Favorite Books?

I read a lot of psychology/sociology books, tbh all about love by Bell Hooks are kind of the greatest thing ever written and I highly recommend it and right now i'm reading a book about cultural relationships with independence in America. i'm into it.

But honestly I need to read more fiction because this stuff can be heavy to read back-to-back all the time. I'm on the lookout for healthy romance fiction, but it's hard to find fun rom-com books that don't feel cheesy and filled with internalized "i'm not like other heroines" misogyny.

I also like a lot of Haruki Murakami's books, but after a while, they all become some morphed story of "The Missing Wife and The Mysterious Talking Animal that leads the character through the seedy underbelly of magical realism"

(if you've read his books, you know what i'm talking about) (but if you haven't: read them!) (Kafka On The Shore and the wind-up bird chronicle are both great!)

10. Favorite Food?

Nectarines!  

11. Biggest pet peeve?

People being presumptuous. drives me bonkers

12. What did you want to be when you were little? What do you want to be now?

I'm one of those really lucky people who is doing exactly what i wanted to do as a little girl as an adult with a career!

13. What are your biggest fears? Do you have any strange fears?

I get freaked out by being near edges of any kind, which is probably just vertigo in disguise. I also don't like swimming out to spaces wherein you can't touch down (if you've read my fic heart rise above, this makes an appearance)

I also hate daddy-long-leg spiders because i used to have nightmares about them poking my eyeballs out with their freaky ass legs

14. When you are on your deathbed what would be the one you’d regret not doing?

As of right now, i'm young, so i'm trying not to look at things with regret already, but rather as things to learn from as i go forward.

Okay… lets talk about your writing!

15. Which is your favorite of the fics you've written for the Bughead fandom?

Well, i've only written 3, and one was a oneshot. The Winged Beast was something that i helped me over a lot of humps I'd been blocked by before, but I think Heart Rise Above has been an experience that has been kind of innumerably personal in terms of my growth as a writer and as an individual.

16. Which was the hardest to write, in terms of plot?

Both mc-fics have had their trials and tribulations but reaching 30k words in The Winged Beast kind of made me realize that I could do sustained plot, though for me, that story is a lot more about plot. It was a challenge to tackle the heavy themes that came up. I wanted to get it right, do it justice, but also a lot of those topics are not personal to me, so i was scared to handle it appropriately.

17. How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? Do you people watch? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?

I'm actually really inspired by Hayao Miyazaki as a storyteller, even though he's known for animation. He has this quote that i really love, so i'll just share it:

I told [Hayao] Miyazaki I love the “gratuitous motion” in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.

“We have a word for that in Japanese,” he said. “It’s called ma. Emptiness. It’s there intentionally.”

Is that like the “pillow words” that separate phrases in Japanese poetry?

“I don’t think it’s like the pillow word.” He clapped his hands three or four times.

“The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it’s just busyness, but if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension. If you just have constant tension at 80 degrees all the time you just get numb.” (http://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/hayao-miyazaki-interview)

Ma as a concept of breath within scenes is something i really consciously put into my writing. Both as in breaks wherein it's just a quiet, observed action---and as in, literally. My characters are always physically exhaling and sighing and breathing between speaking. like. constantly. probably to a fault.

I also try to explore this through pacing and structure of paragraphs, as well. bricks of text are not fun to read, so i break things up a lot more than i probably should.

I get into my writing inspirations with more detail down a few questions, but: i always set out with thematic structures in mind.

For example, i wanted to write the winged beast because i'm super excited by the upcoming "class divide/civil war" plot for season 2 and wanted to write a canon divergent serpent jug story! i also wanted to address "dark betty" because i thought there was a lot more nuance to the anger inside her, coming from a place of moralistic justice and disillusionment, and not just simplified into some sort of evil alter ego.

I was seeing a lot of romanticization of the Southside serpents too, so it kind of turned into half of an exploration the cycle of gang psychology through classism; empathy but not rosy glasses. the fic kind of devolved into a story about drug epidemics too, at some point. idk. like i said above, heavy themes.

With heart rise above, it was the concept of time; how much we have of it, what we do with it, and how we handle the passage of it/marks left behind but i'll come back to that.

Tangentially to this original question, i think my training/career as an artist has had a pretty interesting impact on the way that i write. i'm a visual learner, and i see things so clearly in my head as moving scenes; as if i'm watching a movie of what i'm writing---but literally the whole picture. the music in the background to highlight the mood, the expressions on their faces as they happen, etc. it's also why i use a ridiculous amount of visual metaphors, i think, because i'm borderline obsessed with atmospheric graphics.

Idk if others do this too though, i haven't talked to a lot of other writers about process. (however if you'd like to, please please @ me, because that's my favorite thing in the world)

18. Idea that you always wanted to write but could never make work?

I think a multi-chapter (or, at least, more than 4) fic set in another era, or at least one that's pre-1900. I'd get too obsessed with making it feel relatable and readable but also being accurate to the history and getting all the facts right but also while really not wanting to write any "historically accurate" sexism/racism etc. so it just wouldn't work for me.

19. Least favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

Hmm. i think if i could go back and do it again, i would add in a lot more at the beginning of The Winged Beast and move things a lot more slowly as jug and betty got to know each other.

That story was a lot of me testing the waters and getting back into the swing of writing while also pushing myself to write a multi-chapter fic, which I'd never successfully done before, so i definitely set a low bar in the beginning. I wanted to keep it to like, 12 chapters, so I think I rushed things at the start.

20. Favorite plot point/chapter/moment you’ve written?

Disclaimer: this turned into an essay and I'm not even sure I answered the question

I feel like overall my favorite plot point is just thematic structure. I know that's a broad answer to a direct prompt, but I'm gonna take this there anyway because I get pitchy about process. so! i set out to explore a few things in Heart Rise Above. One: the cycle of a person's greatest strength usually also being their greatest flaw.

(Betty as a person who is so giving, that she never gives to herself. Jug as the apt observer, who observes within his own life rather than live it. etc etc)

Two: thematically, I really, really wanted to explore time.

I wanted explore both jug and betty coming to grips with the identities formed by adolescence and whether or not those have had inhibitive impacts---as in, coming to terms with change. insofar as represented physically, as friends all start to head in different directions or make career choices, but also emotionally, as people start making the personal growth decisions for ourselves that force them to often choose themselves over work, family, relationships, etc.

Basically: the reflective transition from childhood to adulthood, and how when we reach our mid-twenties we're kind of forced to think about what has defined the last 20 years of our life vs. how we want to define the next.

(lmao I'm also definitely working through some personal shit, considering i'm turning 25 soon) (like, really working through something)

This is also why I set the story with such a specific time constraint: a very looming 3 weeks that sets the stage for the relationship tension. it makes them both question a lot of what they're feeling and whether or not their emotions are exacerbated by time, or the opposite.

