Killian looked down at the old coat dangling from his hook. “What, this?”
“Yeah.” Emma looked amused as she sat cross-legged in the middle of their bed, his chest of possessions next to her, still closed and waiting to be emptied.
He hadn’t really meant to make an ordeal out of unpacking his things, but it had turned into that, regardless. When Emma had opened the door at the insistent banging, she’d laughed at her son before scolding him for using the bottom corner of the chest to knock.
“Well, my hands are full, and Hook’s hand is busy holding his wardrobe,” Henry had huffed, looking over his shoulder and giving Killian a broad grin. The boy was full of cheek, just like his maternal grandfather, who was back at his truck still grumbling over the sheer number of waistcoats and shirts he had to carry.
“How many different flowery patterns can possibly exist, anyway?” the prince had grunted, shoving an armful of clothing in Killian’s arms before placing his hands on his hips.
“I don’t know, mate,” Killian had said with a grin. “How many tartan flannels are there in this realm?”
“I dress for comfort,” Dave had scoffed.
“And I for sartorial splendor. Not my fault I can wear anything and look far more dashing.”
Summary: When Henry is kidnapped by the Evil Queen, Emma rushes to save him. Along the way, she receives the help of a ship’s captain with a shared past, though she has no idea just how deep that shared past really goes. Rating: E Warnings: Kidnapping, language, explicit sexual content Beta-readers:@scapeartist, @zengoalie, @optomisticgirl, @swankkat Cover and art:@swankkat (@snokone-lady)
The following day, Emma and Liam gave up all pretense of having a platonic relationship while they were in front of the crew. Rumors were certainly already abounding, and it was unlikely that either she or Liam had been quiet enough the previous two nights to avoid notice. Either way, there were no comments or double takes as she and Liam held hands or put one arm around the other, and if there were any snickers or exchanges of money, the crew kept them hidden.
Free of the stress of the crew’s reaction, Emma’s thoughts were centered squarely on Liam. Now that they’d started taking pleasure in each other’s bodies, she was practically overwhelmed by desire, to the point where it was nearly alarming when she stopped to think about it.
Emma appreciating
the little things with Killian. I listened to that new John Legend song on
repeat, whoops.
I don’t know who’s
gonna kiss you when I’m gone So I’m gonna love
you now, like it’s all I have I know it’ll kill
me when it’s over I don’t wanna think
about it, I want you to love me now
There’s a spot just above his hip – a smattering of
freckles that she likes to trace her fingers over when she’s curled around him
in their bed. She imagines she can feel them worked into his skin, little
pinpricks beneath the pads of her fingers, her magic curling in her palms as
she moves her hand back and forth above him. He laughs when she does it – a soft
huff through his nose more than anything – contented smile curling the corners
of his mouth as he peers down at her in delight.
But when she moves to trace them with her tongue, nosing
at the soft skin of her hip as she slides down – he doesn’t laugh then.
She woke up to the soft touch of his fingers on her face around
midnight.
Despite their words at the docks earlier, their night didn’t include
rum, Chinese or even a small quiet moment by their fireplace.
Instead Emma got to hug Henry goodnight for a beat or two too long,
before padding into her room —their room, alone. It wouldn’t be until she was
already asleep that Killian joined her in their bed.
She slept, pitifully, but did so for a few hours. That, until the soft
touch of his fingers running idly circles on her temple and cheeks, slowly
stirred her from her slumber.
His movements didn’t still, not even after he realized she was awake
—the shift on her breathing pattern subtle, yet enough for her pirate to
notice.
Emma kept her eyes shut though, relishing the moment in spite of
everything.
It wasn’t until she heard that faint sniffle in the quiet of the night,
that she decided to open her eyes and speak.
She shifted slightly, her face angled up just enough to make out
Killian’s in the dark of their bedroom. Emma drew in a breath at the sight of
him, his profile in the dark just as beautiful and precious to her as it was
during the day.
In a perfect world she could be able to take away his pain —that same
pain she singlehandedly caused.
Summary: Emma was tired of the boring, dutiful life of a princess. She longed for an adventure–something to break up the monotony of life at court, something with
a little intrigue and possibly even a bit of romance–perhaps that was why the notion of sneaking away from the palace to attend a masquerade was so
appealing. Little did she realize that a dance with a ghost would lead her on a quest for vengeance over the man she would come to love. [ on ao3 ]
happy halloween! this isn’t really a halloween story, but there are costumes and ghosts! and pirates, sort of! and men in tight breeches! and granny as a Duchess in her own right! and hey, how ‘bout that incredibly gorgeous art? like, i’ve been dying for you all to see it. @fairytalesandtimetravel did an incredible job, make sure you let her know what you think of her work! you can check it out here.
anyway, enjoy my rated-for-everyone lieutenant duckling romance adventure. and be safe tonight!
The Ghost and the Mask
Lady Ruby regarded Emma with a solemn expression, but Emma could still see the devilish twinkle in her friend’s eye. Deciding to ignore Ruby’s obvious
attempt to elicit questions from her, Emma instead called upon years and years of lessons in comportment and her mother’s ever-present voice in her head
counseling patience as the best form of diplomacy; she folded her hands in her lap and fixed her countenance in the most bland expression she could summon.
Because Ruby had been a friend since they were young girls, Emma tilted her head to the side, her only concession to curiosity, though inside she
impatiently waited for whatever outrageous thing her old friend would say next.
