#cs neverland smut

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 15/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

CONTENT WARNING! This has the hunt which includes lost boys (kids) being killed and while it's brief, it's a dark scene. There's also some gore afterwards and violence (again against lost boys) referenced off-screen. If you're at all uncomfortable you can DM me and I can let you know which sections to avoid. I had a few people review it and tell me it's "dark but not too dark" but better safe than sorry. And hey, there’s also smut to make up for it. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘 and thank you @kmomof4 for being a fantastic beta for this chapter! 💕💕

*****

Part 15

She can still feel the burn of his kiss - her kiss - on her lips when the moon hangs high above the Jolly.  She’s been watching it, tracking its slow climb across the sky since she came out of the forest to find Will waiting on the shore - Wendy having taken the dinghy and leaving them stranded. Emma was almost relieved that she wasn’t there, that she didn’t have to explain why she was standing there alone, why Killian wasn’t with her. No matter how angry Wendy was at her Captain, she would have noticed. Will, on the other hand, was too fixated on the sea, on the ship rocking rhythmically against the waves to notice. But the way he watched it, as though it were miles away and not metres, betrayed what the longing in his eyes was really for. 

She’d suggested they swim, the ship not far and the water most likely clear of vindictive sirens. Mostly she’d just wanted to get that look off of his face, to stop feeling the guilt that accompanied it. They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. He didn’t put up an argument. Will only shrugged dismissively, looking back out to the ship and wading into the sea.

It’s been hours since then, hours of waiting and staring out at the dark water, searching for any movement in the dimly lit night. She can feel the cold breeze seeping through her thin shirt, chilling her skin and sending a tremor through her bones. But she can’t go below deck, can’t leave her spot by the railing. Not until she sees some sign, any sign that she didn’t just send him to his death to protect Henry. Henry, who's still out there, who’s waiting for her to come get him, who may already hear the Lost Boys’ cries. 

It’s late, the moon already growing dimmer against the lightening sky. Will had come up some time ago, only sparing her a passing look before finding a spot far enough away that they wouldn’t feel the need to speak. He’d gone straight below deck once they’d climbed out of the water, his small plea of ‘Wen, please’ carrying over to her in the silence. The nights are always so quiet here, the sea soundless against the ship, the wind not stirring in the trees. It’s wrong, and unnatural, this island not a place rooted in reality, the piercing wails of the children in the jungle starker against the silence, echoing over the sea. 

Emma casts a glance over at Will, leaning over the railing, looking out at the water rather than the beach, though she imagines he’s not really looking at anything at all, and wonders if he can hear them. He’s never said. Only that Wendy did. And now Killian is out there risking his life to make it up to her, to atone for the daughter he left behind by making sure she doesn’t lose the man who stayed by her side. Because of her. Because she begged Will to go, begged anyone to go and do what she couldn’t. 

Daylight begins its slow crawl over the night sky and still there’s no sign of Hook, no sign of Wendy since the forest. She doesn’t hear Will cross the deck until his arms fold over the railing beside hers, his shoulders tense as he leans heavily on them, his question leaving him in a heavy breath.

“He went, didn’t he?” 

Emma nods, fingers pressing into the soft wood beneath them. But he’s not looking at her so she lets out a small ‘yeah’ and watches his jaw clench, teeth pressed together as anger and relief war on his face. 

“Bastard.” 

“How far is the camp?” 

Will gives a small shrug. “It moves. But it can be found if you know what to look for.” When she doesn’t answer he finally turns his head, just a fraction and she feels his gaze from the corner of her eye as she goes back to watching the beach. “He’ll be back.” 

“How do you know?”

“The man’s bloody impossible to kill. Trust me,” he insists. “I’ve tried.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” 

He sighs when she doesn’t answer. “Pan doesn’t want him dead. He never has. He enjoys torturing him too much.”

“What if he changes his mind?” Especially if he catches him trying to meddle in whatever plan he has for Henry. 

“He could,” Will acknowledges. “But he expects Hook to try and stop him. It’s all part of the game.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“Everything is a game to him. Sometimes… I used to wonder if he even knew what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t. Not until…” The little girl he brought to Wendy. “He’s a child. Everything, this whole island, his hunts and his raids and his conquests, it’s all make believe, one big, never ending game.”  

Emma doesn't know which is scarier, the thought that Pan is a monster that murders and maims and torments without remorse, or that his acts of cruelty can be carried out without care, without any true understanding of consequence - for fun. How many times as a child did she play cops and robbers? How many times did she and the other children in homes sword fight with sticks and cardboard tubes, laughing while they ‘killed’ one another. Because it was all just make believe. 

Her thoughts are cut off by a slow roar of something in the trees, the dull, faraway sound carrying over the water. Will looks out at the sky, suddenly alert and she follows his gaze, the sun just breaking over the horizon. “It’s starting.” 

It’s shouting, she realizes, a low rumble of a battle cry making its way towards the beach. “The hunt?” 

“Aye.” The voice comes from behind them, Wendy having finally emerged from her cabin, staring out towards the shore. There’s a moment where she takes in Will standing beside her, frown pulling at her brow before relief softens it. But her gaze snaps back to the beach, eyes wide, brow marred again. “Where’s Killian?” The question is sharp, an order. But neither answer. She knows. Wendy rushes to the rail, looking frantically out over the water as though she could see him through the jungle. “Bastard.” 

It takes her a moment to school her features, to regain control of herself, hands still clenched into fists against the edge of the Jolly. But once she does, she slips back into the role of the fierce pirate captain Emma met that first night - the one that ended a deathmatch with a single word. “Ready the crew” she tells Will. “Be sure they’re prepared to take on the wounded. And no one,” she adds, tone commanding and almost frightening, “no one is to leave the ship. Is that understood?” The question is directed at her. 

“I-”

“If you go on that beach, you’re signing your death warrant. You’re to stay below deck,” she orders. “Understood?” 

“I’m not staying below deck if Henry comes out of that jungle,” Emma argues. 

“Killian is taking care of Henry. If Pan sees you you’ll be putting both of them at risk. You’ll stay below deck, Emma,” she repeats. “That’s an order.” 

“Let me help. I can -”

Before she can finish, she’s being lifted off her feet, a small nod from Wendy to Will, some unspoken command and suddenly she’s tossed over his shoulder and letting out a cry of protest as she’s carried below deck. 

“What the- Put me down!” she snaps, but Will and his stupid, freakish strength holds her steady, the arm across the back of her thighs vice-like. 

“I swear to god, you better not lick me again while you’re back there,” he warns. 

She gives a hard elbow to his ribs in retaliation, the small grunt he lets out immensely satisfying before she’s being dropped on her ass, the damp room one she doesn’t recognize, and a lock clicks into place. It takes her a second to register where she is. 

“You’re throwing me in the fucking brig?” she demands, fingers wrapping around the solid iron bars. “You can’t be serious.” 

“You're part of this crew. You don't follow orders, this is what happens,” Wendy tells her before heading back towards the deck. “You’ll be let out when it’s over.” 

“Maybe,” Will adds with a mirthful smirk that makes her wish he was close enough to hit again. But the door slams shut between them and she’s left alone with her outrage. 

The shouting is getting louder now, the sun climbing quickly - too quickly - into the sky. She can distinguish words now, cries of ‘get them’ breaking through the hollering and the cheering… and the screams. The first one she hears- sudden and sharp and cut off in an instant- sends her heart dropping into her stomach. She hardly has time to let the dread take over before another takes its place, this one worse, drawn out, fading into a whimper, small and heartbreaking and horrible. It’s followed by cries of victory. 

Reaching for the bars on the small window of her cell she hoists herself up onto the small bench, just able to look out if she holds her weight up, standing on barely touching tiptoes. She wishes she hadn’t. The beach is a bloodbath, bodies strewn out across the sand, dead, or soon to be. They’re too far for her to recognize any, but they’re all so small, narrow shoulders and lanky limbs. Any one of those bodies could be Henry. Every single one is a child. 

Emma nearly falls off the bench, barely managing to land on her feet as she doubles over, emptying her stomach on the floor of her cell. It doesn’t stop, the chaos on the beach echoing in the small room, screams, cheers of triumph, the slice of metal and the batter of arrows falling over one another until they all fade into the endless din of battle.

She can’t bring herself to look again, sitting with her back to the horror, hands over her ears as she tries to drown it all out, stuck and helpless to do anything about it. It’s not Henry. Henry’s not there. She needs to believe that Killian got to him in time, that he stopped him from being a part of it. Those aren’t his cries of pain she’s hearing. That’s not him celebrating. Henry’s not there. She repeats it, again and again, curled on the floor, trying to block out the horror. They were right. She wouldn't have been able to stay below deck- either above or below. She wouldn’t have been able to stay off the beach. 

It goes on for ages, growing in volume, the Lost Boys riled up more with every fallen victim. She could almost believe they were playing, were it not for the crying, the pleas for mercy. Then, almost as quickly as it started, the sounds begin to quiet. She hears a flurry of footsteps thundering onto the deck above her head, hears the muffled shout of Wendy ordering her crew to aid the survivors.

The mayhem on the beach finally settles, the slashing of swords and the cries dropping one by one until there’s silence. And then there are only hoots and hollers echoing across the shore - a celebration. Someone is congratulating them. She doesn’t have to guess who it is. She’ll recognize that twisted, childlike voice for the rest of her life. 

It’s over. It has to be. Please let it be over. There’s no more clash of swords, no more wails of pain and death and she can almost breathe again until she hears it. A single, sobbing whimper from the shore, a cry of “mama” that burrows itself deep, echoing through her. There’s another. And another. And it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse than the Lost Boys at night - children crying for their mothers.

She’s on her feet before she can think, yanking at the goddamn padlock on her door, clawing at it and shouting with rage when it doesn’t give. She doesn’t have anything to pick it with - no tools, no pins, not even a goddamn pen to break apart. Fucking pirates knowing better than to leave anything within reach that could help her break out. 

She pulls the heavy leather boot from her foot, the heel solid and adorned with metal. It’s flimsy and awkward but it’s all she’s got and she reaches, arm scrapped raw by the stripped bars as she tries to get any force behind the blow. Reaching for the padlock, the angle awkward, and hitting it again and again, she curses when she hits it hard enough to knock the boot out of her hand, fingers aching where they still connect with the iron.

But she doesn’t stop, not so long as she can hear the kids crying from the shore. She may not be their mother but she’s a mother and she’s getting to that fucking beach. She yanks off her other boot, trying again, hanging on so tightly this time that her knuckles go white. Emma’s not sure how long she tries, how many times she brings the heel down on the lock, her skin damp with sweat, her shirt bloodied where the bars scratched her. 

“Come on you stupid son of a bitch.” She’s tired, her arm aching, fingers bruised, but there’s a fury in her, a rage that builds until it feels like it will burst out of her. And then it does. She smashes the lock again, a spark of light flashing when it makes contact, bright enough that she has to shut her eyes. But when she opens them, the lock is on the ground, broken in two.

The cell swings open easily as she runs for the deck, yanking the door of the brig open only to crash into a figure on the other side. Fingers and metal wrap around her arms as she tries to push past him, shouting obscenities and shoving at him. But he doesn’t move, his grip tightening until she hisses, flinching, skin scratched raw beneath his hand and he lets go. 

“Swan.” The name is what snaps her out of her panic. Her name. The one only he calls her - the one he promised not to let her forget. She looks up at him, finally realizing that it’s him, that he’s there and alive. The blue of his eyes, sad and anxious, shines even in the dim light of the room. “It’s over.” 

She hears it then, the absence. There’s no more noise, no more screaming, no crying, the awfulness faded to nothing, the only sound the creaking of footsteps above them and her own ragged breathing. Her hands slide over his chest, pulling back enough to look for any sign he’s been hurt, that he didn’t come back in one piece. She searches his face, remembering the way she’d first found him, battered and bleeding, but those wounds are long healed, no new ones in their place and she sighs gratefully. 

“Henry?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t there. He’s safe.”

She nearly gives into the sobs that are trying to spill out of her, too full of anguish and fear and relief to keep them from overflowing. But her hands find the sides of his face, rising on her toes to capture his mouth with hers. She’s cried enough today - cried enough every day since she got to this stupid island, since she lost Henry to it. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Her tears serve no purpose. They won’t keep Henry safe - but Killian did. Killian kept him safe. 

He lets her kiss him, lets her slide her fingers into his hair, lets her seek his tongue with her own and keep him there with a death grip on his collar. But when she presses herself closer to him, seeking more of his heat to warm her frozen skin, more of him to fill the ache growing inside of her, he pulls back. He watches her carefully, searching for something, maybe remnants of the wine or that the events of the last hour haven’t completely destroyed her. 

But Emma sees it then, the same exhaustion she feels darkening his eyes, pulling at the lines of his brow. The mask of resilience and unflinching coolness in the face of everything that’s been thrown at them slips, and he lets her see the suffering she knows is reflected back at him. She doesn’t know how long he’s been on the ship, how much of the massacre he had to watch before he came to find her - how many times he’s had to watch it before, just as powerless as she’d been to stop it.

She opens her mouth to say something, to ask him those very questions, but his lips crash down over hers before she can get the words out. The force of it sends her stumbling back and he follows, kiss hard and demanding, the door slamming as he kicks it shut behind him, and he leads them both across the room until her back collides with the bars of the cell, knocking the wind out of her. He swallows the sound she makes, tongue sliding over her lip in apology before pushing its way into her mouth to taste whatever he can reach, whatever he can take. 

He kisses her with the same desperation she feels - for all of this to be finished, for the horrible feeling and memory that’s sunk its teeth in to be drowned out. She understands. She doesn’t want to talk either. This day - the last hour alone - all she wants is to forget it. Just for a little while she wants to forget every wretched thing about Neverland and lose herself in the one person who’s helped her survive it.

Emma shoves at the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor with a heavy sound. His lips find her neck as she reaches for his vest, fingers fumbling on the buttons when he works a mark into her collarbone and tugs her hair loose from its messy knot. Far more adept, even with only one hand, her borrowed vest is opened and tossed unceremoniously aside before she’s managed to undo all his fastenings, Killian pulling her shirt over her head almost frantically. 

She cries out when his mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet, tongue rolling over the hardened peak while his hand finds the other and he turns her into a panting, whimpering mess just like he’d promised to in the fae woods. When she hisses out a warning ‘Killian’, his lips start a path down the length of her stomach, dropping to his knees, shucking his vest and shirt. 

The look he tosses up at her, checking before his hook tugs at the laces of her stupid, inconvenient pants, sends heat burning in her stomach and wetness pooling between her thighs as he yanks the heavy fabric down her hips. Desperate, wrecked, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black, heavy-lidded and full of shameless want and dirty promises.

“Fuck.” Her hands find purchase in his hair, stumbling back, hardly stepped out of the leather before his mouth is on her, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing her against the bars once more. The rough iron scrapes at the bare skin of her back, but she doesn’t care, not with the way he’s sucking at her clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and growling into her skin when she bucks into his mouth. 

He presses his brace across her hips, holding her still as he eats into her, fucking her with his tongue and nothing about today matters anymore. Nothing feels real apart from his mouth between her thighs, the scrape of his jaw rough against sensitive skin. She whines at the push of his fingers inside of her, pleasure tightening in her stomach, the anticipation building in every muscle, the promise of release and fucking ecstasy just out of reach. 

“Please.” The word escapes on a whimper, wanton and desperate, and then he’s moaning against her, teeth scraping sharply against her clit, making her cry out and her hands fist harshly in his hair when he pulls it into his mouth, fingers curling in time with the pulse of his tongue against her, his lips around her, and then she’s shattering. 

She barely manages to catch her cry of release between her teeth as her whole body shudders and it escapes as a muffled sob in the dark room. But Killian doesn’t relent, egged on by her coming apart on his tongue, working her frantically, drawing out the aftershocks until they start to build to a new height altogether. She’s about to fall again, so close to the edge, but she pushes at his shoulders.