It's also why I heavily have peppered the story with quote-un-quote timeless americana aesthetics (the one the tv show loves playing with: neon signs, vintage cars, etc) (and on my end, also doo-wop music that is equal parts lovely and sad and absolutely meaningless in terms of language) because i really want the story to feel stagnant because of while also ominously shadowed by time.

Also omfg i'm sorry for unloading this actual goddamn thesis on a very simple question. i'm a massive over-thinker and I love to talk about this kind of thing and i haven't had a chance to put these thoughts out in such a direct way so it just exploded outta me. I'm sorry, I know this was annoyingly winded.

21. Favorite character to write?

Probably Veronica. Jughead is fun too, and has the kind of measured angst vs. wry wit that is satisfying to parcel out in sustained character growth, but Veronica has that kind of silver tongued whip that lets me exercise a type of voice i would never otherwise get to.

I mean, who the fuck else would say, "just enough décolletage to make your mail-order love interest swoon" and get away with it?

22. Favorite line or lines of dialogue that you've written?

Betty tucks a damp, tousled strand of hair behind her ear. Jughead's eyes follow the movement.

This line was the last sentence of chapter 6 of heart rise above. It was this intensely visual scene in my head that I really wanted to read that way; while saying almost nothing but representing a major shift in their relationship. i'm not sure it sells without the context, but within the chapter I feel like I pulled it off, so I'm proud of it.

23. Best comment/review you’ve ever received?

writing-as-tracey and @village-skeptic always leave me the kindest, most thoughtful reviews that really makes me feel stupid kinds of happy inside. I put a lot of thought into my writing and when the little details I don't want to over-sell but not go unnoticed are picked up on, it means so much.

24. How do you handle bad reviews or comments?

I had a troll once, which is different. I just deleted it all but I think being able to handle constructive criticism is really necessary in all parts of life, so it's important to take those kinds of points in stride and not personally. we always can be better!

25. If you could change anything in any of your stories, what would it be?

kinda answered this in #19

26. What is your favorite story you’ve ever written? Any fandom?

Definitely Heart Rise Above!

27. What are you reading right now? Both fan fiction and general fiction?

Answered for the on-paper books above in #9, but as bughead fics, really loving the work of @lessoleilscouchants, @sylwrites, and @stillscape right now! but there's so much more to get to, I feel like I'm just barely scratching the surface.

28. Do you have an advice for writers that want to get into this fandom but might be scared?

yo idk, i was kinda lurking on Riverdale for months and then i just...started writing for it, without really accepting or realizing that indicated how much i liked the show/bughead. it wasn't until about 30k into The Winged Beast that i was like "ok ok ok I guess i'm here now" and actually started sharing my fics on tumblr too.

Also, I'm honestly not sure if this question was meant to be about entering fandom or entering writing, so i'm just gonna answer it as both i guess.

So, I guess that means my advice is, very ironically, to not think too much about metrics beforehand, and just start doing it, which, I realize, sounds completely at odds for how much i've talked about process and over-thinking.

What i mean is: get passionate about what you want to write, and write it for yourself. I’m encouraged by reviews to an immeasurable degree, but i'm telling these stories because i really want to explore certain themes or certain parts of the characters i love. if you're not doing it because you're excited by it, you just won't have the motivation to get through it, honestly.

So find out what it is you love about Riverdale, or about your ship, or about your fave character. then write that down, and then make a story around that. if your favorite part about jughead is that he pushes people away because he's afraid of getting hurt, write a story about why he is that way. etc

Ask yourself a lot of questions about what or who you like and why you like that. fandom is a really useful looking glass into ourselves and reflecting on what we're interested in or have gone through by way of analyzing what it is that resonates with us. turning that into fic is just a deeper part of that self-exploration. (again---i love psychology)

And comment on other people's stories! that really creates the sense of back-and-forth that builds a community. but i'm still poking my head around the fandom side of Riverdale/bughead and am more or less still living on ole hermit mountain, so there's a long learning curve and an individual way to do it.

[snowbellewells]

@donteattheappleshook Oh my goodness!! Wow, this was so tender and lovely and just touching in every way. I honestly many times don’t know quite how to go about commenting on more M-rated one shots, but this one with one of my favorite canon versions of Killian and just love and care Emma has for him and the gentleness she shows him here. It melted my heart. I could just ❤️SWOON❤️ over and over again at it!

And that’s not to say it isn’t steamy, or that the sizzle isn’t still present, because it is! It’s just that reading it you’re even more taken by the depth of emotion. From almost the very start, when Emma’s alone in his cabin and thinking how they have to get his ship back to him, get Killian back to himself, you’re tugging at our heartstrings in the best sort of way. By the time Emma is vowing to give to give this Killian a proper first time, the one he deserved to have I was just in love with this, and then you had me tearing up when she was helping him with his shirt and he seems embarrassed and she has to wonder if he’d ever been given kindness at all. Our poor young deckhand! 😭

Just all throughout this it’s such a lovely view of Emma caring for her pirate in the way that we all know she would, but that canon didn’t take the time to let us see as often. You really put it beautifully here: “He’s shaking, trembling in her arms as his breath comes out in soft whimpers against her skin. She brushes her fingers through his damp hair, holding him tightly and turning her head to press kisses to his temple, his ear, his cheekbone, soothing him.” But it’s genuinely all throughout this story, and I LOVED that about it!! 💕💗💕I will quit rambling now, but THANK YOU for sharing this!!

A Little Death AKA: Some Fairytale Bliss AKA: Deflowering the Deckhand

Thanks @kmomof4 for betaing and to everyone in the CSSNS discord for help with the title/puns

Set during Operation Mongoose: Part 2. Emma decides to teach the shy deckhand a thing or two about swordplay. Mostly just smut. 

@snowbellewells because you asked :)

On Ao3

Trigger Warning: Brief mention of a past dub-con/underage loss of virginity. Everything that happens in this fic is fully consensual

-/-

Emma sits in the captain’s quarters, thrown by how familiar and different it somehow feels all at once. She’s been here so many times, has slept in that bed, sat on that desk trying to distract Killian from whatever he was writing in his journal. The room is the same as it always is but somehow just not quite right. She doesn’t know if it’s because the Author and Gold have never been in this cabin before, and had had to make it up based on what they imagined and what was in the original story book, or if it’s because in this reality, Blackbeard is the captain of the Jolly Roger. 

So many things are the same, the wood, the furniture, the deep tapestries and rugs that adorn the floor and the walls, even the comforter on the bed beneath her is right, the same silky feel under her fingers. But the objects on the desk, the little bits of treasure that Killian had collected throughout his life and cared enough about to decorate his space with are missing. As is his brother’s sextant. And his books. It’s eerie and wrong to look at that empty shelf where both have always sat. 

