Credit and eternal gratitude go to: @katealexandra26 for being the world’s best beta, @slow-smiles for lovely artwork, @fictional-redheads for the original idea, and all of the wonderful folks from @cslb, in which none of this exists.
Merry Christmas @forestiyari from your CS Secret Santa! I hope you have a great holiday with your family (and find some time to relax too!) Here is your gift, a friends to lovers/secret relationship fic with some Christmas fluff and feels 🙂
Rated T, 3.5K, Modern AU
It’s Mary Margaret’s turn to pick
what to watch, which inevitably leads them to watch Love Actually for the
fourth time since the start of December. Emma groans but Killian holds his
tongue, quite enjoying the familiarity of the British film, and admittedly, the
sentiment warms his heart. He would call himself a quiet romantic, not quite
the outspoken hopeless romantic that Mary Margaret is, but he was a sucker for
a beautiful love story and a happy ending.
Which is why his attraction to
Emma Swan is so damn difficult to deal with.
Summary: There are a few things that Emma Swan is absolutely certain about; no morning is tolerable without at least one cup of coffee, all marriage is a sham, and if a stupidly handsome guy walks into her tiny flower shop with a massive order for flower arrangements six weeks before a wedding, he’s damn well going to have to help her. Flowershop!AU
A/N: Finaly, my CSLB is here! It feels like so long ago when I started this little project, and I’m excited to finally set it free into the world. I want to thank my phenomenal artists who gifted me with the most incredible pieces of artwork for this story; the above painting is by the magnificent @ladyciaramiggles, and the three accompanying image sets by the wonderful @captainodonoghue depicting our favourite lovebirds can be found here, here, and here. And, of course, where would I be without my beta, @wellhellotragic? Thank you all for all of your encouragement and kind words! It’s been a great time 🙂
Enjoy!
Emma Swan had never been a tidy person.
It was a fact that surprised most people who knew of her less than stable upbringing, with more than one ex-boyfriend having pointed out that someone who had grown up in the foster system ought to know better than to leave their possessions sprawled all over the place. Sometimes Emma would reply that it was habit to want to leave her mark on a place and take full possession of a space that belonged solely to her. Most times, though, she would simply shrug. The mess of empty take out containers had always been there before her dates had arrived, and if her dating history were anything to go by, they would likely outlast all of them as well.
Not in that way. Well, sometimes, but right now, it was the actual, dusty, covered-in-dirt way. A fine film of grit and sweat covered his entire upper body, making his normally tanned skin look even darker and getting caught in his chest hair. His fringe hung down over his forehead and his bright blue eyes sparkled even more against the dust on his skin. Even his pale legs were coated in dirt beneath the borrowed shorts that hung low on his hips.
Who knew that helping her dad build a shed involved so much dirt and so little clothing?
It should have been gross. She should have found it absolutely disgusting and not agreed to touch him until he’d taken a good, long shower. But instead, she wanted nothing more than to follow him in.
“Come on; let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, voice low, as she took him by the hand and led him upstairs. He quirked an eyebrow as he followed, a smirk forming on his lips, but the sag in his shoulders and stiff way he moved told her he was too worn out to protest.
In the bathroom, she dropped his hand to start the shower and let the water heat up as he undid the buckle and straps of his brace. She had to stifle a giggle at the lighter patches of skin where the dirt hadn’t been able to get under the leather—which made her wonder if the same applied to the waistband of the shorts.
He’d started to fiddle with the button but she grabbed his hand to stop him. “Let me.” She could feel the heat coming off his warm chest as she undid the fly—or was that just her own arousal? Did it matter? With his shorts hanging open, she tucked her thumbs under the waistband of his boxer briefs and slid both down, revealing the clean, pale skin of his hips and the last untouched bit of hair that trailed into thick thatch around his manhood.
Steam was starting to fill the room, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was the shower alone making it and not the constant fire between them; the hooded gaze staring at her under those thick lashes made her seriously wonder if it was the latter. She had to turn away or they wouldn’t even make it into the water.