“Wait.” He only resists for a second, eyes dark with hunger when he looks up at her, but it’s the small hint of desperation, the unbridled abandon emanating from him that makes her remember that he needs this just as much as she does. That he’s been through as much as she has. And it’s not the first time for him. She can’t imagine living through today again and again for centuries. It’s no wonder he found solace wherever he could and with whoever he could in this horrible place. She’s been living a nightmare for a week. He’s been living it for lifetimes. 

Emma joins him on her knees, not caring about the dirt and the damp as she pulls him to her, mouth finding his easily. The way their lips move against each other is familiar now, but no less heated as his arms come around her waist, pressing heated skin to heated skin, hand snaking up the length of her back to tangle in her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck.

She explores the length of his arms with careful fingers, muscles hard under her hands from years at sea and endless fighting. She feels the rise and fall of scars across his skin before dragging her nails down his shoulders, leaving her own mark and feeling the bite of his teeth against her lip. Her fingers move to his chest, sliding through the coarse hair and finding the evidence of years spent in bloodshed. The gasp he lets out when she rakes them over the flat of his stomach to his hips is choked and she ducks her head, lips leaving his to trail the length of his jaw, tongue sliding over the spot below his ear he can’t seem to leave alone.

“Emma…” It’s a plea and a warning and a question all in one as she pulls at his laces. The feel of him straining hard and hot beneath her palm only urges her on as her mouth explores the taut line of his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone to match the one he gave her. 

He hisses out a word that isn’t in English but she’s almost positive is a curse when she slides into his leathers, fingers wrapping around his cock and running her hand over the hard length in rough, purposeful strokes. She touches him the way he’d touched her, urgent and desperate and aware that they’re on stolen time, revelling in every sound and unconscious thrust of his hips she draws from him. 

His grip on her hair becomes vice-like, tugging her head back enough that he can taste her neck again, mouth and tongue sloppy between the small growls and sharp breaths he lets out hot against her skin. The drag of cool metal over her nipple makes her falter in her rhythm. He does it again, circling the hardened peak with the sharp tip of his hook and she releases him altogether, desire burning impatient as she pushes him back to sit on his discarded coat.

Killian takes hold of her hips as she climbs into his lap, settling a knee on either side of him before taking his cock in hand again and sinking down over the length of him. His muttered ‘bloody hell’ reverberates through her as he holds still, straining as he gives her a moment to adjust to the size of him, the burn and the fullness that turn to heat and want, and she needs more. 

When she rocks her hips over his, they both let out a groan at the drag of his cock- so fucking perfect inside of her. Emma braces her hands on his shoulders so she can move over him, desperate to find that toe-curling pleasure he gave her again. 

His fingers dig into the curve of her ass, rolling and guiding them into a rhythm, hips rising to meet her every time she takes him in again, refusing to be a passive participant as she rides him towards their release. His hook and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting, finding the places that make her tremble, bearing down relentlessly when the curl of his tongue or the scrape of his hook causes her to cry out and soon she’s right on the edge again, lips pressed hard together against the moans of encouragement and of his name that want to fall from them.

His hand releases her, letting her keep their pace, change it how she wants, and his fingers trail over her hip, ghosting over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. His thumb slides between them, finding where they’re joined with practiced ease and circling with every roll of her hips until she can’t keep quiet anymore, hands gripping madly at his back, teeth biting into his shoulder as she tries to muffle her cries. 

He presses harder, circling faster, murmuring filth and praise into her ear and holy fuck she doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked so properly in her life - every inuendo and brazen conquest on the island entirely justified. There are no thoughts left apart from how badly she needs to come, all senses muted, drowned out by the overwhelming build, the delicious drive of his cock inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper.

His mouth nips at her ear, begging her to let him see her fall apart again, telling her how good she feels, how he wants to feel her shuddering around him, how he wants to come inside her. And then there’s nothing but ecstasy, nothing but fire and release as she comes apart at his hands. 

She’s still shaking when he rolls her onto her back, braced on his hooked arm as the other slides under her knee, spreads her wider for him, fucking into her wildly, harder, deeper, chasing his release as fervently as she had hers. The grind of his hips, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts sets off another wave of lust in her, begins another rapid climb as he takes her, using her however he wants, building on the high of her orgasm before it’s faded and sending her over the edge again. 

The sound he lets out when he feels her coming once more, feels the dig of her nails in his back, is almost feral. Her name is a curse and a plea as he pounds into her until he goes rigid under her hands, pulling out and spilling himself hot on her stomach with a moan muffled against the crook of her neck. 

There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, heavy in the stillness of the room, the chaos of the deck far away above them as they lay still tangled in one another for a moment, drawing out the feeling of relief as long as they can, hiding from reality for just a little longer. Here in the dark with the weight of his body still over hers and the gentle hum of her skin, the heaviness of her limbs, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It's too soon when she feels him shift, the press of his lips to the hollow of her throat before he lifts his head, reaching for something in one of the many pockets of his coat they’ve sprawled out on. How he knows where anything is in the (she suspects) dozens of secret compartments that may or may not be magically hidden is beyond her, but he pulls out a handkerchief - dark like everything else he wears, but fine like everything else as well. 

Tracing it gingerly over her stomach, he begins to clean the mess he made of her, erasing every trace of him from her skin. Emma takes it from him when he’s finished, sitting up to take care of the rest when she feels the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing lines down her back with a furrowed brow and leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“What?” she asks, voice raw and rough from exhaustion. 

His knuckles ghost feather-light along her back again, her skin burning slightly under his touch. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s a bit of guilt in his expression as she turns to try and look over her shoulder, to see what he sees, the marks probably left on her skin from the iron bars. “I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he’s tracing the cuts on her arm now, ones that are definitely not his doing. “Those are technically Will’s fault,” she tells him casually, still pissed at her friend for tossing her in here, and he raises a brow at her blasé shrug. “Just if you were looking for an excuse, is all. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to defend my honour or something.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. “I think you’re plenty capable of defending your own honour, love,” he tells her, brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. She watches him fight a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “There’s a bottle in my coat,” he says then. “If you don’t mind.” 

Emma looks down at the heavy leather she’s still sitting on, the Mary Poppins bag of coats, and raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding right?” 

Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh - the one she’s come to consider her own - he reaches over her, digging into one of the infinite pockets and she tries not to let him see the way her breath catches, heat burning low and slow everywhere he’s nearly touching her. 

She could lean forward, just a fraction, and press her lips to the spot behind his ear, see if he’d say her name again in that shaky, pleading way he had before. If she kissed him now would he press her into the floor again, drag his tongue over her skin and make her fall apart with mouth and hand and cock? Would he let her do the same to him, let her bring him over that edge with her mouth on him, while she rode him? 

Get a grip, she scolds herself when he finds what he’s looking for, pulling back to face her. She hopes he can’t read where her thoughts had strayed, can’t see the evidence she’s sure is written all over her, you literally just came three times. It’s just Neverland, just like it had been when she’d kissed him in his cabin and had been ready to let him fuck her on his desk where anyone could walk in (and had). It has to be - because if it’s not and it’s just him, then this could become a problem really quickly. 

If Killian does notice though, he doesn’t say anything and her own spiralling thoughts are halted when she sees the bottle in his hand, the water swirling of its own volition, a pattern that has no ties to the world around it. 

“Is that water from the spring?” she asks hesitantly as she watches him pour some onto another bit of cloth, one that looks like the same kind of bandage she’d made for him.

“Aye.”

“You’ve just been carrying that stuff around? Might have been helpful when you were stuck in that hospital bed.” 

Another exasperated look. “I filled a bottle when we arrived - It doesn’t work in your realm. Thought it might come in handy. And look, it has.” She has to fight a laugh at his snark; he’s been spending too much time with her. “Now are you going to let me help you?” he asks, what was obviously originally a kind gesture now spoken with a familiar sigh that makes her catch her amusement between her teeth even as she nods and turns her back to him.

“How did you find out about this stuff?” she asks when his hook brushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder - mostly to distract herself from the feel of the metal against the nape of her neck, remembering it other places. 

His tone is solemn when he answers though, cloth not touching her skin as he hesitates. “When I first came here… my brother was poisoned - dreamshade.” Brother? The water is cool against her back, his touch careful. “Pan showed me the spring.” 

“The water saved him?” 

The length of his pause makes her wish she hadn’t asked. “For a time.”

“He drank it.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t answer and her heart breaks for him. “And Pan let you leave.” How many people has he lost - how much pain has he suffered at the hands of the cruel people who took them from him? “Why did you come back?” 

“Because I was a fool, looking for revenge against the Crocodile. Sometimes I wonder if he knew - if he showed me the dreamshade because he knew I’d return for it one day. He has a way of seeing people, finding the parts they don’t want seen, and using them to get what he wants.” She wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that whoever he thinks Pan saw in him isn’t who he is. But she can’t find the words, all of them sounding like platitudes. He misunderstands her silence. “Henry’s far stronger than I was, love. He won’t give in so easily.”

Killian presses the cloth to her back again, meticulous in his task and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “What did you say to him?” 

She can feel the tension radiating off of him, matching it immediately. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“I couldn’t risk him seeing me and knowing you were here. For all he is, Henry’s still a child, and little boys can’t keep secrets.”

“So what did you do?” 

The way he clears his throat is almost indecipherable, his hand going over the same spot by her shoulder again and again, the scratch definitely gone by now. “Pan’s camp is always moving, but he also always sets it near a body of water, usually a stream.”

“Why?”

The cloth slides over her skin slowly, buying time, avoiding looking at her. “For the Lorelei.” 

Emma whirls on him. “What?”

“Calm down, love,” he says softly, trying to get her to turn back around. “The sirens are his messengers; they relay his desires and bring him news of any stirrings on the island.”

“Killian. Did you send fucking Ianeira to him?” The mermaid who’s apparently so fond of drowning and eating humans.

“No.” She breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “...Ianeira has a daughter.”

“What?!” That’s not any better.

“Swan.” He gives up his task for a moment, finally looking at her. “Do you really believe I’d have sought their help if they posed any threat to Henry? The Lost Boys are off limits to the Lorelei, and they’re on our side, bound by a bargain you made.” Her shoulders relax a little, still not happy about it. “The girl is hardly older than Henry in appearance. I thought she would have a better chance at getting through to him. The Lorelei can be…”

“Fucking terrifying?”

“Aye,” he nods. “She drew him from the camp and passed on our warning - that he can’t trust Pan, no matter what he says, that the hunt tomorrow is real and Pan would try and make him hurt the other boys, that if he did… he would never be able to leave Neverland.” 

“Is that true?” Emma tries to keep the tremor out of her voice as she turns away, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She'd rather be able to believe him if he lies. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, drawing the healing water over a mark by her spine. “But we won’t find out, aye?” 

She nods, halfheartedly. “And you’re sure he wasn’t there?”

“I watched the camp from the treeline all night and into the morning. Your boy resisted Pan’s manipulations. He’s stubborn, like his mother.” She shoots him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and he smirks. “It’ll serve him well here. I kept watch until it would have been too late for him to join. I told you, love, he was far away from all of it.”

“But you weren’t.”

She feels his sigh hot against her skin. “I took a shortcut back to the ship. I couldn’t risk Pan wondering where I was when they reached the beach…”

Emma nods. “Today was -” She doesn’t have words for it.

“I know.” She feels the backs of his fingers ghost over the nape of her neck, brushing away hair that hasn’t fallen, thumb tracing along her nape. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

She nods again - she wouldn’t believe him if he did - and tightens her arms around her knees, banishing the memories that try to creep in, wanting to stay here where they don’t exist for a little longer. 

“So Ianeira has a kid.” He doesn’t comment on her change of subject, only hums. “She doesn’t really seem the motherly type.” And then thought suddenly strikes her. “Is she…”

Killian laughs. “Mine?” It’s not that ridiculous. He might have accidentally boned all the mermaids in Neverland. He could have dozens of little merbabies swimming around. “No, Swan, sirens don’t reproduce. They’re born of chance and magic, and very rare.”

“What about all your ‘creative’ encounters?”

“Those are… recreational.” 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.” She doesn’t have to see his smirk to know it’s there, hook looping around her arm, tugging it gently free from its death grip around her legs so he can tend to the skin she marked up in her attempt to escape. The water stings slightly, the cuts deeper there, the cloth no longer as cold. “I can’t believe she let you use her daughter,” she admits. “She was so protective of her sisters.”

Killian hums in agreement, “It took some convincing.” 

“Did it?” She doesn’t think she’s ever failed so spectacularly at sounding indifferent. 

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder before he rests his chin on it. “Jealous?”

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wish.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, her teasing not returned and he takes a slow breath in, lifting his head to look at her, the weight of his gaze enough that she twists to meet it. His exhale is warm against the curve of her neck, the sincerity in his eyes stripped bare, holding her captive with their intensity. “Perhaps I do.” 

She swallows, heart racing at his confession. Because that’s what it is, a confession of intentions, of feelings she’s not sure she can face - his or her own. He’s watching her, waiting, that openness, the little bit of hope she can see breaking through absolutely terrifying. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other after a tragedy. But this, what he’s so clearly asking, isn’t something she thinks she can give. 

Her tongue runs over her lips, mouth suddenly dry, the motion drawing his attention and breaking whatever that was that just passed between them. Her voice is tinged with gravel when she tells him, “I think you’ve got enough jealous creatures on this island for one man to handle.” 

Emma sees the barest hint of disappointment he lets slip and makes herself ignore it. “You make me sound like quite the scoundrel,” he smirks, reaching for his discarded shirt and draping it over her shoulders. “I assure you I can only devote myself to one woman at a time.”

She raises a brow at him, pulling the shirt closed around herself, feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago and she thinks maybe he’d known. “There were three fairies throwing themselves at you yesterday - four,” she corrects, having forgotten the handsome gold-hued man. She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks beneath the cocky shrug. 

“That was Solstice. It doesn’t count.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing out for the second time, “How convenient.”

A thud from upstairs draws her attention, followed by a shout of pain, and she hears Will cursing. Stay bloody still, damnit. When she looks over at Killian, he’s watching the ceiling too, whatever lightness he may have held onto for a moment now gone. 

“We should get up there,” she says, not looking forward to whatever devastation awaits them on deck. There’s no lesser horror. Either many survived and there’ll be dozens of wounded and traumatised children awaiting them, forced to join a life of being hunted by Pan forever, or there won’t be - and the beach will be littered with bodies. 

“Aye,” he agrees, standing and finding his pants, tugging the leather over his hips as she does the same. She’s lacing them up when she notices his attention. 

“What?”

“You’ve got my shirt.” She looks down at the soft black fabric he’d wrapped her in, then at the bloodied white shirt in his hand. “Not that you don’t look quite fetching in it, love, but unless you want Wendy and Scarlet to know -” 

Emma snatches her shirt from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Turn around.” The look he gives her tells her what she already knows, that she’s being absolutely ridiculous, but he just gives her an amused little smirk before doing as she asked. It’s not that she thinks Will and Wendy don’t already know, or that she’s oblivious to the fact that he’s already seen everything, but preparing to walk into a tragedy after they’ve been hiding down here, selfishly pretending it wasn’t happening, sends guilt churning in her stomach. 

When she’s dressed, hat tugged low over her head to try and hide her face from the new boys, she lets him turn back around, tossing him his shirt and waiting until he pulls the heavy leather coat back over his shoulders. “Ready?”

No. She nods. 

The scene is worse than she imagined. She’d been prepared for the blood, for the pain and the chaos as the crew do their best to tend to whatever injuries they can. There’s buckets of bloodied spring water, discarded bandages stained red, former Lost Boys shouting and struggling against the holds the pirates have on them as they try and heal them. They’re still the enemy, she realizes. They may have just been nearly murdered by their comrades but until this morning, the Jolly was enemy territory, and now they’re being held captive. 