She shivers. She needs to get them back to their world, get Killian back to who he is, her parents too. That’s been harder than anything, knowing that her parents are evil in this realm, that they’re trying to kill Henry, that they’ll certainly kill her if they can. Everyone here is so different. But especially Killian. More than anything Killian. This version of him, he’s so shy, so sweet and so nervous, nothing of his usual swagger and confidence remaining. And the goat’s milk. Don’t get her started on the goat’s milk. 

A smile pulls at her lip as she remembers the expression on his face when she’d defeated Lily, so excited, so anxious, but proud - of her. She remembers how he’d looked when she’d bumped into him in the tower too. He’d been dazed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he looked at her with no recognition but with the same awe, the same longing that her Killian so often looked at her with. 

The difference this time was that while he looked at her as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world, he also looked at her as though she were the only, the first woman he’d ever held in his arms. 

But she’d seen that desire too, that longing as he’d held her against him, but she could tell he didn’t know what to do with it, it had made him flustered and awkward as he pulled away to shake her hand, but not before she felt the hardness pressing against her. 

He’d jumped back like she’d burned him, no quip or comment or flirtation, not even a wandering hand. He was a deer in the headlights, panicked and confused and so nervous. It had been confusing, but endearing too. 

There’s a knock on the door and Emma looks up, asks who’s there, which feels ridiculous because there are only two other people on the ship, both of whom are welcome in the room with her. 

“It’s Killian,” his voice answers, muffled through the door. “I’ve, um, I’ve found you some clothes,” he stutters. 

“Come in.”

The door creaks open slowly, hesitantly, and Killian steps through, shoulders hunched and head hanging down, looking at the floor as he cradles some pants and a shirt neatly folded against his chest. 

“You don’t have to ask to come into your own cabin, you know,” she tells him and he flushes, his hand coming to scratch behind his ear in a way that’s so familiar it makes her heart ache a little. She’ll get him back, she tells herself. 

“Perhaps,” he starts slowly, “in your world this is my cabin. But it is certainly not in this one.” He clears his throat, holding the clothes out to her and she takes them from him, their fingers brushing as she does. He pulls his hand back quickly as his cheeks flame. 

“Thank you,” she tells him, trying to catch his eye but he won’t look at her. She steps past him, locking the door so that Henry won’t come down and walk in on her changing - that boy doesn’t need any more traumatic teenager memories, Storybrooke does just fine in providing him enough of those. He’s up at the helm, sailing them back to the Enchanted Forest, but it’s better to be careful. 

She sets the clothes down on the bed and starts to undress, working at the awkward, cumbersome buttons and fastenings of this land’s fashion. She misses her jeans. She hears a startled sound and looks up to see Killian staring at her, looking equal parts stunned and then ashamed when he meets her eye. He stumbles over his words, saying that he’ll leave her to get changed.

“You don’t have to go,” she tells him, raising a brow and he freezes. He looks like he very much wants to stay, but also like he very much wants to run out of here, leaving a Killian shaped hole in the door. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says casually. Or touched, or kissed or licked, her thoughts supply. 

He clears his throat, looks back down at the floor. “I’m fairly certain I’d remember if I had,” he says and she smiles a little. Look at him, she thinks, that was almost flirting, almost a compliment. She continues undressing and he doesn’t leave but continues to stare at the floor. 

“What’s the matter?” she asks, trying for gentle but maybe coming off a bit more annoyed than she means to. She’s basically told him that she doesn’t mind him watching her undress but he hasn’t made a single innuendo, hasn’t tried to touch her or even look at her. Instead he’s standing there looking scared and unsure of himself. 

“It’s, um, it’s not appropriate,” he says. “For me to look at you in a state of undress.” She hears him mumble something about propriety that she barely catches but it’s the next thing he mumbles that makes her stop. She barely hears it, barely makes it out but she knows she heard the words ‘not worthy’ fall from his lips, a self-deprecating frown crossing his brow. 

“Killian,” she says, dropping her hands from the fastenings. “Look at me.” 

He keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the wood below his feet for another moment and she waits, waits until slowly, he raises his eyes to hers, focused on her face and not the buttons she’s managed to unlatch at her breast. She holds his gaze and resumes her task. His eyes flicker down quickly to where the bodice of her dress is open and his eyes widen, his chest rising and falling with heavy, shaky breaths. 

She wonders then, not for the first time, exactly what backstory this version of him was given. He’s a deckhand, she knows that, and he’s allergic to rum and apparently a coward based on what Henry told her Blackbeard said. But as she thinks about the way he’s looking at her now, how he’d looked at her in the tower, had struggled to touch her, to even compliment her… holy shit. Was he a virgin? Did Gold make Captain Hook - the man who had seduced his wife away, made her fall in love with him - too afraid of speaking to women to ever have had one? 

Keep reading

[hollie47]

Thanks to @wardinpanties for tagging me!

Author Name:

Hollie47 on both Ao3 and ff (formerly Beautiful_Nightmare on Ao3)

Fandoms You Write For:

Once Upon A Time, Star Wars, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Doctor Who, Riverdale

Where You Post:

Ao3 and ff

Most Popular Oneshot:

Force Bond: The Feel of Her Body (Reylo – Star Wars)

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story:

Frozen In Time (RedQueen – OUAT)

Favorite Story You Wrote:

Missing Pieces (Star Wars)

Story You Were Nervous to Post:

All of them, literally

How Do You Pick Your Titles:

The titles usually come to me once I have an outline done

Do You Outline:

I sure do, I’d be lost without one

How Many of Your Stories are Complete:

All bar one Harry Potter fic I wrote 8 years ago

In-Progress:

None at the moment

Coming Soon:

I have a TyZula fanfic, I See Fire, coming out hopefully after the next Camp NaNo.  I also have a few scribbles down to start a Tanith Low/China Sorrows fic as well

Do You Accept Prompts:

I happily accept prompts if they are for something I watch, brownie points if it is for a couple I ship

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For:

I See Fire (TyZula – ATLA)

Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions

 @foxofthedesert @letswreakhavoc @altheterrible and anyone else who wants to do this 

[vanillatwilight17]

A New Beginning

Summary: A year after their happy beginning started, Emma and Killian discover they have a baby on the way and face a brand new beginning together as parents.

Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT, CS, or any of the characters this is all for fun!

Link to FF.net (chapter 2 is up on FF!) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12513116/1/A-New-Beginning

Chapter 1: 2-1 =3

A year of a quiet, normal life. That is what had been granted to Emma and Killian Jones since they said their vows on the rooftops of Granny's. Well, after that whole final battle, black fairy, curse bullshit. They had gone on an amazing honeymoon together once they were sure, or as sure as you could be in Storybrooke that nothing bad, evil, wicked, or dark was going to happen. They had set sail on the Jolly Roger all the way down the coast of the United States and around the Caribbean and back. The trip had taken about a month and Emma was pretty sure it was the best thirty days of her life. Aside from missing her son terribly (nothing a nightly facetime couldn't fix though), the entire trip was perfect. She had been reluctant to leave for such a long period of time. What if the town needed saving? But her parents, Regina, Zelena, and Gold all assured her they could handle anything that came their way and truth be told she was long overdue for a vacation. So off the newlyweds set sail and for the first time since Henry had brought her to Storybrooke there was nothing threating her or her family, no curse causing everyone to forget things or separate them into separate realms. It was just husband and wife, enjoying the prospect of a new future together.