As quick as she could, she stripped her clothes, too, and pulled back the curtain, releasing even more tendrils of steam. Then she grabbed a couple washcloths and his hand and pulled him in.
The instant the hot water hit Killian’s shoulders, he practically melted, releasing an almost indecent sigh as he slumped forward and the rivulets began to run through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. Where the water ran, dirt started to slide off his skin, streaking down the muscles of his arms and chest—but that alone wasn’t enough to clean him.
SUMMARY: All the books and movies seem keen on operating under the assumption that magic is supposed to make your life easier. But apparently it was all lies, because being in one’s 20s seems to suck no matter what kind of spells you’re prone to casting. Emma Swan and Killian Jones, while “blessed” with the gift of magic, are certified emotional disasters—it’s a relief to know that at least they’ve found each other. A Contemporary CS Witches AU.
CONTENT WARNING (RATED M): Containsbrief mentions of childhood sexual abuse; swearing; casual, non-depressing drug use; implicit and consensual sexual content between adults. The sexual abuse is mentioned in passing and not described in explicit detail. If you need further details before reading, feel free to send me a message!
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This was a story that I planned on finishing with about 9k. It ended up being completed about 41 words under the 15k limit, and imo it should probably be longer, but since that’s not an option, this is what we’re left with! I’d like to thank a few ppl that made this possible: @the-reason-to-sail-home, @pritkins-little-witch, @initiala, and @wellhellotragic for all of their time and helpful thoughts. This fic ended up being far more challenging than I had anticipated and I couldn’t have done it without y’all. Especially Tessa and Kat, you are both my shining stars. Thank you for never letting me give up on myself. Literally incredible freaking artwork that I cannot stop staring at provided by @clockadile and @princesse-swan, both found here and here(respectively). If you’re interested in listening to the soundtrack I made to suit the particular vibe of this story, you can listen on 8tracks, here.
“Watch carefully that magic that occurs when you give a person enough comfort to just be themselves.“ — Atticus, Love Her Wild: Poems
i. ugly_duckling
Emma Swan learns about magic the same way that most children do—slipped in between the pages of a book. She is not granted the privilege of enjoying a conversation typical of most children; that of parents soothing the inevitable disappointment with the truth that magic is not real. The parents might, for the most part, keep the dream alive for a certain number of years. And so, for that certain number of years, the child will be allowed to live in a world where magic exists. That child will spend a few blissful years staring a little too hard at the creepy house at the end of their street; that child will throw a packet of salt over their shoulder, even at the risk of being yelled at by their parents after the fact. Most children will grow up feeling afraid, and not much can be done about it—but to be able to quell that fear, at least temporarily, with the suggestion that there’s a magical world at the heart of it all, waiting to be discovered? That kind of thinking might make the pain of all those unknown variables worth it, at least for most children.
Emma Swan was not most children. She was “most children,” in the sense that she wandered into a library and plucked a book off the shelf with a flying girl on the cover (she rode a broomstick and wore a black hat). She was “most children,” in the way she jumped off picnic tables and prayed that her feet would never touch the ground. But she was not “most children,” when she brought the book home and showed her new “mother” the particular book in question.
“Oh, you silly thing,” Mrs. Swan had so gleefully informed her, a sharp smirk on her stiff, something not quite right about it face. “Hasn’t anyone told you? There’s no such thing as magic.”
Summary: Ready for a change in their lives, Emma and Henry move from New York to her hometown of Storybrooke. But she gets a bigger change than she bargained for when Henry’s new teacher is the ex-boyfriend she hasn’t seen since college … who is also Henry’s dad, and doesn’t know he has a son. Written as part of the Captain Swan Little Bang.
AN: After months of planning, writing, and editing, I can’t believe it’s finally time to share this not so little story of mine!
A few thank yous: First, to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for putting this event together and giving me the opportunity to participate. I’m grateful for how this experience has challenged me as a writer, and even more so for the friends and connections I’ve made in the community over the past few months.