What she hadn’t been prepared for were the ones who weren’t injured, who weren’t fighting, the ones sitting along the side of the ship, knees curled tight to their chests and hands over their ears as they stare at nothing with eyes that aren’t seeing. 

Killian moves quickly, hurrying over to where Will is trying to hold down a boy who looks about twelve while Wendy attempts to reset his leg, broken with an arrow pierced through the bone. He takes the boy’s shoulder and arm so Will can do the same, both pressing down on his torso until he can’t move - Emma looks away but she hears the crunch of bone and the scream nonetheless. 

“Hand me some bandages.” It’s not until Wendy shouts her name that she realizes she’s talking to her, the boy still fighting, though he’s growing weaker now. She scrambles to grab some from one of the buckets, bringing them to her. The captain begins wrapping the injury with soaked bandages, the arrow that had pierced him used as a brace, and the kid’s eyes fade in and out of focus, finally shutting as he passes out. 

“A little help!” one of the pirates calls, struggling under the weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself. A stain of dark red blood is blooming on his stomach, soaking through his leather vest and Emma doesn’t freeze this time, running over and looping the kid’s other arm over her shoulders. They set him down against the mainsail, Emma watching as the pirate, barely more than a teenager, pulls open the boy’s shirt. 

“What happened?” 

“Looks like a rapier,” he answers, inspecting the gash, blood flowing freely from it. “Gimme a hand,” he tells her and grabs the kid’s shoulder so they can turn him over. “Dammit. It’s gone right through him.” Emma doesn’t know much about medicine but she does know that without treatment, a stomach wound is basically a death sentence. 

“Can you do anything?”

“Nothing good,” he sighs under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle like the one Killian carried and uncorking it. “Listen, mate, I can make this better okay?” The boy glares at him, face pale and clammy, distrusting. “If you drink this, you’ll live. If you don't, you're gonna die.” Emma’s thrown by his bluntness, by how calm he is despite being so young and she wonders how many hunts he’s already lived through. The boy continues to glare, looking away from him, rejecting the offer. “But if you do - hey,” he snaps, grabbing the kid’s chin and making him face him. “You’ll never get to leave, okay? You’ll be stuck here. Forever. And it fucking sucks here once you’re out. But you’ll be alive. And you’ll be one of us.” 

“Can’t you just give it to him?” Emma demands, a second away from snatching the bottle and forcing it down the dying teenager’s throat. 

The pirate shakes his head. “Captain’s rules.” She wonders which captain.

The boy still looks resistant, like he’d rather die than become a pirate than switch sides, regardless of what Pan’s just done to him. But then he starts to cough, a fit that takes over, the rough sound gurgling and wet as blood begins to drip from his lips and he turns panicked eyes on the pirate. The older boy nods, handing him the vial, but not letting go yet, waiting until the kid meets his gaze. “Never,” he reminds him. “You’ll never go home, okay?”

Emma watches him nod, bring the water to his bloodied mouth and drink, wincing and coughing as he tries to swallow, finally managing to get some down. They wait, a few long, drawn out moments, before the pirate looks at his wound again and Emma watches in amazement as it begins to close, blood flowing backwards along his torso in streams, pulled back into the tear in his skin. 

The older boy pats his shoulder. “Try and get some rest. That’ll still hurt like a bitch for a while.” And then he’s gone, moved on to the next injured Lost Boy, and the next. 

When everything is over, wounds bandaged, survivors counted, bodies laid carefully on the deck, a strange sort of silence settles over the ship. It’s not the silence of Neverland, that unending, eerie quiet, but the silence of dozens choosing not to speak, unable to speak in the wake of bloodshed. A crew member is cleaning the deck, the oldest here by far in his mid twenties, gaze somehow both unbothered and far away as he mops up the blood that ripples with the whim of the spring water spilled on the wood. Will is over by the side of the ship, talking to some of the boys who won’t speak, who don’t look at anything, voice falling low and gentle on deaf ears. 

Wendy and Killian are with the dead, placing coins over their eyes and wrapping their bodies in sails. She can count five, five who made it to safety only to die on the bow of the Jolly. Emma stares out at the beach. There are more than five out there. Almost a dozen Lost Boys left out under the hot sun. 

Sometime, this has been both the shortest and longest day of her life - the sun setting before it had managed to reach its highest point in the sky.

Killian had explained, as she’d helped to place a boy gently on a stretch of canvas and sew the fabric around him, that night always came quickly after a hunt. “There’s always a celebration for the victors.” Wendy had said the word with so much disgust it made Emma’s stomach turn. “They feast and fly and dance around the fire, bragging about their conquests.” 

“Did you ever-” she started, but stopped when the woman’s face darkened, regret and anger. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re children,” is all Wendy gave in answer, casting a look towards Will, still trying to reach a boy, shaking and huddled by the helm. “So were we.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy, the sound of footsteps above her making her jerk awake - boys who’d refused to take a bunk below deck, still not willing to accept their new fate, their new role on this island. Voices set her heart racing, forgetting every time that the hunt is over. The crying tonight is louder than it’s been since she arrived, and the sounds of celebration carry over on the water.

She wants to go up there, wants to help them in a way she couldn’t this morning. But she saw the way they looked at her on deck, anger and hatred and fear. She’d be no comfort to them, not as a pirate. She could as herself, as a mother like ones they keep calling out for even now. Little boys can’t keep secrets. Emma’s shared her secret enough on this island. She can’t risk it without knowing they’re allies. 

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less horrible, doesn’t make the guilt any lighter or stop each wail from piercing through her chest. And it doesn’t bring sleep either. She hears the door to the room beside her open quietly and shut with a click, hears the muffled voices, one hissed anger and the other gentle compassion, back and forth until they both go silent, finding comfort amidst the chaos. 

It makes her want to cry, to let her own tears join those she only hears because she’s always been alone, because she’s always been abandoned - time and again. That may be the worse part, the small, selfish part of her that couldn’t help but understand their sorrow. She’s never lived through anything like they just have, but she knows that betrayal, the heartbreak of having trusted someone so completely, only to be cast aside. Alone again. Always alone. 

“Emma?” He’s not asleep when she sneaks into his cabin, pads across the small space to his bed. He’s half sat up, hand reaching instinctively for his sword at the first creak of the door opening, but his brace and hook are on the small table beside him, blunted arm and chest bare, sheets pooled in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to answer, all of her explanations feeling weak, and her words get caught on a shaky inhale. She doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead she closes the rest of the distance between them, climbing carefully into the bed beside him and sliding beneath the covers. He tenses for a moment when she curls herself against his side, head resting tentatively on his shoulder, but then he softens, letting out a breath and sinking back against the pillows. 

His arm hovers, hesitating before wrapping around her. She brings her own hand to his chest, focusing on the feel of the dark hair beneath her fingers rather than the way her hands still shake, listening to the rise and fall of his breaths rather than the sobs upstairs she can’t escape, and the steady beat of his heart as she tries to forget all the ones that won’t beat again. 

His lips press to her crown, not quite a kiss as he speaks against her hair. “Sleep, love. Neverland can’t find you here.”

******

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly  @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @batana54 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s  @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12   @anmylica   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee

[brucethegirl]

I've been reading a lot of fics lately, I want to read more. But here's some of my favorites I've read recently:

Complete

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke

Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. AU Dark Hook in original curse

Make A Wish

Stuck in the Enchanted Forest after her wish was granted, Emma seeks out Killian. She doesn't expect what she finds. Canon divergence from 6x11 on

Christmas Wars: A New Hope

The last thing Emma Swan expects when she shows up for her sister's destination Christmas wedding is to find an irresistible groomsman with all the right looks and all the wrong opinions - about everything. But there's something beneath the bickering, something a lot softer than it seems on the surface, and Emma and Killian both find a new hope after heartbreak and loss. AU contemporary

No More Interruptions

She hadn't seen him in five years. Five years since her parents had interrupted them when they both had been on the cusp on moving beyond just being friends. Five years of wondering if he ever thought of her or even cared anymore. Now it was her birthday and he was back, making her question everything. (Captain Swan AU, Lieutenant Duckling verse. One-Shot)

Breathless

Emma and Killian share more than just a heart. Smut that turns really emotional and intense trauma discussion Canon divergent season 5.

The Legend of Captain Killian Jones

Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse. A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts. AU Contemporary and ghosts

A Case of You

A "Practical Magic" AU in which Killian is a twice-cursed witch who's home after a murder, Emma is a single mom and deputy that's new to town, and their paths cross in ways they never expected.

A Gentleman Never Tells

Right after saving Henry in Neverland, Pan puts Emma under a Sleeping Curse that only romantic love can break. Hook's kiss wakes her, but in the confusion of the moment, it appears to everyone else, including Emma, that it was Neal's kiss that woke her. As the group celebrates and Hook empties his flask alone, he can't help thinking it is better this way.

Incomplete

When I Saw Your Face

Emma escapes the castle at night to experience the kingdom she will one day, reluctantly, rule and meets a pirate captain who might be more than he seems. AU princess/pirate

like if cleopatra grew up in a small town

Henry needs a dad. That's fine. Emma can deal with that. The problem? Neal wants more. The second problem? Emma keeps running into Hook and, despite trying to keep it friendly between them, finds herself falling in love.

You, Me, and Who You Used to Be

After getting her parents back on track, Emma’s magic returns. But before she can conjure a portal home, Killian is abducted. Alone in a world she knows nothing about and with no idea how to find Killian, Emma enlists the only person—or rather, pirate—who would be as motivated to save Killian as she is. However… Killian’s past may just be what destroys the future. CS Movie Divergence

Darkness Will Be Rewritten

A delay of five minutes can alter someone's destiny entirely. Imagine what a delay of eighteen years might do. The first eighteen years of Emma's life is a black void. And after ten years of having no memories for those years, a boy shows up at her door, claiming he's her son. He takes her to Storybrooke and she finds herself staying, trying to deny the connection she feels not only to the boy, but also to the fisherman he hangs out with that smells like rum and has eyes that remind her of a home she can't even remember. (While this is complete, the sequel is not)

To Read

Uncharted Neverland

Princess Emma swan saviour to her people is trapped in a dangerous island with no escape, were she meets Captain Hook known pirate, his mission is to find a lost fortune on the uncharted island, this treasure may also hold the key to escaping Neverland. CS AU princess/pirate

[kmomof4]

OUAT Appreciation Week

November 12- Favorite Arc

That would be Neverland. And I just so happen to have 2 fics that fit in the Neverland arc…

Choices

And

A One Time Thing?

Both one shots, both rated M for smut, one canon compliant, the other canon divergent. If you haven’t read them, I hope you enjoy them and let me know what you think. If you have read them, maybe it’s time for a reread?

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite @alexa-fangirl-forever @bluewildcatfanatic

@qualitycoffeethings @dinneratgrannys

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Hi! It's your Secret Santa 🎅🏼 just popping in to ask your hopes, dreams, desires, and wishes for your Secret Santa gift this year! I will be writing a fic and would love to know things you like, dislike, favorite CS moments/scenes, etc! Even if it's not CS related, I'm still all ears for some of your favorite things and other forms of entertainment (foods, drinks, clothing, music, movies, etc.) and I'll do my best to sneak some of those in there too!

Hope you have a merry December and 'tis the season for Captain Swan! 🏴‍☠️🦢

Hi Santa! I look forward to my fic! As to things I like and dislike...you really can't go wrong with CS! For a Christmas fic, I'd prefer it to be more on the fluffy side than the angsty side but I wouldn't mind some hurt/comfort. I tend to like stories that are more based on canon than au, but I'm not that picky. My favorite season for CS is season 3, and my favorite episode/moments come from the CS movie finale, but I'd also never say no to something Neverland related. Some of my favorite fic tropes are enemies to lovers, fake dating, and of course, the perennial favorite: "there was only one bed" (although I would prefer no smut).

As to dislikes, I really, really dislike Neal, so I wouldn't mind him being absent--or if he's around, I wouldn't mind seeing him suffer, lol. I also am not a fan of Mr. Gold, but Rumple in the EF can be entertaining. Regina...well, I don't dislike her, and I actually really like OQ, but her whininess and belief that she's a perpetual victim get on my nerves.

[stubblesandwich]

heyyy! it's your secret santa! (sorry it took so long to reach out. been a bit under the weather lately)

checking in so you know i haven't forgotten you lmao. lmk if you have any specific requests! hope your december is going well so far 💗

HEY SANTA!! I'm so glad you're alive. ❤️ I'm sorry you haven't been feeling well, though! That stinks. ☹️ You know what, my December is going well! I honestly went a little insane with the black Friday shopping, just getting everything for the kids and family members, and I've been having packages come to my door to a ridiculous degree. And I've forgotten half of what I've ordered, so it makes every day feel like Christmas. 🤣 We got a ton of snow this week (Michigangster, here ✌🏻) so that's been fun, too--primarily because we have a woodburning stove. It's 80 degrees in here right now, and smells like wood smoke, and it is GLORIOUS. I am very very spoiled. How has your December been, my sweet Santa? Apart from getting sick!

IDK what your skills are, between art, writing, video/gif making, but I'll be happy with and appreciate anything you make me. 🥰 I just don't really do smut at all. ✌🏻 I know specifics help, so if it's artwork your skills lie in, I love the adorable domestic CS scenes. For all else, I gotta be honest, I'm a slut for angst and hurt/comfort. 😎 I've written some AUs, myself, but when I read fic I tend to gravitate toward canon compliant and canon divergent stuff. Season three is my jam, and season five is my second jam. They are equally wonderful to me. We were so so well fed in season five. And then I just have such a soft spot for all the pining in season three, and Neverland, and the CS movie. I feel like the writing of the show was at its best in season three. And yet!! Season five is a masterpiece in many ways. I ate up all that delicious whump like there was no tomorrow. 😆

So there you have it, Santa. There are all my freaky kinks. 🤣 I hope you feel better, buddy! Looking forward to talking to you some more, when you feel up to it.

[deckerstarblanche]

Chapter 3 of “Back In Neverland” is here! ❤️

NOTE: Very smutty and NSFW!!!!

Tag list: @kmomof4 @stahlop @jrob64 @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @jonesfandomfanatic @teamhook @apiratewhopines @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @zaharadessert @k-leemac @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @justanother-unluckysoul @sailtoafarawayland @dauntlesstribute @pirateprincessofpizza @pirateherokillian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @jadehowlettthewolf @batana54

[caught-in-the-filter]

Emma Was Cold

A Neverland smut fic for @neverlandnewyear​ and @csjanuaryjoy​

Summary: Emma Swan finds that Neverland nights get surprisingly cold. Luckily, Captain Hook has some experience in keeping warm.

4006 Words; Rated: E; AO3

A/N: This is basically Neverland PWP. It was inspired by something I commented in the CS Movie Marathon Discord a while back, and I never expected to actually write the thing myself. This is the first full smut fic I’m publicly posting with one of my urls attached, so I’m both excited and scared to share it. First, I need to give a huge shoutout to all the lovely people on the CSMM, CSNLNY, and CSJJ Discords for all their encouragement and assistance while I struggled to write this fic. Special shoutouts to @teamhook​, @kmomof4​, @hollyethecurious​, and @donteattheappleshook​ for reviewing bits of the doc for me as I went along and being super supportive, and especially to Maddie for also giving it a last minute full review once I finished it and helping me with edits. Also a big thank you to the mods for running these amazing events and for working together to allow us to cross-post between the two.

Alright, here we go....

——

“Are you alright, Swan?” Hook asked as he turned toward Emma to find her shivering where she lay a few feet away from him, his question prompted by the fact that he could actually hear the clacking sound of her teeth chattering.

“I’m f-fine,” Emma answered, curling further into herself as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms beneath the threadbare blanket that provided her with such little warmth. Who’d have thought Neverland would get so cold at night? She wished she’d worn more than a thin tank top, which served her well during the blazing heat of the day but offered no protection from the cool temperatures she faced now.