Now as Emma sat on the counter in the bathroom, eyes going back and forth between the timer on her phone and the pregnancy test next to her, she was coming to terms with the idea that this new routine of calm, peaceful, day to day life she and Killian had molded so easily into could be quickly coming to a close. They had talked about this once, drunk off rum and each other while floating off the coast of Barbados during their honeymoon. They were lying together on a hammock strung up on deck. She had her head resting on his chest, with his arm around her as they sipped straight out of a bottle of local island spirits they had picked up that day. They were going back and forth talking about their new future together and where they saw themselves going in the years to come. It was Killian that brought it up. It came after he had mentioned trading her "yellow metal death trap on wheels" for a nice family car. She playfully swatted at his chest.

"First of all don't talk about my baby like that! Second of all, in what realm would we trade in the bug for a family car?" Emma joked, throwing back a swig of rum.

"For the safety of an actual baby." He replied to her. She spit out the rum she had just drunk and turned to face him.

"Excuse me? Do you know something I don't know?" Emma asked.

"I'm sorry love, I shouldn't have brought it up. You've got Henry and I'm sure at this point in your life another child is the farthest thing from your mind, it's just ever since the prophecy of the final battle and thinking about our future, I always see this little girl, spitting image of her gorgeous mother running around the house. I know I should have talked to you about it first, just forget I said anything." Killian got up and started to walk away looking like a kid who just found out Santa wasn't real. She certainly was taken back but not in the way he thought. Truth was, he wasn't the only one who had these thoughts.

"Why can't it be a little boy who looks just like you? More importantly why can't we just get another car instead of getting rid of mine?" She said sitting up in the hammock.

"Wait, you would want to have another child?" He asked turning back to her.

"It has been a thought in my mind ever since I saw you with Alexandra that day at Granny's. You were so natural with her and you are an incredible with Henry and my brother and whenever I see you with them I just always picture you with our child. I never thought about having more kids until you came into my life and this new beginning we have became a reality. I just always assumed something would get in the way and prevent it from happening but I would definitely say that's something we can put on the to do list." Killian ran over and kissed her passionately.

"Whenever you want to love just say the word." He said through kisses.

"One day there shall be a little pirate running around this deck, right now, I just want you all to myself." Emma returned his kisses and as clothes were shed so was the idea of their little pirate.

That was until last night when Emma finally put two and two together. For the past three weeks she had been nauseas, throwing up, exhausted, things smelled weird, the smallest things made her emotional. It wasn't until she had been in the grocery store shopping for the week telling Henry to go and grab some popcorn and meet her in the front and she walked by the feminine needs aisle that it dawned on her. She had never gotten her period that month. She flipped through her calendar on her phone and sure enough, two weeks ago her period was supposed to start and it never did. And just like that, it hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Oh…shit." She had said out loud. She immediately turned her cart down the aisle and grabbed three pregnancy tests. She buried them underneath the broccoli and went to meet her son at the cash register. Luckily, Henry was so engrossed in whatever was on his phone that he didn't pay much attention to anything that was being purchased. As soon as she got home Emma hid the tests under the sink and tried to come up with any other excuse for what was going on with her. She had managed to make herself believe that she had some sort of bug that was messing with her body's natural cycle until 4AM when a wave of nausea hit her like a truck and she barely made it to the bathroom before her dinner was making its way back up. Killian was with her in a second, holding her hair back with his hook and rubbing her back with his good hand.

"I really think you should call the doctor tomorrow love, you've been going on like this for three weeks, something is clearly wrong." Emma wanted to tell him right then and there but she didn't want to go down that road before she took a test. She simply nodded in return taking the washcloth he offered her to wipe off her face. Killian helped her to her feet and pulled her in close to him

"I got puke in my hair you probably really don't want to be doing that."

"There is nothing you could do to yourself that would make me not want to be there to comfort you in a time of need." He said kissing her forehead.

Yea…wait a few months from now when I'm screaming at you and a watermelon is flying out of me. Emma thought to herself. "Head back to bed, I'm just gonna brush my teeth and I'll be there in a minute." As she stood there brushing her teeth she couldn't help but think about that moment of their child entering the world again and knowing that despite whatever she said to him or how unpleasant the situation got, he would be there. He would never leave her, he would be there to support her one hundred percent of the way. It was in that moment that she thought about the pregnancy tests hiding under the sink and that whatever results they showed her it didn't matter. She could do this because she had him. They could do this.

"Seriously love, call the doctor tomorrow. Your father and I can handle everything down at the station, take the day off and rest." Killian said, opening his arms to her as she got back in bed.

"Alright." She replied snuggling into him.

"Alright? That's it? No fighting? You really must be ill. My Emma would never go to the doctor willingly." He said playfully, putting his hand on her forehead to mock take her temperature.

"You're right, three weeks is a long time and this way I can get you and my parents off my back and prove to you its just a bug and it will pass." Truth be told she was going to take the time alone while he was at work and Henry at school to take those tests and get an answer once and for all.

BUZZ BUZZZ BUZZ the ringing of the timer on her phone brought Emma back to reality. She hadn't dared to look at it yet, she took a deep breath and held up the test. PREGNANT. The results were clear as day and were consistent with the next two tests she took.

"Ok. Oh shit. Ok." She said out loud to herself. "Breathe." She told herself trying to calm her racing heart. She was pregnant, with her second unplanned pregnancy. Maybe she was one of those people who was just never supposed to have a planned baby. The next forty-five minutes went by as kind of a blur to Emma. It wasn't until Killian called her and asked if she had managed to get into the doctor yet or not that she snapped back to reality. She picked up the phone and found herself dialing Dr. Whale's office.

"Dr. Whale's office, how may I help you today?" said a receptionists voice over the phone.

"I need to set up an appointment please." Emma said

"What brings you in for the appointment ma'am?"

"Ummm…I think I might be pre…pregnant." Emma stumbled over the word. Saying it out loud made it seem so much more real.

"Ok. Are you a new patient? Can I have your name please?"

"Oh I'm not a new patient, I've been treated by Dr. Whale before, my name is Emma Jones."

"Oh Mrs. Jones, congratulations! Would you prefer morning or afternoon?" This was the problem with living in a small town. Everyone knew you and keeping secrets was even harder.

"Morning would be better."

"I have a 7:30?"

"Sounds good to me. See you then."