Second, words can’t express how lucky I was to get Tessa, aka @the-reason-to-sail-home as my beta. She’s been encouraging throughout this whole process, helping me deal with writer’s block more than a few times and giving incredibly useful feedback. I’m so glad we got paired together and can’t wait to read your own LB story soon!
In addition, I was also lucky to get paired with two artists who made gorgeous pieces for my story! Go check out @treluna2 and @polarbearmorgan’s art- I’ll be reblogging both and posting links to them here once they’re up later today!
Lastly, I have to thank @irishswanff for posting this prompt right before the LB sign ups began. I’ve never had such a strong initial connection to a story idea before, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
She should have known this day would come.
Emma stood in the kitchen, mouth agape as she read the letter Henry’s teacher had sent home with him:
Parents,
Just a reminder parent-teacher conferences are Tuesday afternoon. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.
Killian Jones
This was just her luck. She couldn’t believe he was in Storybrooke, let alone working at the elementary school. How could she face him after almost ten years, at a parent-teacher conference of all things?
More importantly, how would she explain to her son that his new teacher was also his father?
For those, like me, who are only interested in the Super Bowl for the commercials and the halftime show, I come to you this overly commercialized day with my contribution to @captainswanbigbang‘s CS Little Bang. A super special shout out to @technicallysizzlingcloud for beta-ing this monstrosity and @mrs-emma-swan-jones for a lovely art piece. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Emma Swan doesn’t do kids. Or, more accurately, she hasn’t done kids. But when a friend in need asks her to do kids – more specifically teach them – Emma dips her toes into the education field. Her first foray into substitute teaching is for Mr K. Jones, who proves to be a great asset in this whole “learning to teach” thing. It helps Emma understand what her friends get out of the job: that the best life lessons sometimes come from students and a nice little note. Rated: T for language Read it here or on AO3, whatever floats your boat
By trade – if you could call it that – Emma is a bail bondsperson. She chases after skips who’ve failed to pay her back: an irony in the fact that she has nothing, money or otherwise. She’s got an apartment the size of a comfortable closet and enough to eat takeout on occasion. Still, it doesn’t require a college degree that she doesn’t have and it’s active enough for her. It’s great for the lifestyle she leads. She can find a gig in any city, no matter where she might find herself. It’s awesome.
Until it isn’t.
She’s sprained her ankle one too many times and this time around she’s got a broken wrist to accompany with it. Her skip decided to get a little rougher with her than usual, slamming her wrist into a granite counter. She’s lucky it was only her wrist with the heels she was wearing.
Still, a broken wrist means a cast: which means she’s out of the bail bonds game for at least the next two months, probably longer. Her office won’t pay her rent or her bills, to the surprise of no one, and she’s not moving out of the only little square of the world she’s ever been able to call her own.
That’s how she falls into substitute teaching.
Mary Margaret tells her about it one evening soon after Emma gets her cast on, taking on the role of pseudo-mother caring for her healing daughter.
(She even signs the cast, and Emma can’t quite quell the feeling of a little girl excited to have everyone at school sign her cast.)
It’s an easy way to make money, Mary Margaret insists – solid hours, a schedule that changes, yet stays the same and the properly-trained regular teacher comes up with all the plans.
“All you have to do is follow them,” her friend tells her.
She helps Emma cut the plastic bag off her arm after showering all the sweat and hospital grime of her body. A timer goes off in the kitchen, Emma’s rickety oven on the verge of catching fire with the casserole Mary Margaret’s got cooking away in it. With an thrilled little noise, she goes off to check dinner.
(Emma is consistently surprised she isn’t actually Mary Margaret’s child with her husband David. With the way they all act around each other, they might as well be.)
“I don’t know,” Emma shouts into the other room, ripping the remainder of the shopping bag off her arm. “I don’t really do kids.”