“Are you sure?” he prodded with a smirk, “If you’d like me to keep you warm, love, you need only ask. I’d be more than willing to—”

“I said I’m fine,” Emma snapped, “and I’m not your love.”

“Suit yourself.” Hook rolled back onto his side. “Like everything else on this island, Neverland nights are not kind. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

——

Emma was cold, so cold that she couldn’t stop shaking despite her best efforts. Tensing only made it worse, but she just couldn’t relax either. She cursed herself under her breath, knowing she shouldn’t give in but desperate for the rest she knew she’d never find in such a state.

“Hook?” she whispered, padding over to where he lay apart from the rest, half hoping he would already be asleep.

“Hm?” He turned toward her once more, the smirk returning to his face and burning a hole right through her.

Emma wondered if the embarrassment that set fire to her cheeks would be enough to warm her, but she’d already gained his attention.

“Did you have a change of heart then, love?” Hook questioned. “Are you ready to warm up to me? Or with me, I should say.”

“Nevermind,” Emma rolled her eyes and stepped away from him in annoyance, hoping he couldn’t see her shivering.

“Swan—”

“No.”

“Swan, please look at me,” he pleaded, more softly than she’d have expected. She turned toward him impatiently, ready to go off on him if necessary, but found a gentle look in his eyes and let him continue.

“I may be a bit brash when it comes to making my interest known, Emma, but I assure you I am nothing if not a gentleman. Neverland is a cruel place and I would not wish to make it any more so. If we are to share warmth in a strictly practical manner, so be it.” He waved her over to him, his hooked arm outstretched in invitation to serve as her pillow. “You need rest, and I won’t let you freeze to death in your sleep before we rescue your boy.”

Emma approached him with caution, hesitating before she sat and turned her back to him as she rested her head on his arm. She wondered how he could sleep in that leather duster of his, but as he held her close, pressing his chest flush against her back but making a point to turn his hips away from her, and draped the thick material of the coat over her as well, she realized just how comfortable it actually was. She wouldn’t admit to the sudden and surprising sense of calm that washed over her as she settled next to him, but in the unexplainable safety, it didn’t take long before she was sound asleep.

——

Though it was still dark when she awoke, Emma felt as refreshed as if she’d had a full night’s sleep, a feeling and a feat she hadn’t achieved in a very long time. She huffed out a breath with a roll of her eyes when she realized she’d been pinned by Hook’s other arm which curled loosely around her middle. He must have turned in his sleep, somehow gently enough to not wake her. Her instincts said to shove him away, but he had been decent enough to respect her boundaries in his offer. And, after all, she was much warmer this way, which was the whole point of moving closer together.

He suddenly shifted in his sleep again, and Emma gasped when she felt his clothed warmth brush against her denim-clad ass. Wait, was he actually hard?! Before she could stop herself, Emma let out an involuntary moan when he rubbed against her again and she immediately froze, wide-eyed and praying he didn’t hear her as all the heat they’d shared travelled south, save for that which reddened her cheeks. After a moment had passed without a reaction from him, she allowed herself to relax again, only to be suddenly pulled closer to him.

“Sounds like you liked that, Swan?” Hook remarked and rolled his hips ever so slightly. She could sense the shit-eating grin returning to his smug face.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he did it again before she responded, “Please, you couldn’t handle it,” and returned the motion, surprising him with the unexpected reciprocation.

“I do love a challenge. But tell me something, love,” he said, his hand traveling down towards her waistband, passing over the zipper and slipping between her thighs as his lips hovered over her neck and his hot breath seared her flesh, “can you handle staying quiet?” He lifted her leg and draped it over his own, giving himself the space to cup her through her jeans. “Everyone else is still asleep, and in any case it’s still too dark to journey on.” He placed a kiss just below her ear and continued, his voice a low growl just above a whisper, “Just say the word, I can help you ease your mind for a while.” The corner of his lips twitched upward as he teasingly flexed his fingers against her and added, “And the ache you might be feeling, if that moan were any indication.”

Emma silently cursed herself for letting that sound escape from her lips, and once more for what she knew she was about to give in to so quickly. He was right, she could use a distraction from her racing mind now that she was more awake again, and he was a damn tempting one. Her breath hitched when he caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged, eliciting another soft moan from deep within her, and her decision was made.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, love?” he asked, nosing down her neck until his mouth latched onto the space between it and her shoulder, nipping and sucking her flesh and laving over it with his tongue.

“Yes, I can stay quiet.” Her hand reached up to find purchase in his hair, encouraging him to continue his claim of her collarbone. “Yes, I want you to ease my… well, everything.” He chuckled at that, the vibration of his laughter against her skin sending a chill down her spine.

“As you wish.” Hook wasted no time popping the button on Emma’s jeans, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his hand beneath the denim. “Oh?” He said, his eyebrow raised in wonder at the soft, thin material covering his goal. He rubbed his fingers over it, feeling her arousal soaking through it as he teased her. “You certainly do.” Hook pushed her panties aside and sank two fingers inside her.

“Ohh fuck,” Emma choked back another moan, the sinful sounds as he plunged them into her dripping core again and again filling the air instead. His rings bit into her skin with every thrust, the cool metal a jarring, yet welcome counter to the hot friction they were creating. She rocked her hips to meet him each time, and his breathing grew ragged as he rutted himself against the curve of her ass in synchrony. As Emma’s movements grew frantic, Hook’s slowed to a stop, and Emma groaned in protest when he removed his fingers from inside her, dragging them through her folds to brush her clit for just a moment.

“Not yet, Swan.” Hook carefully slipped his arm out from beneath her head and gently turned her towards himself so that she lay on her back. Getting to his knees and stripping off his duster, he knelt between her spread legs. “I’m a fan of every part of you, and I intend to show you just how much of a fan I am.” 

He slipped his hooked arm beneath her tank only to find his access to her breasts blocked by another bit of material. Lifting the top to reveal the offending garment, he looped his prosthetic beneath it, the tip of the hook scraping against her skin as he did, and tugged. He noted that the small scrap of fabric differed from the corsets he was used to removing from women he’d bedded in the past but assumed it would be no less easy to snap than the laces he’d encountered on them.

“Hey!” Emma caught his wrist before he could succeed in his efforts. “I need this! Let me just….” She sat up for a moment to take off her tank top and undo the clasps at her back so she could toss her bra aside. “There.”

“Apologies, love,” Hook said, “and thank you.” He guided her back down with his hand just beneath her now exposed breast, thumbing at her tightening nipple as his mouth tended to the other. “Bloody magnificent, these are,” he mumbled against her as he teased them to stiff peaks. Emma tried to relax as the throbbing between her legs became almost unbearable and she longed for more friction to soothe it.

When he was at last satisfied, Hook released her nipple from his mouth with a resounding pop, flicked it a few times with the curve of his hook for good measure, and gave the same treatment to the other, relishing the way she squirmed beneath him as he nibbled and sucked and kneaded.

Emma gasped when the cold air rushed over her wet skin as Hook finished with her breasts and slid his body lower between her legs, trailing sloppy kisses down her abdomen along the way until he reached the top of her jeans.

Glancing up at her, he kept his eyes on hers as he gently tucked his fingers and hook just under the edge of her waistband.

“May I?” he asked, waiting for her approval to proceed.

“Yes,” she answered, “god, yes.” He grinned at that and very slowly tugged her jeans down her legs, distracted by the view of the place where his hand had been, covered only by the thin strip of fabric that had grown damp beneath his touch, pausing for a moment to slip off her boots when he reached them before removing the denim completely.

“You,” Hook said as he took in the sight of her almost completely naked form, “are absolutely stunning, Swan.” He scanned her body a moment longer, watching the blush spread over her cheeks and across her chest as she flushed pink under his desirous scrutiny. He nosed along the creases of her thighs and up the material that hid his goal before taking the top hem between his teeth, pulling it down until it hung from his mouth and letting it fall beside her on the blanket beneath them.

Fuck, that was hot, Emma thought to herself as she watched him lower his head and raise his hungry gaze to hers. The smirk on his face made her wonder for a moment if she had actually said it out loud.

Any concern she had about her comment was swept away as he gently flattened his tongue against her slick flesh, never breaking eye contact as he slowly licked an inquisitive stripe along her folds, dipping it between them just enough to pass over her clit before departing. The shiver that passed through her whole body at the contact was enough to make him do it twice more before diving in as deep as he could and mapping her inner walls with his tongue. He mumbled soft praises as he worked her—“Delicious…. Exquisite…. Divine….”—without ever fully pulling away to say them, too lost in the taste of her, as if he couldn’t get enough and didn’t want to lose even a drop of her essence. Soon he found the spot that made her hips buck and her thighs pull together, pressing against the sides of his head, and he reintroduced his fingers inside her as he licked at the spot relentlessly, knowing she grew ever closer to her release.

His scruff raked against her skin as her legs locked around him, her heels digging into his back, and she knew the raw streaks of raised red would burn later as they continued through Neverland on foot. But with the way he was making her feel in that moment, she figured it would be worth it.

The shaking overtook her suddenly and her back arched as he gave a particularly strong suck on her clit, and she came as he continued to fuck her with his hand and mouth. He reached up to silence her by pressing the curve of his hook to her lips as an overwhelmed cry caught in her throat. Taking the prosthetic into her mouth, she gently bit down on it and laved over it with her tongue to distract herself from the way he tended to her dripping core in kind. He lapped at her entrance until her waves of pleasure receded and she relaxed against the blanket, their chests heaving in an attempt to catch their breaths. He crawled over her body, hovering above her looking absolutely wrecked before he’d even been touched, his chin glistening with her release and his eyes blown wide with insatiable desire.

Their mouths crashed together and he laced his fingers through her golden locks while her hands anchored in the hair at the nape of his neck. She tasted herself on him as she traced his lips with her tongue and opened hers in invitation for his further exploration.

“You, my wanton lass, are far from quiet.” Hook attacked Emma’s lips with his own, her false rebuttal lost before it could be voiced as his tongue dipped between them and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth upon its retreat.

Emma hadn’t seen him reach for the panties he’d discarded next to her earlier until he pulled away and sat back on his haunches as he replaced his tongue with the wet scrap of material.

“Any other time, I’d love nothing more than to hear how I make you feel, but given the circumstances…,” he trailed off with a glance in the direction of their slumbering company not too far away, before returning his gaze to Emma with a smirk. “Luckily, there are ways to assist you.” He leaned over her once more to whisper in her ear, “Perhaps another time we can meet on my ship, sail far from the shore, just the two of us, and I’ll make you produce all manner of sounds for only me to hear. Hm?”

If he were expecting an answer, Emma couldn’t give him one. She told herself this was a one-time thing, just a way to blow off some steam and clear her head before the next long stretch of their journey through this land of mysterious horrors she wished she’d never have had to encounter like this. She wished Neverland could have stayed a story, though she wouldn’t admit out loud that she did prefer this real version of the fearsome Captain Hook.

Well, that and she now had a mouthful of cotton.

Emma watched as he unlaced his trousers, and she found herself unable to look away when he took himself in hand and passed the tip of his cock along her folds, aligning himself with her entrance before he stopped.

“Swan?” Hook said, bringing her out of her distracted stupor and calling her attention to his searching eyes, all of his bravado gone and replaced with a serious, patient tone. “Emma, are you sure?”

She hadn’t expected him to ask again, and that consideration for her wishes she hadn’t often encountered, paired with his rare use of her first name, only increased her desire to say yes. Unable to actually speak it, she held his gaze, hoping hers looked just as soft, and gently brushed her fingers down his cheek before she trailed them down his arms and gripped his hips with an encouraging nod.

Emma bit down hard on her makeshift gag and her head lolled back as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, the stretch burning in the best way with every inch as her body responded to his entrance with slick heat until he was fully seated within her. The feel of her around him took his breath away, and Hook braced himself on his elbows at either side of her as his head fell forward next to hers and he panted over her shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking perfect,” Hook whispered in her ear through gritted teeth. He finally began to move, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he pulled back and slid home again and again. She pivoted her hips to meet him with each thrust, feeling a euphoric fullness every time she took him in deep that left her softly whimpering in protest upon his retreats.

It was too much and not enough and just right all at once. Emma’s hands slipped beneath Hook’s shirt and she raked her nails up and down his back before digging them into his flesh as she scrabbled for purchase to steady herself beneath him, and to draw him ever closer to her.

Her mouth grew dry as the material between her teeth absorbed what little moisture wasn’t being expelled from her body in arousal and sweat. She wanted to kiss him, but even if she could, his mouth was otherwise engaged, sucking a mark into the side of her neck before tonguing at the hollow of her throat on its way to brand her collarbone. She couldn’t be bothered to care if anyone would see the evidence of his claim, not while he was giving her nothing but pleasure as his hips snapped with purpose.

“Come for me, Emma.” Hook’s fingers returned to her clit to circle and tease it as they both neared their releases. “Let me feel you come on my cock.” He groaned louder than he meant to when her hands cupped his ass through his trousers. “I won’t last much longer, love.”

He almost lost it when she gripped him tighter and nodded with a downward glance before meeting and holding his gaze.

“Fuck, Emma,” he breathed, a lightheadedness overtaking him as everything inside him tensed and he slammed into her with abandon. Looping his hook under the edge of her panties that peeked out from between her lips, he tugged the material to remove it without wasting time to toss it aside, letting it drape over his prosthetic as he filled her mouth with his tongue instead in a hot slide.

“Killian,” she moaned in a whisper against his eager lips, finally able to speak to some extent as he ravished both her mouth and her aching core.

“What?” He said in breathless surprise, unsure of whether he’d heard her correctly or imagined it with his own pulse pounding in his head, his hungry and frantic eyes flitting from side to side as they searched hers. A soft smile spread across his face. That was the first word she’d spoken, not even his more colorful moniker she’d been accustomed to using, but—

“Killian,” she called him by his name again, feeling that same dizzy high he felt as she rocked forward into him. “Yes. Yes.”

Something inside him snapped, and he muffled his pleasured cries against her lips as he poured himself inside her, relentlessly thumbing at her clit to bring her to release. A rush of heat spread through her body as his cock pulsed inside her, and her walls fluttered around him as she rose and fell with him.

He pulled back for a moment and caught the thick whitish fluid that dripped from her core with the tip of his cock before pushing it deeper inside her with a desperate grunt until they both finally slowed their movements to a stop.

“That was—” Hook, the man full of innuendos, fell speechless as he carefully held himself above her, propped up on his elbows, and let his forehead drop to hers as he panted with hot breath over her lips.

A one-time thing, Emma wanted so badly to say, but she had trouble even believing herself then. The way he made her feel, the way she knew he felt, the way they felt together. None of it felt like a one-time thing. She knew what those were, but this right here with him, this could be so much more. And it both thrilled and terrified her.

“I know,” she said instead, trying desperately to process everything that had just happened, and everything she might have wished would happen in the future, if they’d have a future at all. Would they?

She subtly shook her head in an attempt to clear it and pulled him to her for another kiss before she lifted her panties off his hook and pressed her other hand to his chest where it was exposed by the low neckline of his shirt and vest, following his body with hers as she guided him back so she could sit upright. Flattening the material over her palm, she passed it between her folds and stared into the depths of his ocean blue eyes as she rubbed the damp cotton over his wet cock, making his jaw drop as his breath hitched in his throat.

“We can’t leave a mess, now can we?” Emma smirked. Pumping him with her covered hand, she took his cock into her mouth, and he hissed when she passed her tongue over the tip and groaned around him at the taste as it leaked a bit more of his release.

“Gods, Emma,” Hook stuttered as he leaned back on his hand for support before he stilled her by catching her wrist with his hook, and she released him with a soft pop and a mischievous smirk as she looked up at him. “Keep doing that, love, and there’s going to be a much more obvious tell.”