Got an appointment 7:30 tomorrow morning. Emma texted Killian as she collapsed on the couch, her hands unconsciously coming to rest on her stomach. She was pregnant. She was going to be a mother again. This time from the beginning, she was going to be there for every late night feeding, every smile, every milestone, everything. She started rubbing her stomach and noticed she was smiling. As frightened as she was about becoming a mother again she was even more excited. The best part was that this time she wasn't going to be alone. She was going to have her incredible, loving, and supportive husband there for her and this baby from day one. He would refuse to miss a minute of any it with them and Emma knew if he wasn't at that appointment tomorrow when they found out for sure he would be beyond upset. Which means she was going to have to tell him, tonight.

A glance at the clock told Emma she had five hours to get everything set up before Killian got home from work. First thing she did was text Regina and ask if she could pick up Henry from school and keep him at her place tonight. She played it off as she was planning a last minute date night for her and Killian. She wanted Henry to have his own special surprise reveal. She went to the store and got necessary items and barely finished setting up at home before Killian made it home.

"Emma?" Killian called out as he entered the house.

"In the living room." She answered back from the couch. He appeared in the room wearing a smile and carrying a bag with the grease seeping through.

"Grilled cheese and onion rings to help aid in the healing process." He said setting the bag down on the table and leaning down to kiss her head.

"You know me too well. I got you a surprise today as well." She said as they started to eat their dinner.

"Oh really? Why did you go off and do a thing like that for love?"

"Because I love you, and I wanted to get you a present."

"Well I love you too and I can think of nothing you could give me that I don't already have."

"Really? There is nothing that could make your life any better?"

"I've got everything I could ever want right here." He said rubbing noses with her and places a gentle kiss on her lips. Old habits and fears kicked in and Emma started to worry that maybe what he had said that night on the honeymoon was just drunken rambling. He had no desires to expand their family and have children with her. What if he rejected her and the baby and left? No, Killian would never do that. She shut down the fears and refocused herself. She pulled a box with a ribbon tied around it out from behind her and handed it to him before she totally lost her nerve.

"Well thank you love, but again you really didn't have to. Shall I open it now?" Emma nodded, her heart racing in her chest as be started to pull the ribbon off. Inside the box was a beautiful pocket watch. The front of it had a ship's steering wheel on it and was engraved:

5/7/2017

1+1=2

E+K

"It's beautiful love, that was the happiest day of my life, the day I married you." Killian said looking up from the watch.

"Mine too, open it!" Emma said, the moment of truth drawing near as she watched his fingers slide the latch to open the watch. Inside on the right was a beautiful watch, with a ship as the center piece on the left was a second inscription.

February 2018

2+1 = 3

E+K + Baby Jones

Emma kept her eyes focused on Killian's face. His face unmoving and his eyes focused on the engraving, reading it three, four, five times before finally looking up to meet her gaze.

"Emma….are you…?" he was unable to finish the sentence, tears coming into his eyes and a smile starting to form in the corners of his mouth, too afraid.

"I'm pregnant. Killian, we're going to have a baby!" She said smile so big it hurt, unable to stop the tears from flowing. He immediately jumped up, pulling her with him and spinning her around before pulling her close to him.

"We're really going to have a baby love?" He asked her again, smiling so wide she was worried it might get stuck that way.

"We are! Are you ok with this?"

"Am I ok with it? Are you crazy I'm over the moon about it! I've wanted this for a long time and now it's finally happening." He said kissing all over her face.

"Then why haven't you said anything?"

"I told you that night on our honeymoon that I wanted to have a child with you but I was going to wait for you to say the word. Your happiness is everything to me Emma, and I never wanted to push you into something you weren't ready for. Much like when I wanted desperately to move in with you and progress our relationship I knew that in time things would work itself out and sure enough you asked me on your own when you were ready. How did this even happen?" "Well you see when two people love each other very much…"

"I know how it happens in that sense, I meant I thought you said that pill you take prevents this from happening?"

"It's not 100% effective and certain things can interfere with it? Remember just before our anniversary when I got that ear infection and had to take antibiotics? Well a side effect of them is they can make birth control pills less effective. I should have been more diligent about using extra protection I'm sorry." She said.

"Don't be sorry love, I'm glad you weren't. Unless….you aren't happy about this?" He asked, looking slightly worried.

"Of course I'm happy about it! I'm scared to death but I'm beyond happy about it."

"You don't have anything to be scared of love." He said stroking her face

"How not? There is going to be this little person in the world who is half you and half me and will be dependent on us for literally everything. I didn't start raising Henry until he was ten. This is going to be a first for me and I'm scared I'm going to mess up, I'm not going to be everything this baby needs me to be, deserves me to be, and I'm scared that you're going to get spooked and leave and…." Killian stopped her right there with a kiss and pulled back with hand still on her face.

"Never, for one second do I want you doubt your abilities as a mother. You are amazing with Henry and he absolutely adores you. You are in a totally different place in your life now and you are ready for this. This baby is going to be the luckiest child I know to have you as its mother. I also never want you to think I would ever leave you. I know you were alone the last time this happened but not this time. I am going to be there with you through every step of this." At this point Emma was crying again and she wrapped her arms around him.

"Good, I have a doctor's appointment in the morning with Dr. Whale would you like to come?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world love." Killian said, bringing her in for a kiss and resting his hand on her stomach protectively. They both sat down to finish their dinner, excited for the days ahead.

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!

[profoundlyfadedfics]

OUAT FF: The Stolen Heart From Within You

Summary: Twenty-Six Years after the Final Battle with the Black Fairy, Emma Swan and Killian Jones’s only daughter is swallowed up by a portal where she gets caught up in a surprising mission that tests everything everyone thought known about a terrible battle that cost the life of the Saviour shortly after Zarina’s birth twenty-five years earlier.

Meanwhile, Killian and Henry fight to find a way to the missing Zarina, only to find themselves caught up in the same story.

Rating: Teen (but will probably become Mature)

Warning: Contains Reference to a Major Character Death

A/N: The predictability of the hate mail, was well, predictable. If you don’t like the theme, then don’t read it. This is going to be something a bit different to the usual, and all the hate mail in the world is not going to stop me finishing it and publishing it.

Also on AO3

Chapter One: Deep in the Enchanted Forest

 Three days earlier…

Zarina Jones landed, cracking her wrist on the hard ground beneath the pile of leaves the portal tossed her into. She suppressed a groan. Then using her uninjured hand, she pushed herself over to lie on her back. Her gaze lingered on the fluttering canopy while sunlight shimmered over her body.

She wasn’t in Maine anymore. Sun was a rarity in the winter months. This was not Thanksgiving weekend Maine weather.

With a sign, she focused her attention on her wrist. It was rapidly swelling and any sensation in her fingers was dulling down. She cradled it against her chest while schooling her reactions in a bid not to cry. This type of physical pain was no longer normal for her. Not since she had blazed out of Storybrooke in a forty-year-old Mazda MX-5 Miata two years earlier with the vow to only visit in the Summer and holiday weekends. Maybe that’s why she was caught out. Her quiet life had dulled her senses.