“You haven’t really done kids,” Mary Margaret corrects her. The top of her head pokes from around the door jamb to glare at the other woman. “That doesn’t mean you can’t do them.”
Summary: A lot can happen in ten years; mistakes, triumphs, questions, and answers, all things that Killian Jones doesn’t know if he wants or even deserves. But with his 10 year high school reunion, he will have to finally come face to face with the center of all his questions and perhaps get the answers he needs.
A/N: This fic would be near as good if it weren’t for my wonderful beta @writemyanchor , nor would it exist without the Captain Swan Little Bang. Beautiful artwork by @shippingtheswann
Trigger Warnings for financial and verbal abuse and mentions of past physical abuse.
Killian stared at himself in the mirror attempting to work his tie into a presentable knot, which was proving difficult with one hand. He sighed and tossed it onto his dresser, feeling frustrated. Yet another reason to skip out on his 10-year high school reunion. Others being that he needed to catch up on some shows that were piling up on his DVR and the mountain of essays that needed grading sitting on his kitchen counter.
His phone ringing shook him out of his thoughts and he fished his phone out of his back pocket without bothering to look at his caller ID.
“Hello, David,” he replied, rolling his eyes.
“You’re coming tonight,” was all David had to say in response.
“I don’t know…” Killian started, but David cut him off.
“Come on man, don’t you want to see everyone?”
“David, everyone still lives here; I see everyone from school all the time.”
“Not everyone.”
“You know she won’t be there,” Killian sighed, thinking about reason number one (and really the only reason) he didn’t want to go to this reunion.
“You don’t know that. She could surprise us all,” David said.
“We haven’t heard from her since she ran away.”
“So? Doesn’t mean she still can’t come tonight.”
“That is highly unlikely.”
“Stranger things have happened. Look just come to the thing, please? Mary Margaret busted her butt working on this and she’d love for you to come. Just stay for one drink.”
Killian ran his hand through his hair, knowing that he really wasn’t going to be able to get out of going tonight. “All right, just one drink though.”
“Great! We’ll see you at Granny’s!” David hung up before Killian could say anything else. He sat down on his bed, head in his hand. He could feel a migraine beginning to brew behind his eyes, but he had said he’d go for at least one drink and if Killian Jones was anything, he was a man of his word.
He got up, taking one last look in the mirror and deciding against the tie tonight. He was most likely going to be there for only a half hour, an hour tops, with people he saw nearly every day. No need to impress anyone.
It’s just one weekend. At Christmas. In New York. With everyone there. With Killian there. It’s fine. Emma doesn’t mind – he’s always there and she wants him to be there and it’ll be good. Great, even. Festive. She’s looking forward to it.
She just hopes she doesn’t do something stupid. Like shout feelings in his face. That probably wouldn’t be very festive.
This is such a cute fic and I’ve enjoyed it immensely so I felt the need to make a ridiculous picset for it. Obviously. There’s a classier version, but this felt more true to the delightful and festive insanity of Mary Margaret’s well-meaning but overdone Christmas weekend schedule.
A little ficlet about our babies growing up together as pairs figure
skaters. Because I’ve been watching the Olympics tonight.
Rating: T (but only because of one little line, really)
Words: 865
Emma is 9 and
Killian is 12 when they are forced together as pairs partners. Emma is pissed
that her coach/foster mother thinks she’ll do better in pairs than in singles,
and it shows in the tilt of her chin and the way her lips are pressed in a thin
line. Killian laughs with a cocky grin, then scoffs and calls her a baby. When
she shoves him, he doesn’t see it coming.
Emma
is 10 and Killian is 13 when the bullying he gets for being a figure skater
reaches its peak. He comes to practice late one afternoon dirty and covered in
bruises with a deep cut across his cheek from the blade of a hockey skate. At
the ER it takes ten stitches to close up the wound.
The
next day, Ingrid has to pull Emma off one of the hockey players who had pinned
Killian down in the parking lot. But not before she breaks his nose.
It All Starts With a Dance 