“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh, getting to her feet and slipping on her wrecked panties with a taunting wiggle of her hips as she pulled them up under the weight of his entranced gaze until he realized he’d been staring and cast his eyes toward the ground. She’d probably feel it later, the sweltering heat of the Neverland sun bound to leave her feeling stickier than its induced sweat already would, but knowing he’d know that his effects on her would be keeping her wet long after they’d finished their more enjoyable activities… well, her own potential discomfort would be a cross she’d be willing to bear without regret.

She continued to get dressed, and he gave her the decency of turning his back to her as she did and as he righted himself as well, an admittedly unnecessary gesture after the rather indecent act they’d just committed together, but oddly endearing nonetheless.

“Here, love,” Hook picked up his duster and held it open in offering for her to wear, but she waved him off with a smile.

“I’m okay now, thanks. It suits you better anyway. And besides,” Emma winked at him, “I think I prefer sharing it.”

Hook swirled it around himself with a dramatic flair to put it on, tucked his hand and hook in the pockets, and reached out to enwrap Emma in the heavy leather with him, eliciting a giggle as he held her close.

She certainly wasn’t cold anymore.

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

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[hookedonapirate]

I’ll Hold On To You

Summary: When Emma said “a onetime thing,” she didn't think he'd take it so literally.

A/N: This happened because of all the Neverland smut talk on Discord and because I wanted to contribute to the wonderful collection.

I was listening to Don't Give Up On Me by Andy Grammer while I was writing this and it reminded me of Killian, especially in the episode, Dark Hollow, so that's where the title comes from.

Hope you enjoy :)

Rated: Explicit because, well, it’s basically pure smut ;)

Also available on: AO3 I FF.N

I will fight I will fight for you I always do until my heart Is black and blue

  And I will stay I will stay with you We'll make it to the other side Like lovers do

    I'll reach my hands out in the dark And wait for yours to interlock I'll wait for you I'll wait for you

  —Don't Give Up On Me by Andy Grammer

  There’s something about the way he constantly stares at he—the way those damn drowning blue eyes hold such a blinding intensity that gives her goosebumps, the way his tongue darts across his lips so obscenely, it should be illegal, the way he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring at her—which makes her want to throw her damn promise out the window. 

A onetime thing is what she’d said. 

So why does she want so much more than that from him? Why does she want to peel away all that leather until he’s standing before her glorious and naked, his manhood hard and throbbing and aching to fill her to the brim and why does she want to wrap her legs around his hips so snug and tight, allowing him to drive into her so hard and deep and fast until she’s seeing stars and screaming out his name, until she’s falling apart in his arms? 

She wants to hate him; she wants to pretend that kiss never happened, but now she knows what his mouth tastes like and that his tongue feels like soft silk against her own and how warm and firm his body feels pressed against hers. Now she’s screaming on the inside, fighting an internal battle, fighting for her sanity when she’s supposed to be finding her son. But she can’t help it. She craves Hook with every fiber of her being and she’s afraid all the walls she’s built up so high will come tumbling around her with just the right look. But she knows the burning desire between them will only fade once she gives in to the allure of it all, and then she will be able to find some sort of semblance again. She’ll be able to breathe again.

Or so she's convinced herself.

The sun had sunk below the horizon an hour ago when they set up camp and now they’re sitting around the fire and they’re running low on wood. Emma had avoided sitting by him because she was afraid the fire wouldn’t have been the only thing heating their campsite if he were too close. But now he’s looking at her from across the dancing flames, and she knows that look too well. But this time there’s much more heat behind his stare than there was before their kiss—there’s more intensity, more hunger—and she has to bite her lip when her eyes connect with his. She has to resist the temptation of giving in when all she wants to do is give in. She wants to be touched by him. She wants to be ravaged by him.

His gaze is so intense she can’t hear anything—not the critters of the night or the crackling of the fire or the other people chatting around her as she stares back at him. She can engage in this staring contest with him all night long since she probably won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight anyway, but then he does the one thing she knows will break her. Make her succumb. He wets his lips, that sinfully delicious tongue emerging from the seam of his mouth, and that’s what does her in. She has to swallow the moan threatening to claw its way up her throat as she thinks about how good that tongue would feel between her thighs.

Mmmm…

She stands from her spot, never once taking her eyes off Killian, and does her best to sound as subtle as possible. “I'm going to gather some more wood. Hook, want to give me a hand?” 

The most ridiculous grin creeps over Killian’s face, not helping her situation. It’s certainly not going to dry her panties. “Is that a joke, love?” he teases, throwing her own words in her face.

“Sorry, poor choice of words,” she apologizes, offering a small smile. She’s waiting for Killian to stand and join her, but Neal beats him to the punch. 

“I’ll go with you, Ems.”

Killian shoots up from his spot, gritting his teeth and glaring daggers at Neal. “I believe the lady asked me to come with her.”

Neal shrugs. “I just figure she could use more hands.”

Hook's jaw twitches as he steps up to Neal with an almost murderous look in his eyes. “Trust me, mate, I can do more with one hand than you could ever do with eight.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” David interjects, trying to diffuse the obvious tension brewing between Neal and Killian. “Why don’t you both go so Emma doesn’t have to go venturing off in the woods in the dark.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma assures him. “I was a homeless orphan on the streets when I was a child, I can handle myself in the woods.” Emma immediately regrets her words when she sees the sad, regretful look on her mother's face. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

Mary Margaret shakes her head, waving off her words. “No, you're right, you're more than capable of looking out for yourself.”

  “Okay, so it’s settled; I’m going, but I don't feel like getting lost in the woods and, Hook, you know the island more than anyone so you're coming with me.”

“Hey, I know this island just as well as he does,” Neal argues defensively.

“Well, I didn't ask you to come with me. I asked Hook,” she states firmly, not in the mood, nor does she have the time or patience to put up with Neal's petty arguments. She just wants some alone time with Hook, but he and Neal are too busy having a stare-down to notice her shoving past them. “Let's go,” she says to Hook. 

“As you wish, love.” 

A faint smile pulls at her lips as she walks away from the site, her heart fluttering in her chest. She'll never get tired of hearing him say that.

She walks ahead of him until they're far enough away from the others, until Emma's sure they won't be able to hear her or Killian. When he starts picking up sticks from the forest floor, Emma has to suppress a laugh. He actually thought she pulled him away to grab more wood. Well, she supposes she escaped to grab wood, she just had a different kind of wood in mind. “You do know that wood is going right back to the ground, right?”

Killian rises after picking up another stick, and eyes her inquisitively. “Is that not the purpose of escaping camp and coming here?”

Emma saunters to him, planting her hands on her hips and tossing him a saucy smirk. “Oh, we'll be coming all right.”

Killian arches a brow and clutches the wood tighter to his chest, still oblivious to her intentions. “Coming where, love?”

Emma purses her lips and surveys their surroundings until her eyes land on an acceptable surface behind him. It's really the best they can do, given the circumstances and lack of space. “Against that tree will do.”

He turns his head to see what tree she's referring to while she waits for him to get it—to understand what her words are implying—and honestly, she expected him to catch on much quicker than this. He is a three-hundred-year-old pirate after all. Maybe he understands, but he's playing dumb because he's afraid to get his hopes up. She told him that kiss was only a onetime thing so maybe he took it to heart. 

He takes a full moment—a moment of scratching being his ear, of quirking his handsome features and furrowing his brows—before it finally dawns on him, before the comprehension finally flickers in his eyes, before the wrinkles in his forehead finally smooth over and his mouth falls agape as he processes her words.

But they've already wasted enough time and her parents are probably wondering what's taking so long. So she acts quickly, grabbing his face and capturing his lips, earning a surprised groan from his throat and relishing the way the sound reverberates through her body. He's taken off guard at first, but it doesn't take long for him to move his lips against hers, to toss the wood to the forest floor with a thump so he can thread his fingers through her golden locks of hair, pulling her closer as she wraps her arms around the back of his neck. 

His tongue is just as pliant and warm and skilled as she remembers, plunging into her mouth so greedily, moving and flicking and pressing deliciously against hers. They're breathing each other in every time their lips change angles, and they're fighting for dominance, the dual of tongues and teeth making her head spin. He's pushing her back up against the tree she had mentioned earlier, and her heart is racing as he presses into her and swallows the gasp she makes when she feels how hard he is against her. God, he feels good, like heaven and sin; she can tell he's big, her clit is pulsing and she’s aching to have him inside her.

She sucks his tongue into her mouth, earning what she can only describe as a primal growl from his throat and she doesn't want the kiss to end (she didn't want the kiss to end last time either) but she needs him. She breaks the kiss to tug her shirt over her head and toss it to the ground, and when he doesn’t voice a protest (as if he would) she pulls off her white, lacy bra, adding it to the pile. His eyes go big and wide and he's staring at her breasts like it's Christmas morning (even though she doubts he's ever experienced one) and he takes them in his palm, kneading her honey-soft flesh and caressing softly. They fit perfectly in his hand like they were made for him, and her head falls back, landing softly against the tree with a moan. Her panties are fucking soaked. 

His arms tighten around her as he kisses down the column of her neck, and she's closing her eyes, relishing the way his lips feel, the way his teeth nip her skin as he makes his way down, reaching her chest and mouthing her breasts. He draws a soft, pink nipple into his mouth, licking and teasing and moving his tongue around until her nipple is hard and swollen before he switches to the other one. A moan escapes her mouth when he’s suckling harder and lifting his hook to her other breast, the cool metal circling her nipple. Her breaths come out in shallow pants as he caresses her nipples with his fingers, his tongue, his hook and God it's amazing, she could come if he keeps this up.

“Harder...” she breathes, her words wrecked.

He eagerly complies, pinching a little harder as she pulls his face to hers and resumes their sloppy kissing. She removes her hands from his cheeks to reach between them and struggles to undo his pants. 

God damn it, why does he have to wear so many clothes all the fucking time, especially in this godforsaken humidity? She finally unzips his leather pants and shoves her hand inside to find what's waiting for her underneath all that leather. She wraps her hand around his length, and strokes him gently, letting his cock slide easily through her fist, and oh God, he's even bigger and thicker and harder than she'd imagined. Every time her hand drags down his impressive length, she takes his balls in her palm, gently caressing and massaging them before making her way up his shaft again.

Killian’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and he melts into her and buries his face in the crook of her neck, whispering into her ear, “You keep that up, you’re gonna make me come.”

Her walls clench at his words and as much as she wants to finish him like this, she wants his cock inside her. She needs him like she needs air to breathe. “Then you better hurry up and fuck me, Captain.”

When he lifts his head to gaze into her eyes, searching for her genuine consent, she’s donning a lascivious smirk. “Are you sure about this, love?”

She tightens her grip around his cock, stroking him harder and faster until he won’t be able to do anything but give her what she wants. But the look in his eyes already tells her he would go to the end of the world and back for her. “Yes, please…” she begs, not caring that her voice is cracking with desperation. “I need... I need—”

“I know what you need,” he growls and quickly pulls off his jacket, letting it fall to the forest floor before yanking her leggings and panties down as she helps him, adding the clothes to the pile. Once she's completely naked, he looks like he wants to devour her from head to toe but there's no time for that, so she has other plans in mind. 

She pulls him to her and he's wrapping one arm around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. She's eagerly snaking her legs around his hips and guiding his weeping tip to her entrance. He’s slowly rocking back and forth, invading her tight sheath, letting her walls expand and accommodate to his girth, groaning as he succumbs to her heat. With one hand around the back of Killian’s neck and the other on his shoulder, she can’t stop the moans erupting from her mouth as he captures her lips and sets a delicious rhythm, thrusting in and out of her so perfectly, her nails digging into his shoulders. She’s bobbing up and down on his cock every time he slams into her, pushing her against the tree. When he releases her lips and buries his face in the crook of her neck, she can hear him cursing and feel him panting against her skin. 

God, she feels so full. Then Killian pulls out until the head of his cock is still inside her and just when she's about to protest, he thrusts into her again.

“Killian… fuck...” She can feel his lips widen against her neck before he lifts his head, donning a ridiculous smirk. She tries to furrow her brows at him while he’s fucking her, but he feels way too good, her mouth falling open when he’s hitting the perfect spot inside her.

“You called me Killian,” he gloats between shattered breaths, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’ve never once heard you call me by my actual name before.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she mumbles, and her attempt at an eye roll just leads to her eyes rolling to the back of her head as pure pleasure consumes her.

“As you wish, love,” he says cockily, knowing fully well he has her exactly where he wants her. His hand is still curled around her waist as he continues to invade her body, and Emma can only hold on to him for support as she rides his dick for all it’s worth.

Their skins smack together, loud enough for anyone around to hear as he cups her ass in his palm, holding her up as he tangles his hook in her hair, tugging just light enough to expose her neck so he claims her lips for a bruising kiss.

Their amorous activities in the middle of the forest, coupled with the Neverland humidity dampen their skin with sweat. And she’s wondering why she’s the only one naked here. Killian’s pants are pooled around his ankles, but he still has his shirt and vest on so she fumbles for the buttons and rips them off, sending buttons flying. He’s too consumed by her tight sheath to be mad as she pushes the fabrics from his shoulders, and he lets them fall to the ground. 

Her breasts feel hot against Killian’s toned, bare chest, his heart beating wildly against hers as she glorifies in the sight and feel of him, running her hands through his chest hair, finding it to be softer than she’d ever imagined; she’d itched to feel his chest hair between her fingers from day one. Dragging her nails down his ribs to his washboard stomach, she loves the way his abs ripple under her touch.

She really wants this all to last, but she knows her parents are already looking for them, and Emma and her lover are bound to get caught in this compromising position at some point. But right now she doesn’t give a fuck. If her parents catch them, they’d probably just turn around and sneak back to camp without Emma or Killian hearing them. That’s the best-case scenario. The worst case is David pulling Killian off of his daughter and giving him a good pounding with the pirate’s cock still out and glistering with Emma’s arousal. She shakes those thoughts away and focuses on the good pounding Killian’s giving her. She feels so wild and dirty and swears she grows wetter every time he rams into her. 

Knowing how soaking wet she is for him, feeling how easily his cock slides in and out of her heat brings him to the brink of madness. He tugs on her hair a little more, baring her neck to him so he can kiss her there, sucking love bruises into her soft, pale flesh.

Emma moans a little louder than she’d intended and she grips at his shoulders to keep from falling as his thickness plunges into her warmth. 

She’s so damn close.

He lowers his head from her neck and draws her nipple into his mouth, lapping it with his tongue and kissing each rose-colored tips.

As soon as she feels his teeth nipping at the stiff bud, her back arches and her entire body convulses, and with a long, drawn-out scream, her walls flutter and her nails dig into his back as she comes around his glorious cock, her orgasm washing over her in waves. “Killian…” His name tumbles from her lips like a broken prayer and she doesn't even care.

But this time he's not even grinning as he lifts his head; his mouth is too busy hanging open as his irises disappear into the darkness and his eyes roll back once more as her walls tighten and squeeze his cock. “Bloody… fucking... hell,” he growls, and she loves that phrase used in this context, she loves how the shattered words tumble off his tongue. She loves it because he normally speaks so confidently and impeccably—such a smooth talker he is—but when her walls are wrapped around his cock, he’s a complete mess.

She tips her head, her back dragging against the rough texture of the tree, Killian’s smooth body against hers providing a welcoming contrast. Just as she’s floating down from her high, Killian rubs her clit with his thumb as he picks up speed and vigorously pumps his cock into her, chasing his orgasm as he takes her with him.

Her nails almost draw blood into Killian’s back as he slams into her rough and hard, and God, it hurts everywhere, but in the very best way. She’s already coming again. She wraps her legs tighter around him, buries her face in his neck and bites his shoulder to muffle her cries as she lets herself explode once more.

As if it were even possible, her walls grip his cock tighter than before. With one last thrust, his arms securely wrapped around her, his muscles convulse and he comes with a deep, guttural groan, his hips slowing as he whispers, “Emma…” in her ear.

She shudders as he fills her up with his hot seed, his cock pulsing inside her.