Zarina rolled up into a seated position. From her position, she assessed the damage to her hand. A bruise was already spreading from the mound of her hand, towards her fingers and thumb to her wrist. She cursed under her breath. Then she closed her eyes, reaching for the magic buried deep within. It took a moment of persuasion, but it sparked. The white warmth travelled to meet her injured hand. She willed more forth to until the pain vanished and she could move her fingers again.

Once she was able to flex her hand comfortably, Zarina sighed in relief, a smile lifting on her lips. As she did, rustling reached her ears. The smile died and she cocked her head to listen when a whoosh of air passed close to her back. Flicking her head to her right, she saw an arrow embed itself into a tree trunk. Her eyes widened as she cursed under her breath before turning to face the direction it had come from.

She got to her feet as she looked up into the trees then back to the ground. She moved by instinct, her muscle memory kicking in to put her in a defensive position, but she hadn’t belted a sword to her side before leaving the house. Instead, she focused on her magic, letting it brim to the surface of her palms so it was a thought away.

‘Show yourself,’ she called, as she did another pass on her surroundings.

Three men emerged from the woods. Their attire was camouflage to look like the undergrowth. She looked at each one; two were burly in stature, with knives at their sides. Zarina surmised they were probably more proficient in throwing their fists than using daggers. The curl mop-headed man stood with his bow drawn, holding his bow tight. For the moment he was aimed just to the left of her shoulder, but it would only take a swift flick of his wrist and he could take her knee, or her ankle, her eye…

The list of devastating wounds that didn’t result in death was numerous.

‘Name yourself, Witch,’ the archer asked.

She smiled tightly, shaking her head tightly. ‘My dad always told me not to speak to strangers,’ she said.

The humour didn't hit home. ‘You are in violation of our bylaws.’

Zarina frowned looking down at where she had arrived in this world. ‘I didn’t do that,’ she said.

‘First, it's ‘I was thrown through a portal’, then it's an attempted coup on the Queen,’ said the Archer. ‘Magic is punished at the pleasure of Her Majesty.’

‘And what sort of pleasure does that entail?’

The Archer lowered his bow, his angle now a clean shot to her thigh. ‘Torture. Mutilation. Death.’

Zarina tried to suppress a smile at the ominous sounding tone. Judging by the grimace on her captors face, she didn't manage it.

As the Archer proclaimed he was arresting her, Zarina took in her surroundings as the Hulk on her left produced chains from his belt. He didn’t exactly look like the law and order respecting sort. She should know; her father was the infamous Captain Hook as well as the Sheriff of Storybrooke. He was hardly the epitome of law and order either, but at least he had an air of respect and authority about him. Zarina clicked her tongue, thinking of her father's one-time advice for if she ever got stuck in another realm, before turning on her heel and crashing into the undergrowth.

--//--

Assuming the sun travelled in the same east to west direction, then Zarina guessed she would be travelling north. After an initial sprint, she settled into her jogging pace to conserve energy which allowed her to duck branches. Several still caught her wool coat. The hundred and thirty dollar coat wasn’t exactly forest attire, but then she didn’t leave her father’s home with the intention of ending up in this forest.

With a glance behind her, she felt secure enough to slow to a walk. Taking a moment, she turned full circle to take in her surroundings. There was no discernible threat, but Zarina was certain her would-be captors were more than capable of creeping up on her. Still, if she kept jogging she’d cramp up then there’d be trouble. As she walked, she rolled her shoulders, rubbing her neck as she glanced around for more tree men.

Maybe she’d ended up in a Tolkien novel. She was pretty sure the Hobbit had some wildmen who prowled the woods. The archer and his men certainly weren’t elves.

Her feet kicked at the at the leaves carpeting the floor as she dug her hands into her pocket. In the reprieve of the situation, her mind began to work over possible outcomes to return home. It was clear her magic worked. Her hands clenched around the contents of the pocket. Her cell phone and keys. At least she still had them, for all the good they would do her here.

She kept moving. Her feet were dragging due to tiredness. A whole day had passed in Storybrooke before winding up here. As she willed herself to keep going, she crested a small mould which looked down to a small stream. The water she understood. Knowing it would flow out to the sea, she started down to it when she was lifted skyward.

A rope tightened around her ankle as she flew up, cursing to the seven suns as she did until she was swinging to and fro. Her long wavy hair brushed the ground, now disturbed thanks to the trap she set off. She wrapped her flailing leg around her ankle to steady herself and waited until she moved slowly. There was no way of getting out of this. She had tried before on the deck of the Jolly Roger - much to the amusement of her father and Henry. Instead, she crossed her legs and waited for her captors - no doubt her friends from the clearing - to join her.

Their approach was swift, slinking out of the shadows. The Archer didn’t have his bow raised. In fact, it was slung over his shoulders. His face with twisted with a smirk, his lips pulled up. Zarina felt like flipping him the bird, but she wasn’t certain it would have the same effect as in her world.

‘That was quite the effort. We’ve never had anyone out run us that far before,’ he said, tilting his head.

‘You can chalk it up to experience,’ Zarina bit back. ‘Now, let me down.’

‘We still have to arrest you,’ said the Archer as the same man from before pulled out the cuffs.

At least she thought it was the same man as before, the two thugs bore a striking resemblance to one another now she thought about it.

‘You know, you should really work on those sideburns,’ she said as one of them stalked towards her. ‘I hear the girls love ‘em.’

The stoic man slashed his blade to cut the line. Despite being prepared she crashed to the floor in an unceremonious heap and unattractive groan. After straightening out, she moved to a cross-legged position, gazing up with her hands resting her lap.

‘So what does the Queen really do with magic users?’ she asked, flicking her eyelids.

The Archer rolled his eyes. ‘I told you.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, tucking her arms further into the nest of her legs.

‘Well, you are about to find out,’ he replied as he nodded his head at the cuff bearing man.

The other moved towards her and hauled her up while his brother cuffed her. They were none too gentle as they pulled her arms around. All the while she kept her eyes trained on her captor. Her defiance brimmed to the surface. He was amused. Chuckling as he was given the key.

‘So who are you?’ she asked. ‘Might as well given into a dying girl's request.’

Another smirk crossed his lips. The type of arrogance in his eyes that suggested he always got his way. ‘Roland of Locksley,’ he said, bending into an extravagant bow with his arms out. ‘And you are?’

‘People call me ZJ,’ she said, ‘or just Zee.’

Roland nodded his head. ‘Zee,’ he repeated. ‘Fine with me, but the Queen will know your name. Where are you from, Zee?’

‘A place where stories are often left untold,’ she rapped off. Tip number two was to never reveal where she was from.  ‘I was fleeing someone.’

‘And ran straight into us.’

‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ she shot back. ‘Well, Roland of Locksley, lead the way to my inevitable doom.’