They stay in that position for what seems like an eternity until he can barely hold them up anymore. He helps Emma to her feet but clings on to her just in case, and she's grateful because her knees feel like jello. Her legs are trembling from the aftermath of her two orgasms and she can feel his hot come dripping from between her thighs and down her legs. 

He caresses her face and places a soft, gentle kiss on her lips, not like the kisses they shared just minutes ago. But somehow a quick kiss turns into a long, heated one and before she knows what’s happening, they’re tumbling to the ground, she’s on her back and Killian’s forcing her legs apart and burying his face between her thighs so all she can see is the unruly, dark hair on his head as he laps up both their essences coating her folds with his tongue. She lets her head slump into the dirt, her chest heaving and her hand clenching his hair as the pleasure courses through her body once more. 

She’s trying to be as quiet as she can but that’s probably a lost cause by now. She can hear Killian’s lips smacking against her flesh and the little groans he provides as he eats into her like she’s his very last and very best meal. She can also hear her heart pounding mercilessly in her ear and the sound of a branch snapping from a close distance. Realizing they’re not the ones making the sound (they’re not even near the sticks Killian had tossed to the ground) she cranes her neck toward the direction the sound came from. 

She gulps when she sees Neal watching them from behind a bush, his eyes filled with lust as he sees his ex-girlfriend writhing on the ground with her legs spread wide, her skin flushed pink as Killian’s face is buried in her cunt. She hates to admit it, but she knows that look. She knows Neal is aroused as he watches his former lover being completely devoured by the dirty pirate. Emma gives into the little smirk tugging at her lips as she rolls her head back to give Killian her undivided attention. She wonders how long Neal has been watching them. Knowing he’s only a few feet away makes her feel so naughty, yet emboldens her more than she cares to admit. 

“Mmmm, I love the way you taste… so sweet,” Killian groans against her glistening folds. 

She tugs on his hair and arches her back as the pleasure builds again. “Killian, make me come again! Make me yours!” she screams, making sure she’s loud enough so Neal can hear her. So he knows that, even though he was incapable of doing so when they were together, she actually can have an orgasm. Multiple in fact.

But Killian doesn’t have to try very hard. He already knows her body more than Neal ever did and this is their first time together. He already knows how to plunge his fingers into her heat at just the right angle and speed and that if he sucks her clit into his mouth as he finger-fucks her, that's all it takes to push her over the edge. He already has her entire body shaking as another orgasm rips through her body and she’s screaming out, “Oh, Captain… Fuck!” She turns her head to sneak a peek at Neal, and he’s palming his crotch. He’s certainly not big but she can tell he’s hard, and a proud smirk overtakes her face.

As she falls from another high, she's wondering if Neal's jealous he could never make her finish this way. Not that he tried very often. He mostly looked out for himself so he could get his rocks off before he tried to pleasure her (tried being the keyword here) just for the sake of making it look like he was trying. Needless to say, their sex life left a lot to be desired. 

She can't say the same about Killian, though; he's already made her come more in one evening than she ever had during the whole time she was with Neal. 

Killian licks his fingers clean and collapses beside her, wrapping her up in his arms as she basks in the afterglow and the feeling of his firm body tucked under hers as she drapes a leg and arm around him, both of them sighing contentedly. She gazes at the stars, dangerously close to falling asleep before they have to head back to the others. She wonders if Neal will run his mouth off about what he saw, but she doubts it. He’s probably too busy feeling sorry for himself. Or maybe he will tattle on them knowing David wouldn’t be too happy about it.

After a moment of recuperating, Killian looks at her, a smug brow raised, and a cocksure smirk gracing his lips. “So, I guess the first kiss we shared wasn't a onetime thing after all, was it, love?”

Emma finds herself blushing and smiling, not nearly in a position to deny her feelings for him any longer as she combs her fingers through his chesthair, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Well, obviously not. We did a hell of a lot more than kissing, but I shouldn't have to tell you that since you were there,” she points out sassily.

“Aye, love,” he chuckles, “I was there indeed,” he says with a smirk. “And what about what just happened between us? Was that a onetime thing too?”

Emma doesn't reply with words at first, but gazes into his eyes and leans in for a slow kiss, hoping to express everything she feels for him with her lips. Then she curls her hand around his cock and whispers dirtily in his ear, “Yes, a onetime thing,” she answers, lifting her head to throw him a wink, which translates to, definitely not a onetime thing, I’m just not brave enough to tell you that. But the smile he offers and the blush tinting his cheeks tell her he knows exactly what she means. Open book after all.

Finally, they rise and start collecting their clothes from the ground. Once they’re dressed and at least somewhat presentable (she’s just glad it’s dark and her flushed cheeks won’t be so noticeable) they head back and are almost to the site when she realizes something and curses under her breath. “Damn.”

  “What's wrong, love?” he asks in concern.

“We forgot the firewood.”

Tagging some lovelies who might be interested: @onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @kmomof4 @nikkiemms @jamif @revanmeetra87 @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @laschatzi​ @hollyethecurious​ @cluttermind​ @iamemmaswanjones​ @melly326​ @iam2307​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @biefaless​ @andiirivera​ @captainswan-shipper88​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @gingerchangeling​ @roseyflush​ @kiwistreetswan​ @julesep3026​ @ lfh1226-linda @i-love-books2014​ @xsajx​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @officerrogers​ @tiganasummertree​ @donteattheappleshook​

[stahlop]

A One Time Thing

I've been wanting to write this for awhile and then I found out it was @profdanglaisstuff birthday, and I know she loves Neverland smut, so that was the push I needed to get this done! And this is my first time writing smut.

Thank you @thisonesatellite for being my beta on this one.

So Happy Birthday (belated) and I hope you enjoy it!

Rating: M

Ao3 link

“That was ---”

“A one time thing.” Emma states, her lips barely brushing Hook’s. It has to be. She isn’t here on this godforsaken island to make out with Captain Hook, no matter how scorching his lips are. She’s here to find Henry. She is horny and lonely and, god, Neal just died a few days ago, what the hell was she thinking?

She walks off, away from Hook, as much as she doesn’t want to. She wants him to grab her hand, pull her back into another searing kiss and screw her right there on the ground.

“Wait five minutes. Go grab some firewood or something.” Emma says breathlessly.  Firewood, was a poor excuse when her tank top was clinging to her from the heat of that kiss.

“As you wish.” Hook responds. She smiles. He has no idea what that phrase means in her world, but she likes to think, due to the fuckstruck look he has after their kiss, that his feelings for her were a little more than like or lust.

But no, she has Henry to think about. Captain Hook can not be a distraction.

-------------EK--------------

She is going to kill them both. She is going to murder both Neal and Hook. She doesn’t care that Neal has literally just come back from the dead and Hook seems to be able to survive anything. Emma Swan is going to murder them both.

“I’m sorry, I know I screwed up.” Neal says, with at least a modicum of guilt.

“Yes, you did. You both did. We almost lost our shot at capturing the shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter.” She yells. She doesn’t need this. She needs to find Henry and they almost ruined it because of some perceived claim on her heart.

“It wasn’t the lighter we were fighting over, love.” Hook says. Emma just stares at both of them. Do they honestly think she doesn’t know what they are fighting over? That they are trying to prove their fucking manliness by acting like cavemen. God, she hates how they acted. And yet, when the rogue shadows were trying to tear Hook and Neal’s own shadows from their bodies, there was only one person she worried about. But that doesn’t matter.

“Okay. Let me be very clear about something. If I had to choose someone, I’d choose Henry. He’s the only love I have room for in my life.” Emma stalks away pissed as hell.  Neal has the decency to look chagrined at his behavior, but Hook, he can read her like a book. She has to get away before he sees she is lying. She can’t think about that right now though. She can’t show him that everything he’s been saying to her; that he’ll win her without trickery, that he’s yet to see her fail, has already made her start falling for him. The prospect of losing someone else in her life is what holds her back. Henry is all that matters.  Henry is all that matters.

------------EK------------------

Emma confronts Hook later that night. She’s been stewing on it all day. Her heart starts to race every time she thinks about the fact that he almost died.

“What is the matter with you?” She hisses at him as she pulls him away from camp. Everyone else is sleeping. She knows she and Hook should be too, but she’s still too keyed up from the days events. “How could you be so stupid?”

Hook looks at her quizzically, “I’m stupid to still be awake?’ He grins. He knows exactly why he is getting yelled at. Ass.

Emma swats Hook’s chest, intending to pull it back immediately, but he grabs her hand and presses it down over his heart.  She can feel it beating rapidly. Startled, she tries to pull it away, but he won’t let her.

“Emma,” he growls, ‘tell me why you’re so angry with me.” She attempts to pull her hand back again. He presses down even harder.

“Let me--” Emma takes a breath. If this is how he wants to play it then Hook is going to get the brunt of her wrath. “You almost fucking died!” It is meant to be accusatory, instead it sounds like a plea.

Hook’s eyes widen in understanding. He lets go of her hand, but it stays put. Emma doesn’t move it. Instead, she feels his heartbeat increase. Emma takes a deep breath.

“You almost died, Killian.” Emma starts again.  Hook’s body shivers when she says his real name and not the moniker. She looks straight into his impossibly blue eyes, “You almost died and then all we would have had was a few innuendos and that one kiss.” Hook’s breath hitches. “And I need to be thinking about Henry right now, but I can’t do that when I’m worried about you too.” She can feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and she wills herself to hold them in, to keep the vulnerability at bay.

But Hook --no-- Killian , is too smart for that. “No need to worry about me, love, I’m a survivor.” Emma’s hand is still on Killian’s chest. He’s taken it and placed it in his, lacing their fingers together as if it was something they did on a regular basis. Emma’s breath hitches this time.

Time feels like it stops (well, technically…). The Neverland Jungle becomes quiet. Everything around herself and Hook seems to disappear. The moonlight seems like it’s shines only on them, And she knows, she knows that if this is going to happen, she has to initiate it. Emma has claimed it would only be a one time thing and Killian, god dammit, will honor that.

Emma gingerly stands up on her toes and presses a chaste kiss on his lips, so slight she can’t even taste the rum and salt she had tasted when they kissed before. Killian kisses her back just as chastely before he pulls himself away; his unnaturally blue eyes bore into her.

“What?” She asks softly. “Why did you stop?” Killian rests his forehead against Emma’s before he speaks.

“I want to make sure, Emma. I want to make sure this is something you want. I told you I wouldn’t use trickery to win your heart, and I meant it. This has to be your decision.” His eyes look straight into hers, pleading.

Emma isn’t sure what to say. No man has ever given her a way out. Not that she’s ever been forced to do something she didn’t want to, but no man has cared enough to ever even give her feelings a second thought.

“I’m sure.” She says breathlessly. Why is she so breathless? No man has ever reduced her to sounding like a shy school girl from just a kiss. How does this man do this to her?

Killian looks at her smiling, and he looks so young in that moment. The hundreds of years of pain, torture, and revenge melting away. Emma imagines this is what he must have looked like when he was still Captain Jones, when he still had his hand, when he still had Milah. Is this how he looked at her? With all the hope of the world in his eyes?

And then his eyes change. Emma can see the lust enter his face. Can see his pupils dilate. The blue eyes that the moonlight has been illuminating so beautifully is now almost black. That gorgeous smile almost sinister. And then his lips are on hers. It’s just as forceful as it was before, except he is in control now. Months of pent up sexual tension finally being let out. His tongue immediately presses against her lips, pushing forward to gain access to her mouth. It’s primal now, more tongues and teeth than lips.

Emma is backed up into a tree, pain blooming from the force of it, losing her breath for a brief second. Killian pulls back concerned, but Emma’s not going to let a little pain deter her from getting her pleasure. She grabs the hair on the back of his neck and pulls her back to him. He grins against her lips and then starts kissing his way down her neck. His scruff is rough on her neck and the tops of her breast, and Emma has never been so happy to be wearing a tank top in her life for the easy access it gives Killian. But she needs it off, it’s too hot and their heat is making it even more unbearable.

She pushes Killian away, and he looks confused and almost resigned that this is all he gets, but then she reaches for the hem of her shirt and practically tears it off and throws it at him (and damn, she wishes she was wearing something sexier than a simple white cotton bra). He looks almost scandalized, almost. She thinks she hears him whisper ‘Bloody hell’. Then he rolls his coat off his shoulders and lets it drop to the ground and starts pulling his shirt from his pants, and Emma just looks at him hungrily, like she’s been starving for so long and she can’t wait to devour what’s in front of her. He’s giving her the same look and Emma doesn’t want to wait any longer.

She launches herself at him and helps him get the offending material off, careful not to snag it on his hook. His pirate luck is nestled in its usual thatch of chest hair, but now Emma can see how it much of it there is, and it’s glorious. Better than anything she’s ever fantasized (which she never has, oh who is she kidding, he’s been the star or her sexual fantasies pretty much since she met him). And he has a happy trail disappearing into his pants. She barely even notices the vulnerable expression Killian wears now that the straps that hold his hook in place have been revealed. Barely. She tentatively goes to touch the straps, but then thinks twice; looks to him for permission first. He swallows thickly and gives an almost imperceptible nod. She smooths her fingers over the leather straps, notices the imprints on his skin underneath, almost wants to give them a kiss, but doesn’t. That would be too much. That would be too ...loving. And that’s not what this is. This is a quick fuck to relieve the tension. To keep the worrying about Henry at bay.

Emma steps back from the tender moment and unhooks her bra and flings it off to the side (god she hopes she’ll be able to find it again). She starts working on her jeans when Killian stops her. He comes close, practically growling in her ear.

“I’ve dreamt about this for too long, Swan.” He smirks. “At least give me the honor of getting you out of those accursed pants.” Emma closes her eyes, instantly going wet at the way he sounds in her ear. She nods.

He backs away, Emma immediately missing the warmth he was giving her. Killian spreads his coat on the jungle floor from where it fell, then turns from his kneeling position and extends his hand toward Emma. She takes it and he pulls her down to him.

His hand is everywhere, scorching her skin. She didn’t think she could feel any hotter in this god forsaken jungle, but Emma’s skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere he touches her. How does make her feel this way? He lays her down, her blonde hair fans out beneath her, and Killian immediately presses his lips to her neck while his hand goes to her breasts. His lips and teeth scrape down her neck until they reach her pink, rosy nipples, already starting to stand at attention due to Killian’s very talented hand.

At first Killian just gives feather kisses to the tops of her breasts and tips of her nipples, frustrating Emma to no end. She smashes his head down to keep him in place, to stop teasing her. He laughs into her skin, making her break out in goosebumps.

“Impatient are we, love?” He asks, but before she can answer his teeth clamp down on one tender bud and Emma gasps as the pain blossoms into pure pleasure.  He laves his tongue over the nipple while plucking the other one with his hand. Then he moves over to the other nipple and does the same. Emma is in pure ecstasy and he hasn’t even gotten in her pants yet. As if reading her mind, Killian hauls Emma into his lap so that she is now straddling his rather large, leather-clad, erection. She feels it against the zipper of her jeans and she wonders if she could get off from just this. But that’s not what she wants. It’s not what he wants.

“Pants” Emma gasps as she pulls his head up by his dark hair and sees his exquisitely wrecked face. Killian nods. He rolls off her and loosens the ties on his pants while Emma flicks open the button of her jeans and pulls down the zipper. Killian rolls back over to her and resumes lapping his tongue over her fully erect nipples.

“Killian.” she says ardently in a warning tone. He laughs again into her skin at her impatience, but it gets him going. His tongue starts moving south down her stomach, it dips slightly into her navel when it reaches it, making her inhale and arch her back slightly. Killian takes that opportunity to start inching her pants down her legs, taking her underwear down with it. He makes a big production of pulling off each pant leg achingly slow.  Emma is so keyed up at this point that she pouts in frustration at the fact that Killian won’t just get inside her! He sees it on her face though, immediately pushing down his pants to show off the gloriously large erection that now bobs against his stomach. Emma is impressed. She has wondered if for all his talk he was compensating for something, but now she sees that he can back up every innuendo he has ever given her. And she is sure that if he jabs her with his sword she will definitely feel it. She is aching to feel it.

Killian crouches down before her, keeping her legs on his shoulders, and dives in with his tongue. “Always wanted to know how you tasted, Swan.” He says into her soaked folds. And Emma has had men go down on her before, but it’s never been anything like this. Not with all the licking up her slit like a man who has been without water for weeks. Not with all the fucking he is doing with his tongue. Not with the way his fingers enter her and find that perfect spot. Not with the way he’s sucking his lips and scraping his teeth over her clit. Emma never knew it could feel this good.

Her orgasm starts coiling and Emma is so close when he stops his ministrations.

“What the fuck, Killian?” She asks exasperated. “I was almost there.”

“I know.” He says, kissing his way up her body until he settles into the space between her thighs, his impressive length pressing against her sensitive folds. “When you fall apart, I want it to be around my cock, not around my fingers.” He purrs into her ear. And the goosebumps appear again. “Cold?” he says almost jokingly, and cocks his eyebrow for good measure.

“Just get your cock inside me.” She moans into his ear. And Killian must have decided he’s done torturing her, because he lines himself up and pushes into her straight to the hilt without even giving her body time to adjust.

Emma takes in a deep breath. He’s big, bigger than she’s ever had, but he made sure she was nice and wet before he entered her, so she takes a moment. Killian senses this and doesn’t move, letting her get accustomed to his size. “You alright, love?” he asks as he looks at her with genuine concern. Emma nods, because she is fine, better than fine.

“I just need you to move.” She says looking into his eyes. He nods and pulls himself out almost to the tip before thrusting back into her. It’s hard and rough and frantic, and that coil of need starts pooling in her belly again. She sees sweat beading down Killian’s forehead and filthy things are spilling from his lips about what he’d like to do to her the next time, but Emma doesn’t want to think about the next time. Doesn’t plan on having a next time. She’s living in the moment here and she’s close, so close.

“Touch yourself.” He gasps out. Emma snakes one of her hands down to her clit and starts rubbing furiously.

“Oh god, Killian!” Emma sobs as her orgasm hits. She arches up into him and holds onto his ass for dear life, drawing him in deeper and not letting him pull out. It is probably the most toe curling, fucking amazing orgasm she’s ever had in her entire life. She can’t stop convulsing around his cock and she can feel it pulsing within her, spraying her walls with his come. She swears she sees stars behind her eyelids and she hears him grunting  ‘Emma’ as he finishes up his orgasm. She holds him to her until  her heartrate calms down, both of them taking large gulps of air to calm their still trembling bodies.

Killian moves slightly, but does not pull out. He rests his forehead on hers and stares at her. It’s unnerving and Emma almost tells him to stop, but then she sees the desire on his face and she nuzzles her nose to his (what the hell is she doing, she doesn’t nuzzle). And then she starts giggling, because how ridiculous is her life that she can say she had sex with Captain Hook? Luckily, Killian thinks the giggling is in response to what just happened between them and kisses her. She tastes herself on his lips and she chases his lips for more before he pulls out and rolls off her.

The loss of his body heat is immediate and Emma hugs her arms over her breasts to warm herself up. Killian stands up and starts collecting her clothes, gathering up his own in the process. Emma stands up to start dressing herself when she realizes his come is sliding down her leg. Killian realizes it too, or is just a gentleman as he likes to say, because he reaches down into a pocket in his coat, still on the ground, and pulls out a handkerchief. He hesitantly goes to clean her up, but changes his mind and offers her the cloth instead.. Emma takes it from him and wipes herself clean, almost wishing she would act on her instinct to keep acting naughty and just open her legs for him to do it himself. But it’s over. The sex has been had and it’s out of her system now, right?

Killian senses something is off with her because he asks, “Another one time thing, Swan?” He asks it with hope that he is wrong tinging his voice. She can hear the anguish rolling from the question in waves. She desperately wants to tell him that they could be more, but she can’t, the fear too great. Emma knows that he opened himself up to falling in love with her from his confession in the Echo Caves, but she can’t offer him anything more than this. She is here for Henry, not for him.

‘You know it can only be a one time thing.” Emma states as she pulls up her pants and puts her tank top back on. “Just a one time thing.” She repeats as she flings her hair behind her, straightens her posture, and walks back to camp leaving a half-dressed Killian behind.

-------------EK--------------

It was definitely a one time thing, because he never let her have only one orgasm again. He usually got at least two or three out of her. One time she even had six, she thinks, she stopped counting after the third or fourth.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615​

[kmomof4]

12 (Actually 13) Days of Captain Swan Fic Recs!!!

And here we are with Day 12!!! Today's rec is for @onceuponataarna who authored two of my very favorite fics. The first, White Light on a Black Sea gave me my first taste of a darker CS fic and I've enjoyed that genre ever since. But here are the links to these two mm mm mmmmmmm fics...

White Light on a Black Sea - Rated E - A Captain Swan story with a historical pirate/Black Sails twist. Princess Emma is on her way to her wedding when her ship is attacked by the Jolly Roger. Captured by ruthless pirates and miles from home, she is subject to the mercy of the handsome and dangerous Captain Hook. These aren't the fairytale pirates you know. Will contain very mature themes. Dark!Hook/Princess Emma

All of You - Rated M - This is a stand alone piece of filthy, filthy MFM threesome smut that popped into my head and would not get out. Takes place in Neverland, were Emma and Hook/Killian are put into a very strange situation. Pretty raw and graphic, so please read the intro in case it's not your thing.

Hope you enjoy these!!! I'll be back with our last day tomorrow!!!

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 146: After the Kiss

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 146: After the Kiss

Pairing:  Captain Swan

Rating: T (This chapter rated M)

Summary:   A series of unrelated, fluffy one shots featuring Killian Jones and  Emma Swan and the relationship that makes us all swoon. Will contain  both canon and AU stories. My contribution to Operation Rainbow Kisses  and Unicorn Stickers (aka, my attempt to drown out the season 4 finale  angst with ridiculous levels of fluff.)

Other Chapters: ( 1) (2)  ( 3) ( 4) ( 5) (6) ( 7) ( 8) ( 9) ( 10) ( 11) ( 12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61) (62) (63) (64) (65) (66) (67) (68) (69) (70) (71) (72) (73) (74) (75) (76) (77) (78) (79) (80) (81) (82) (83) (84) (85) (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) (98) (99) (100) (101) (102) (103) (104) (105) (106) (107) (108) (109) (110) (111) (112) (113) (114) (115) (116) (117) (118) (119) (120) (121) (122) (123) (124) (125) (126) (127) (128) (129) (130) (131) (132) (133) (134) (135) (136) (137) (138) (139) (140) (141) (142) (143) (144) (145) (147) (148) (149) (150) (151) (152) (153) (154) (155) (156) (157) (158) (159) (160) (161) (162) (163) (164) (165) (166) (167) (168) (169) (170) (171) (172) (173) (174)

 (ao3) (ff.net)

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Note:  A canon divergent take on what might have happened after the Neverland kiss if Emma hadn't walked away and insisted Killian take five minutes. Rated M for almost smut. This story doesn't quite venture into smut territory, but it comes about as close as you can get without actually going there.

--Because of the almost smut, I’m rating this chapter alone M.  If you aren’t interested in/comfortable with reading smut, you can skip the section near the bottom between the two ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ signs.  You won’t miss any important plot points.

Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pulse pounding, Emma pulled her lips away from Hook’s and then rested her forehead against his, fighting with everything within her not to go in for seconds.  It was harder to pull back than she’d expected it to be, and that alone freaked her out.

Kissing Hook wasn’t supposed to be like this.  Kissing Hook wasn’t supposed to happen at all.  It’s just that he made her so crazy with his stupid eyeliner and his stupid leather pants that left little to the imagination and his stupid shirts that might as well have not even had buttons.

Not to mention the stupid feelings he’d started to make her feel over the last few days on the tropical hell hole that was Neverland.  He’d come back with the bean, willingly taken them to the last place he ever wanted to return, been her constant support and help, her cheerleader.  He’d believed in her in these last four days more than anyone in her life had ever believed in her.

And then he’d gone and saved her father’s life.  For her.  He could say what he wanted, but she knew he’d done it for her.

He was a different man than she’d believed him to be.  He had a depth and loyalty and devotion that she couldn’t have imagined.

And it didn’t matter how hard she tried to refortify the walls around her heart. The walls that had kept her alive and functioning since Neal broke her heart were slowly eroding under his onslaught.

It was terrifying.

“That was…” Killian said in a voice as breathless and wrecked as she felt.

“A lot,” Emma said, taking a step back, needing to put some distance between them so she could think straight again.  “That was a lot.”

He chuckled.  “Aye, it was.  Darling you can thank me in that manner anytime you want.”

He was just as affected, just as off kilter as she was; she could tell in the way he determinedly put the flirtatious note in his voice.  They were both out of their depth here.

“I…um…” she began, not even knowing what she was going to say.  She took another step away from him and then another.

And then the guilt set in.  What the hell was she doing making out with Captain Hook when her son was being held captive by a teenage psychopath somewhere on this island?  He was alone and scared, and though they’d managed to get the message to him that they were there, there’s no telling what Peter freaking Pan was doing to him.  And instead of looking for him, she was standing in the middle of the jungle kissing someone.  What kind of a mother was she!

“I’ve got to go…” she said, abruptly turning away.

“Emma wait!” Hook said, taking a step forward and gently snagging her arm with his hook.

She stopped but didn’t turn around.

“This was a mistake,” she said, hating the tears in her voice.  “I need to be out there looking.  I need to find my son.”

Hook stepped around her so that he could look her in the face.  “And you will.”

He looked so sincere, so convinced, like he knew it as well as he knew the sun would come up in the morning (at least in all the places that were not this God forsaken jungle).

“You really think so?”  Her voice was small, and she hated the vulnerability in it, but she needed this.  She needed someone to believe in her.

He smiled gently, took a step closer, and then cupped her cheek with his good hand.  “I know it, Swan.  I’ve yet to see you fail, and when you do succeed, when we do get back to that Storybrooke of yours….well, there’s no telling what may happen then.”

Her heart pounded as her thoughts ran toward forbidden territory.  Her, Killian, privacy, clothes discarded in haste, lying everywhere, kisses, caresses, passion so hot they might suddenly combust….

Emma closed the distance between them once more, letting her lips caress his, letting her hand fall to the open v of his shirt. 

“Swan,” he breathed as he wrapped his hooked arm around her waist and brought his hand up to tangle in her hair.

This kiss was far different from the one they’d shared only moments before.  This one was soft and sweet and thorough.  So very thorough.  Killian turned his head, angling to better deepen the kiss.  When she felt his tongue swipe against the seam of her lips, she opened for him, letting him in, letting him explore, letting her own tongue tangle with his.

He groaned as his grip on her tightened and Emma felt the slow burn between them flare up, turn to a raging wild fire.  She let her hands roam as the kiss grew more passionate, slipping beneath his shirt, tangling in his thatch of chest hair.

He responded in kind, moving his hand from her hair slowly down her back, until he was cupping her backside.  She brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, her feet hooking behind him as he propped her against a tree with soft, smooth bark.  She could feel the hard length of him against her steadily dampening center.

They were both rapidly approaching the point of no return.

Killian broke the kiss this time, breathing as hard as if he’d just sprinted a mile.  “Tell me to stop, Emma, and I will.  If you don’t want this…”

“I want this,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him, “it’s just…Henry.  I shouldn’t be taking time away from looking for him…”

Hook’s eyes gentled, as he brushed a tendril of hair from her face and hooked it behind her ear.  “Love, I know you’re concerned for your boy, and I can’t tell you your concern is unwarranted…”

“But…”

“But you know as well as I that there’s nothing more we can do for him tonight,” Hook said.  “We all need rest, a chance to regroup and replenish our strength.  Our search in the morning will be all the better for it.”

He was right; she knew he was right, but still… “I know,” she said, “But this, what we’re doing now…how can I be so selfish, thinking about my own wants when I could be with the rest of the family planning our next move?”

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, just a ghost of his lips against hers.  “If you wish, we can stop now, return to your family and discuss strategy until fatigue takes us, but Emma, don’t for a moment think you’re selfish.  There’s not a selfish bone in that delectable body of yours.  You are permitted to take a moment for yourself.  And who knows?  Maybe blowing off a bit of steam with a devilishly handsome pirate will help to clear your mind and give you a fresh perspective.”

She let her legs fall back to the ground and stepped away from him.  His eyes fell, disappointment he refused to give voice to covering every feature. 

Emma laughed.  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, raising her hands and concentrating on the warm, electrical feel of magic just below the skin.  “I’m just putting up a shielding spell.  Things might get a little…awkward and murdery if my dad were to walk in on what’s about to happen.”

His eyes sparkled with delight as she turned her back to him, let the magic flow from her fingertips, trapping them in their own little bubble.

“Now,” she said, stepping back toward him and wrapping her arms around his neck, “where were we?”

His grin turned wicked before he surged forward, kissing her with a heat and passion she’d never felt before.  “I believe, love, you were just about to let a pirate have his way with you.”

She laid on the soft jungle grass, pulling him on top of her as she smiled.  “So stop talking about it and get started on the pillaging and plundering.”

“With pleasure.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She brought his head down for another long, heated kiss, as their hands began to roam, hers pushing the heavy leather coat from his shoulders and going to work on the clasps of his vest, while he slid a hand beneath her shirt, caressing her skin as he moved toward his prize, cupping a breast, letting his thumb glide over the hardened tip.

Emma groaned at the sensation as she sat up and slowly pulled her gray tank top over her head and tossed it to the ground before shimmying out of her boots and pants. 

The way he looked at her when she was finally bare to his gaze brought a rush of heat straight to her core, made her feel as though she was the most desirable woman on the planet.

“You are…” he began, ghosting his hand across her bare flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word, nor exquisite.  You are perfection itself, my Emma.”

Her heart pounded at his words.  She felt a rush of lo…well, strong affection…for him as she brought him in for another kiss, pushing his vest from his shoulders and pulling his billowy black shirt from his pants.

“What I’m wondering,” she said as she pulled back again, “is why I’m the only one who’s naked here?”

He chuckled, an indecent sound that made her anticipate things to come.  Sitting up, he pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the laces of his breeches.  “It is something I plan to remedy right away love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A long time later Emma and Killian returned to the camp, hair mussed, clothing a bit rumpled, a delicate blush painting Emma’s cheeks.

David knew better than to ask what took them so long to come back to camp when the rest of them had been there for a good forty-five minutes.

The pirate had saved his life that day, after all.  It would be a shame to have to kill him.

 Notes:

--As stated above, this is a “rerun” of sorts.  It was written last year and posted on Tumblr.

--Up next: (in 2 weeks) 6b deleted scene (plus a bit of canon divergence) that will take place just before the CS wedding.  Emma can’t sleep on the night before the wedding, because she’s no longer used to sleeping without Killian. (And Killian can’t sleep for a vast number of reasons that will be explored.)

                                                                                         NEXT CHAPTER -->

[thejollyroger-writer]

Neal Doesn't Watch Because He's Asleep

Hello, again. I've lost all control of my life, and wrote a follow-up to Neal Watches from the Dirt. For now, it's just on AO3 because I have a million and one things to do today and getting my laptop out of my bag is not one of them. It'll be up later today, maybe, but for now, read it here!