--//--

After two days of forest trekking, the Dark Palace roses from the trees, dominating the landscape. She’s seen pictures of it many times. It dominates the early part of Henry’s storybook given it was Regina’s stronghold. It was also once the home of her family. Her Grandmother grew up here, and it was built for her Great-Grandmother. It’s hard to appreciate the palace though. Her feet ached with the walk, blisters forming on the balls of her feet. Glam high street boots not exactly sensible attire for the journey through the forest. The cuffs around her wrists caused her pain as the rough metal rubbed at her skin.

She had listened carefully to her captors, discerning that the long-time occupier of the palace was known only as The Dark Queen. The two thugs called her it under in undertones. It didn’t take a genius to work out they were uncomfortable with the situation they were in. Seeing the place brought a bubble of panic to the surface. Her bravado was dying as they arrived in the courtyard where guards lined up in dark uniforms with swords strapped to their sides. It looked ostentatious. The guards bowed as Roland passed. The young man had some level of position at the palace.

Above them, the huge double doors opened to reveal a greying old man. He might have been normal sized for all Zarina knew but in the surroundings, he looked like a dwarf. He was dressed in formal morning attire complete with tails that flapped when he moved. He looked harassed, and perhaps a little worried as he called Roland’s name, using the title of Sir.

Sir Roland of Locksley.

Zarina remained still as the man ran to them, getting a little puffed out as he dashed to the stairs. ‘Is this she? The portal jumper?’

Roland’s face dropped in a little bit of surprise before he schooled himself. ‘How does Her Majesty already know?’

The seneschal looked at Zarina, his grey eyes flicking over her. ‘The Queen had a vision. One that set her to bed for a night and day.’ He settled on looking her right in the eye. ‘She wishes to see you.’ Then he looked to Roland. ‘Uncuff her Locksley. This woman is a guest of the Queen.’

Her captor gave the seneschal a dubious look. Holding his look, they seemed to be fighting something out, but the seneschal won with the younger man backing down as he pulled the keys from his pocket. It was clear who had the authority here. It was almost painful when the metal came away. Zarina’s wrist were red and a few layers of skin had been rubbed away. Her eyes became doleful as she looked at Roland.

‘If you will follow me, Miss…?’

‘Zee will do,’ she said, turning to the seneschal. ‘Just Zee.’

The seneschal nodded his head. ‘Zee. Follow me, ma’am.’

Zarina glanced at Roland. He shrugged as she followed the older man.

‘And what do I call you, Sir?’ she asked.

‘It isn’t Sir,’ he said with a chuckle, ‘at least not to guests of Her Majesty. Mr Cogsworth, or just Cogsworth.’

Her steps might have faltered where she one of her fellow teachers from Portland, but she maintained his pace through the halls, glancing at the tall onyx pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling. ‘What is this place?’ she asked, trying to get look at Cogsworth to see if he was particularly clock-like in any mannerism. He was thinner than both his film counterparts.

‘It was originally built as the summer palace for Queen Ava,’ he said, ‘before becoming the stronghold of The Evil Queen. But it is the home of Her Majesty.’

‘Who is this Majesty, Mr Cogsworth, I have only heard whispered names by Sir Roland’s cohorts,’ she said.

‘The Stabbington’s are to be ignored, they were found guilty of a crime and are working off their debts,’ he said. ‘Now if you will just wait here ma’am, I will introduce you.’

Two huge doors were pushed open to reveal a grand hall. Onyx covered the floor, but great marble pillars held up the ceiling. At the end stood a chair on a dais. The queen, clad in black pants and a jacket sat in the shadowed space. It was almost as if that space was cursed not to let light in despite Zarina being able to see little dust motes dancing in the air. Cogsworth crossed the space quickly as Zarina lingered, resisting the temptation to fidget with her fingers. She took a deep breath. She was the next in line of a family of heroes and she would hold that up.

‘Might I present Lady Zee, of the Land Without Magic,’ he said, giving an extravagant bow, his arm shooting out in her direction.

She took a deep breath. ‘You are the daughter of heroes,’ she whispered as she tossed her black hair back.

Her back was ramrod straight as she walked into the room. The great room was worthy of admiration, but she was utterly fixated on the slender woman. As Zarina walked the length of the room, the Queen rose, clasping her hands behind her back while crossing her legs at the ankle. Her angular face caught the light; sharp cheekbones and her chin jutted out. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She was pixie-like in every way.

Zarina paused half way into the room. Her heart pumped against her chest as she met the green eyes rimmed with silver as she stepped into the light.

The Dark Queen looked down at her, face expressionless as Zarina found her courage. This woman wasn’t just any old story. Zarina had seen this woman plenty of times inside her brother’s book. She had flicked back to that part of the story with some sort of sickening interest.

A piece of Storybrooke legend.

A dark incarnation of someone good.

Zarina’s world turned in a great pulse of magic as her cheek met the onyx floor.

[snowbellewells]

@celestial-fire-writer Oh my goodness, did I love this!!! 😍😍 Thank you SO MUCH for tagging me - I would not have wanted to miss this lovely missing scene. I now want to pretend this whole conversation and pause for some healing and forgiveness that you have written really happened in canon and we just didn’t get to see it.

Lovely that they both truly and genuinely understand what they did to the other and apologize, and that the other immediately forgives them. So sweet when Killian realizes Emma wanted his beloved brother’s approval and he assures her (and I am sure he’s right!) that of Liam had really gotten to know her, he would have loved her too.

Perfect how she gives his words back to him again - and that she does finally get to sleep at last, with her pirate safe on her arms. 💕⚓️

Forgiven

Forgiven

 Summary: -“The only future I want is a one with you.”- Post 5x15. Killian might have decided to come home with them and Liam might have moved on, but there are still things that have to be said and apologies to be made. Old insecurities come back to haunt Emma as she fears that she might not be good enough for Killian. Killian tries to get her to see that it’s alright to forgive herself.

 Tagging some who may enjoy: @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @withheartfulloflove @capswantrue @alyssinmymind @kiwistreetswan @winterbaby89 @princesse-swan @cryingaggressively @myswan-myhappyending-mylove @kmomof4 @therooksshiningknight  @fierytempestarii @captainswanfanfic @captainswancygnet @cshappybeginning @blowmiakisscolin

Please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from my tag list!

Keep reading

[ivyskiss]

Dressed to Impress Ch 2

Here’s chapter 2 of Dressed to Impress. I can’t tell you how much the kudos, reblogs and comments have meant. Enjoy.

Also on AO3

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8837350/chapters/21827525

and FF 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12295419/1/Dressed-to-Impress

Chapter 2

: Chapter 2Summary:

Emma revisits her past, with her pirate at her side.

Notes:

I originally hadn't planned on a second chapter to this, but I was so touched by the response to this fic, that I was inspired.

I thought about adding a protective Killian moment, or a little revenge moment and I might add to it later if the muse descends, but really, I just wanted Emma to have a nice time. She deserves to be happy.

Thank you to all who have read, gave kudos, and commented.