[elizabeethan]

Forget What I Said (It’s Not What I Meant) 1/3

Happy New Year! The start of 2021 also means it’s time for ✨Captain Swan Neverland New Year✨ so here is my contribution! @neverlandnewyear

Thank you to my co-mods and friends @xhookswenchx and @donteattheappleshook for looking over this for me and also for helping to make my Neverland dreams come true 🥺🥰

This is part 1 of 3 (famous last words)

Rated E for smuts and language

~3200 words

Read on Ao3

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64​ @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

Neverland is worse than Hell. Emma’s never actually been to Hell, of course, but it’s an easy conclusion to draw based on the experiences she’s had so far. The heat and humidity is enough to drive a woman mad, and the constant buzzing in her ears from the random insects is becoming nauseating. If she has to swat at her own ear one more time she thinks she’ll snap altogether. But the thing that’s driving her out of her mind most severely is, well, him.

It’s so completely unfair how good he looks. He looks sweaty all the time, but it’s so incredibly sexy because it’s almost as if he’s glistening. The leather clings to his chest in a way that should be illegal, showing off the coarse hair that she’s been dying to run her fingers through.

She gets it, okay? She should be focusing on finding her son and getting the hell out of here. It’s irresponsible of her to be thinking about all the things she wants to do to Captain Hook while on a mission to rescue her kid from Peter Pan. She’s thought it all before. She hasn’t stopped thinking about it. She also hasn’t stopped thinking about him.

She recognizes that she’s behaving childishly. Ignoring him on the ship until he practically corners her in a room is childish. Constantly rolling her eyes at everything he says is childish. But it’s the only thing she can do to keep her damn hands off him.

It became really bad when he started chopping down vines during their trek to make a path through the jungle. The way he swung his cutlass effortlessly through the air until the branches snapped shouldn't have drawn her eyes to the muscles in his back, but it did. And the way he authoritatively led them through the island, begrudgingly telling them all that they needed to know despite how much he clearly hates being here, shouldn't have made her cheeks redden, but it did. Luckily, she can blame that one on the heat of the island.

Honestly, it was only a matter of time. A woman has needs, and when she’s trapped in a dangerous and emotionally exhausting situation for weeks on end, well, who can blame her for taking matters into her own hands… perhaps literally? She nearly loses what little self-control she has left when he starts breaking branches against his knee to use for the fire, his eyes boring deep holes into her own when he catches her staring. Something in her snaps when she wonders what else his strong arms can do.

She chokes down the water inside the coconut she’s (not) enjoying and stands abruptly, noting that her parents have turned in and Regina sits quietly by the fire, and walks past him quickly so that she’s almost at the edge of the clearing when she hears his deep, rumbling voice. “Swan?” he asks, making to stand from his spot beside the fire he always keeps lit.

“I need a minute,” she says under her breath, trying so hard not to turn around and drag him with her. She really just needs a minute away; maybe she can find a stream and splash her face with some water or something.

She’s almost made it out of the clearing when she hears him shuffling behind her, following closely enough that she can feel the heat radiating off of him. Or maybe that’s her. Whatever.

“Hook, I really just need a minute,” she insists. Sure, a part of her still insists on taking matters into her own hands, but what she really thinks she needs is to just be away from the source of her… affliction until she can get over it.

“I heard you, Swan, but it’s dangerous out here on your own. Just allow me to follow behind you to prevent you from falling into any source of danger.”

She rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs is for him to be gentlemanly right now, dammit.

She’s too on edge to argue with him. She thinks anything that comes out of her mouth will be a shout, or maybe that her voice just won’t work at all. “Fine, just... stay away from me,” she finally says, moving swiftly through the thick jungle.

He does something behind her, something between a scoff and a chuckle, and her left eye twitches slightly as fire races through her veins. “If the lady insists,” he says with a timber in his voice that genuinely makes her breath catch in her throat.

“God,” she says, whipping around to face him and finding him standing much closer to her than she expected. “Do you have to talk like that?”

“Like what, darling?” he asks, a smirk growing on his face. He juts his jaw out towards her as his tongue licks along his lower lip, causing her breath to catch.

“Like we’re living in 19th century England.”

“Not sure what that means, my dear, but,” he steps closer to her, raising one brow and smirking as he breathes, “I’m more than willing to let you teach me.”

“Please, you couldn’t handle it,” she says, letting her eyes flutter shut as she shakes her head.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She clears her throat. “Fuck,” she breathes. He cocks his head to one side and narrows his eyes in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but so is.

“You need only say the words, love.”

That’s it. He just snapped her like the branches over his knee.

She grabs the lapels of his stupidly ostentatious coat and tugs until his lips are crashing against hers and she’s swallowing his gasp. It’s hot and rushed and wrong, but the fire in the pit of her stomach tells her that something that feels this good can’t be bad.

She slinks her fingers around his neck until they’re pulling at the soft hair at the base of his skull, tilting his head and hers so that the kiss becomes deeper. He groans at the sensations of her fingers running along his scalp in her desperation as his hand finds her jaw and his hook lands on her lower back to tug her against him. When her hips collide with his, she feels the evidence that he wants this as much as she does. Actually, he hasn’t been shy about that, and she’s been in complete denial, so it follows that he probably wants this even more than she does.

She moans far too loudly when he starts trailing his lips down her neck, biting and licking on his way until he reaches her collarbone. She pulls at his hair some more as his wrist continues to press into her back and his hook pokes against her ass. She can hardly breathe as he follows the valley between her breasts with his mouth until he’s shoving her shirt out of the way, likely stretching the fabric beyond repair. She doesn’t care. When his lips press firmly against her hardened left nipple through her shirt, she breathes out, “yes, fuck, yes.”

His hand traces feather-light patterns up her stomach as it reaches under her shirt and forces her bra out of the way until he’s breathing over her exposed nipple. He licks it lightly, just barely making contact but adding enough moisture so that the breeze of the jungle makes her shiver. He then begins sucking it into his mouth and alternating licks and nips until she cries out. She’s so keyed up that she wonders if she can come from this alone. “Is this what you want, Swan? Is this why you’ve been so captious with me lately?” She can’t breathe enough to respond to him verbally, so instead she moans and nods her head as he trails his tongue to her neglected nipple. “Is it because you want me to touch you?” She nods again. “You want me so badly that you can hardly stand to even be near me?”

“Yes,” she moans. He releases her nipple with a pop and moves his deft fingers to the waist of her pants, tickling her skin as he goes. “God, yes. Please take those off.”

He obliges, tugging at her pants until they’re around her ankles before he sinks to his knees in front of her and breathes heavily against her quaking core. She thinks he might press his mouth to her— she’s desperate for him to do just that— but instead, he lifts one of her legs and ducks so that he’s settled between her knees with her pants behind him, caging him close to her once he stands again. “And what will you have me do with you, love?”

She whimpers pathetically when he lifts her at the knees, her core not quite touching him but dangerously close, and she throws her head back and hits it against the tree she’s pressed to. “God dammit, Hook, just touch me.”

He hums out a laugh as he continues to support her weight with his hooked arm and reaches between them with the other, pushing her soaked underwear to the side and stroking a finger up through her folds. “So wet for me already, Swan,” he murmurs darkly against her neck. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me,” she demands again. Then, with a bit more honesty, “make me forget where the hell we are.”

He kisses her deeply, his tongue dancing between her lips, then pulls away to ask, “do you want me to use my hand, or my cock?”

Her breathing stops. She pulls his hair at the base of his neck so that he’s looking at her and can see her pupils blown wide with arousal. “No time for hands,” she tells him breathily, reaching her own fingers down to the laces of his trousers and tugging them loose.

“No? Are you saying you're so wet for me already that you don’t require any... preparation?”

She shakes her head as she reaches inside his slacks and groans when she feels his marble length twitching in her grasp. How something can feel so soft and so hard all at once is astounding, but not as astounding as the amount of space his arousal takes up in her hold.

“Yes. Now would you just fuck me, please?”

“As you wish,” he breathes, guiding his hand to his length and tickling his fingers against her entrance to ensure that she’s slick enough for him to tuck himself inside (she is). When he plunges his cock into her, she cries out again at the pressure and the delicious burn of him stretching her. She was right about him being well-endowed judging by the irresistible feel of him inside her.

He gives her a moment to adjust, then begins to thrust into her at the perfect pace. She’s never experienced that before, usually needing to tell her lover to slow down or speed up several times before they finally get it right. But Killian seems to know exactly what she needs. It’s like he’s a machine, recognizing each of her responses and adjusting accordingly in order to bring her the most pleasure she’s ever felt.

Her shirt has fallen back down so that he no longer has access to her breasts, so instead, he latches his mouth to a spot just below her collarbone and marks her as his, at least in this moment. The way he continues to thrust deeply into her at the perfect angle while his lips roam across her skin sends a shiver down her spine, but when he presses himself more firmly against her to bear her weight so he can move his hand, she nearly screams. His good hand travels to her clit and starts rubbing furious circles against her as his thrusts maintain their steady, perfect pace, and she would be in awe at his coordination if she wasn’t seconds from reaching the most powerful orgasm she’s ever had.

He keeps up with the circles on her sensitive nerves and she tightens her belly and core around him as his velvet length glides through her. She’s never been so close to orgasm in such a short time, possibly not even at her own hands. She can’t stop the manic whimpers and moans coming from her lips as she tightens every part of herself around him before finally letting go as ecstasy washes over her.

He continues to pump into her as she rides out her high, not stopping until she’s a twitching mess before he stops to pull out of her. He holds her close to him as he works himself up with his own hand, somehow still supporting her weight against the tree, before she reaches down and takes over until he’s spilling himself onto the ground at his feet, his head resting against her neck. He kisses against her skin as he comes down from it, and she revels in the softness of his hair at her fingertips for a moment too long.

She realizes what the hell she’s doing once her brain turns back on and then starts wriggling in his hold until he releases the back of her knee and backs up slightly so that her legs fall. Her pants are still on under her boots and wrapped around him, so she’s nearly sent to the ground before he realizes what’s happening and catches her. He ducks down again so that he can free himself and then stands before her awkwardly, his softening length still hanging out of the laces of his trousers.

“That was, uh,” he starts breathlessly, scratching behind his ear.

“A one time thing,” she answers, shaking her head to clear her mind and pulling her pants up. “Don’t follow me, wait five minutes. Go get some firewood or something,” she insists as she starts back towards the camp, still working on her pants as she walks.

She starts to think about how it might be a very, very bad idea for him to get more firewood, based on the fact that watching him handle the branches is what brought her here in the first place, but before she can think too deeply into it, he says, “as you wish.”

Her heart starts racing, and it’s not because of the heat or because she just had an earth shattering orgasm or because she’s turned on by his physical appearance. She could handle those things.

No, this is something else entirely. And rather than deal with it, she does what she does best and pushes those feelings deep, deep, deep into herself, never planning to address them again.

(She really should just stop making plans.)

~~~~

They spend endless days and nights in Neverland. Time is impossible to keep track of, and it starts to make sense why Neal had kept tic marks on the wall of his cave. The only way she’s able to keep track of how many days pass is by counting the amount of time’s she’s had sex with Killian Jones.

She can’t seem to stop. It started as a one time thing, an itch that needed scratching, but she finds now that she needs the release he gives her more than she needs to sleep. So, each night when they find a place to set up camp, they wait for her parents and Regina to fall asleep and sneak away to find a sturdy tree to fuck against.

On the ninth night, she notices Killian talking to her parents suspiciously and they inform her that Neal is alive, allegedly. As if the prospect of her ex dying and coming back to life in the span of two weeks wasn’t enough for her, he pulls her aside on their way to the Echo Caves and tells her that he was hesitant to tell her because he wanted to spare her feelings until they could confirm that Neal was alive. She scoffs. She has no feelings when it comes to Captain Hook.

They get to the Echo Caves and she learns that he feels the opposite. He’s starting to have feelings for her. Real ones. She stares at him because there’s nothing else she can do, until the ground starts to shake and the bridge starts to build itself.

She tells Neal the truth. He hurt her so much, but she knows that a part of her will always love him. It kills her to admit it to herself, never mind to him.

She fucks Hook angrily that night, with him lying on his back atop his stupid coat and her riding him mercilessly until she feels some semblance of control over herself. They’re far too close to the camp for how loud she is, but when they return, she’s certain everyone is still fast asleep.

The two grown men fight over a lighter. Neal gets grabbed by a shadow and she’s frozen. Hook gets grabbed by one and she screams and summons enough magic to light the fucking candle. She ignores the feelings of relief at him being alive when they meet later that night, convincing herself that the extra long kisses mean nothing.

They get Henry back. As much as she’s grateful to be off of that damn island, she almost grieves the loss of her new nightly routine with the stupid asshole.

He knows exactly how to make her tick, so when he finds her on the deck and says something about how he never doubted her for a second, she kisses him just to shut him up. She can’t possibly listen to his praises, filled with emotion and longing and until I met you, so she pushes them aside in favor of the pleasure she knows he’ll bring her.

The truth is, she can deal with everyone else saying things like that to her. When her parents say it, she can rationalize that they’re obligated to encourage her. When Henry says it, it’s because he believes in everyone, not just her. When Neal says it, she doesn’t even believe him at all.

But then Hook says it. She doesn’t want to believe him, but she does. His honest and raw words unhinge her because she has no reason not to believe them. He owes her nothing and has nothing to gain from attempting to woo her because he’s already had her in his bed- well, jungle- countless times. So she believes him. And she’s terrified.

So she continues to do what she does best. She ignores her feelings until she can’t anymore, and she deals with them by replacing them with the pleasure he brings her. A part of her tells her that she can’t continue doing this, but a bigger part of her tells her that it’s okay, because once they get back to Storybrooke, he’ll leave in favor of the sea or of finding another realm to pillage and plunder. Once he’s gone, she can forget any of this ever happened and move on.

It’s a perfect plan, except it doesn’t work. Because he stays.

[kmomof4]

I am LOVING this!!!! Sooooooo HOT!!! Cannot WAIT for more!!!!

Pan’s New Game AO3

This very smutty thing came to mind after all the Captain Pan art from @mischievousgraxaim shared on Discord.

But you should also blame my enablers:

@teamhook @caught-in-the-filter @everything-person @kmomof4 @earanemith @jonesfandomfanatic @ilovemesomekillianjones

And @xarandomdreamx for betaing for me! She keeps me from impossible physics and silly stuff.

She smirked as she watched him struggle. “I’m right here, Hook.” She held up his hook and stroked it slowly. “If you mean Peter, he’s dead.” Several emotions rolled through him at that. She stalked towards him. “I’m Pan now and I just thought of a new game.”

[caught-in-the-filter]

For the ship + sentence prompt: Captain Swan + "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?" ... Take that anywhere you like, I'm not picky. Hopefully it can inspire a little something :)

Alright, so I was going to make this angsty ngl. But given that I actually just woke myself up from a nightmare by talking loudly at it, I decided f*** it, I’m making this sexy.

And it’s set in their camp in Neverland because why not.

Thank you for the prompt! It’s a little more than 5 sentences because I have no self control when it comes to being wordy, and I hope you like it. 😉❤️

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"Did you know that you talk in your sleep?" Killian lay on his side on his blanket, head propped up on his hand, admiring her from afar with a certain awed softness in his expression, though his words were tainted with an undertone of mischief.

“Um, no?” Emma answered, anxious embarrassment lacing both her words and her expression as fragments of the dream she was having resurfaced in her memory. “What—what did I say?” She was hesitant to ask, afraid to know his answer, as she sat upright and bent her knees into the hold of her arms in an effort to expose as little of herself to him as possible, her clothes no longer feeling adequate enough for that.

“Well,” that devious smirk of his crossed his face and she knew she was in for it as he continued, “I guess, I’m not sure how much could be considered talking, per se. There were some rather intriguing sounds, mostly.” Killian stood and approached her with a swagger in his step before he knelt in front of her. “One thing is for sure though,” his voice dropped low and a subtle tremble overtook her, “you were very insistent I keep going. So tell me, love,” he leaned in close, a hair’s breadth away from her lips as he straddled her legs with his arms and held himself just above her knees, “tell me exactly what I was doing, so that I may continue as you wish.”

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Send a ship + sentence, I’ll write the next 5+