I own nothing from OUAT, I am just trying to be a better writer.

Chapter Text

“So there is a tour, we aren’t going to that.”

Killian nodded patiently as Emma read through the brochure of the event that evening.

“The reunion dinner-dances is being held at hotel down the street. There's also a cocktail hour, and some speeches by class officers and stuff.”

“May I inquire as to why we did not stay at the same building as the event being held?”

Emma looked sheepish as she answered. “I may have splurged a bit on our hotel room. Ours is a lot nicer. When I was just starting out as a bail-bonds-person, I would hang out in our hotel’s lobby, they never bothered me and I always liked it there. I would have loved to stay in a room for a night, but I could never afford the room before.”

Killian said nothing to that, but he didn’t need to say anything for them both to know that he understood and he supported her.

After one last glance in the mirror, Emma turned to him.

“Ready?”

Killian offered her his arm and she took it as they made their way out the door.

___________________

The reunion was close and the weather was nice, so they took their time strolling arm and arm to the party.

“You look stunning Swan. I should have brought my cutlass, I’ll be fighting men off of you all night.”

Emma blushed a bit, she had heard many compliments from various men in her life regarding her looks, but it always made her heart flutter when Killian said it.

She had to admit, she did look pretty good in her new dress. Her hair was curled in soft ringlets that hung beautifully around her shoulder. Her pencil skirt and heels flattered her long legs and narrow hips. She squeezed Killian’s arm, his leather jacket was buttery soft, worn over her favorite leather vest and crisp new shirt. He looked handsome and rakish.

“You look pretty great too, sailor. I should’ve brought my gun.”

“Any woman would be a fool to cross you, My Pirate Queen.”

They entered the hotel and indeed, the hotel Swan had chosen was much nicer. They found the ballroom easily. There were some tables covered with displays of high school memorabilia in the front of the room. There were trophies, yearbooks and photo collages adorning the displays.

They found a seat, and ever the gentleman, Killian pulled her chair out for her. Emma glanced around, she hadn’t really expected to see many people she knew, she was never great at making friends, and she hadn’t been at that school the whole four years.

Besides, her best friend was sitting across from her.

The dinner was a fairly simple affair,a buffet of assorted meats, vegetables, breads, and desserts. Chicken for Emma, fish for Hook. They both grabbed cheesecake for dessert. Killian grabbed a second slice, saying he’d work off the excess sugar later that weekend.

Dinner was cleared away and it was time for dancing and catching up with other classmates.

“Fancy a drink, darling?”

“That sounds great actually.”

Killian went to grab some champagne as Emma started to glance at the various displays. There were yearbooks, scrapbooks, trophies and cheerleader poms. There were photos of smiling seniors and newspaper articles framed. Emma felt a tiny twinge of wistfulness. High school had been rough on her. She had graduated a semester early and soon after had hit the streets.

It would have been nice to go to prom, to be in a school play, or even clubs. Her fingers brushed the pages of the yearbook. She didn’t get a yearbook, they were forty dollars, to 16 year old Emma Swan, it may as well had been four hundred.

Here she was, a princess, in a gorgeous dress with her true love, and yet there were still scars from her youth that made her feel like that orphan in hand me down clothes.

"Emma? Emma Swan?"

Emma turned to see an attractive brunette next to her. Her name tag read "Jess."

"Jess?"

The brunette smiled warmly. "Yeah. It's so good to see you." She hugged Emma.

Jessica had been a pretty popular person in school, she was beautiful, always flawless and never seemed to wear the same outfit twice. She was a cheerleader and played Juliet in the school play was always the kind of person you didn't want to like, but was so nice that you couldn't help it. She and Emma had sat next to each other in two classes and had shared notes as needed.

"How are you? You look gorgeous, Emma!"

"Uh, thank you, I'm great, how are you?"

Jess beamed. "I'm great! Oh Emma, I am so glad you are here. I always looked up to you, you know."

That was certainly a surprise. "Really?"

"Well yeah, you were always so, like, tough? Not like in a bad way." She quickly corrected. "But like, a bunch of guys had crushes on you, but you were so pretty and brave, no one had the guts to ask you out."

Emma was so speechless that she didn't know how to respond to that. Luckily, she didn't have to because Killian reappeared with their drinks.

“Here you are, love.”

The other woman's eyes bulged out just a bit at Killian. She recovered quickly and the three of them had a nice conversation until Jess got a text and had to find her husband. She hugged Emma again and they parted ways.

Emma swallowed the drink Killian offered and set down the empty glass still reeling a bit from the info Jess had told her. Here she had always thought she had been so pathetic, listening to the awful things her bullies had told her. The words she had spoken in Camelot rang in her head. I was never nothing.

Emma turned to Hook as a familiar music started to play, and people began to hit the dance floor.

“I uh, I’m not sure what to do just yet.”

Killian took her hand, “Blend in.”

The gesture was so much like that moment back in the ball in the Enchanted Forest she almost choked.

“And does my partner know what he is doing?” She asked with a smile.

“Aye, I think I might. A party is a party in any realm, love.”

She relaxed a little as the awful hits that she remembered from her youth blasted through the ballroom.

Emma had showed Killian how to slow dance some time ago. The couple had taken to swaying back and forth to quiet music. They had danced in a fairy-tale ballrooms with an ensemble and fancy gowns and alone in their darkened bedroom with just Killian’s lilting voice to make music. it always felt like the whole world fell away when they held each other in their arms and danced into the night.

Emma was sometimes reminded of the scene in Sleeping Beauty where the prince and princess danced beautifully into the clouds, her dress magically changing from blue to pink at the whim of her fairy guardians. ____________________

Emma caught sight of someone she knew and they strolled over to a much older woman. She was speaking politely to someone before she turned to Emma and Hook.

Emma took a breath, “You probably don’t remember me, my name is Emma Swan, I was in your Art class.”

The woman’s eyes shone with recognition. “Emma Swan! Of course I remember you! You did all those watercolor paintings!

Killian couldn't hold back his smile at the blush creeping up Emma’s cheeks as her old teacher hugged her.

“It’s so nice to see you Miss Swan! How are you? You look lovely!”

Emma never was used to compliments, her cheeks were burning and she felt Killian’s grin, “Thank you, this is my fiance, Killian. Killian, this is Mrs. Miller, she was my art teacher.”

Killian gave her a brilliant smile. “Killian Jones, it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. You must regale me with tales of Emma in her youth.”

Mrs. Miller grinned “Oh Emma is a wonderful artist. Really a natural with watercolors!”

________________

They walked out into the cool night. Emma pulled him to a stop, bringing him in for a warm kiss.

She leaned her forehead to rest against his.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

Hook pulled her deeper into his embrace. “The pleasure was mine, your highness.” He smiled mischievously before dropping his voice to a purr.

“I believe I have a favor to cash in, and I would like for it to start in that indoor hot-spring.”