Lady Ruby narrowed her eyes slightly, but she must have remembered that great friend or no, Emma was still the princess, so she sighed heavily and smiled.
“A ghost.”
Emma lifted one brow but otherwise maintained her composure. Inside, she felt a tingle of excitement. A ghost! In Lady Ruby’s ancestral home!
“He has the Lucas light eyes and dark hair; probably some long-lost ancestor doomed to haunt the halls with a forlorn expression on his handsome face.”
Here’s this not so little thing I’ve created that consists of Captain Swan fanfic recommendations for the major fall/winter holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, with stories listed by holiday. I know many of you love holiday stories just as much as I do, so hopefully you’ll find something you like here! Also, since it’s early in the year and new fics will be posted over the next few months, I’ll be updating this periodically as the holidays roll around. Please let me know if there are any errors with fic links or author usernames, and feel free to continue sending me suggestions to include in the next update! (PSA this fandom desperately needs more Thanksgiving-related stories.)
He was being glared at by a prince and a princess, the former seeming scandalized by the suggestion. The queen regarded him with a wary expression, muttering something about how she’d used whiskey with Henry and he turned out just fine, clearly uncomfortable with agreeing with Killian in any fashion. Emma was the only one who appeared amused, jostling her complaining brother in her arms and smothering her smile once her father looked over at his two children.
“I’m sure there are more natural ways to keep Neal from screaming all night long,” Snow said, breaking the stand-off. She reached out for the squalling baby, but that only seemed to make him angrier. Snow shushed and began bouncing, the screams now punctuated by hiccups from the movement.
“Here,” Dave called, reaching for his son. But it seemed the lad didn’t want his father, either.
“Let Killian try,” Emma said, still amused. “He’s great with kids.”
“No, I–”
But his protestations seemed to only encourage the prince. With a smirk, Dave walked over and nearly dropped his precious cargo in Killian’s arm, keeping the boy steady until Killian awkwardly shuffled the bundle to the crook of his right elbow.
“I’ve got it, mate,” he gritted out, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into and cursing his damned mouth for intervening. Rum, what the hell had he been thinking? He lifted his other arm–why, he did not know–reaching for something, anything to stop the screaming.
The princeling suddenly ceased and there was a sense of dramatic pause in the room as all held their breath. Killian looked down, amused at the drool running down the little one’s chin, wishing he could swab it away and settling for using the blunt curve of his hook to dab at the worst of it.
He half-expected one of the boy’s parents to rush in, admonishing him about pointy hooks and delicate flesh, but they did no such thing. In fact, when he looked up, he realized there were looks of amazement on both of their faces. Regina seemed impressed (or perhaps relieved) despite herself, and Emma merely looked satisfied. He gave her a quick little grin before turning back to the royal babe tucked into his arm, shocked when he felt a tug on his left wrist.
The lad was chewing on his hook. Quite happily, from the looks of it. Neal’s indistinct eyes of blue were fixed on Killian as he gnawed away, his angry red face finally settling into a look approaching contentment.
“Hey, Google says to let him chew on something cold and kinda big so he won’t choke on it,” Henry said as he burst into the room, his voice a bit loud and too boisterous for the new silence. “Oh,” he continued as he stopped short, taking in the scene before him. “Well. The internet suggested putting a damp washcloth in the freezer, but I guess that works, too.”
“I vow to you, there’s no rum on this thing,” Killian said smugly. He began to sway gently but rhythmically as he held the baby, and if Dave muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “that you know of,” well. Killian could hardly help it if he was a natural.
This little missing scene was my contribution to the Captain Swan Storybook @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @flslp87 organized this summer. Communication failure from 3×18 Bleeding Through, with a beautiful edit by @hopeandbeans that still makes me all squeaky with joy when I look at it!
He’d been a whirlwind fuelled by hate, by revenge, by drink. His brief
sparking moments of light and joy snuffed out almost as soon as they
bloomed to life by virtue of that one fact that never changed. Villains
don’t get happy endings, Regina had said, and Killian Jones must be a
hell of a villain.
In his youth he’d wondered if he might be cursed. If perhaps his
parents had sensed from the off that there was something wrong with him,
something that attracted the darkness to him even then. He can still
recall the way he would lie in bed at night, fingers digging into the
straw mattress as the darkness would press in on him, laying heavy and
thick on his chest while he struggled until someone struck a match and
set him momentarily free. He never had been able to free himself.
They’d all left in the end, those who’d struck the match of joy and
happiness within him, and they’d taken the light with them. The darkness
had won, and he’d worn his curse like a blessing and called it
vengeance.
Until her. Until she’d stormed into his life, not bearing a light but being it, bright and beautiful and good.
And then he’d sworn on her name, taken her name, her light, the love
he’d never thought he could feel again, and handed it over to the bloody
witch on a platter. He may as well have snuffed her out himself.
summary: When Killian shows up on Emma’s doorstep, the last thing she wants is to take him back home to Misthaven and relive memories of their broken relationship, but it’s exactly what she’s about to do. modern royalty au.
He’s still getting used to the phantom feeling he has. He
reaches for things with his left hand more often than he’d like to admit. He
thanks the gods above that he wasn’t born left handed because he isn’t sure he
could handle having to start completely from scratch.
It’s been about a week and a half since the accident and
while he should be recuperating at home, with the aid of physical therapy and
the comfort of his own bed and the familiarity of his apartment, even just the
thought of returning there has repulsed him to the point of nausea.
It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks. He went from being
broken up with to getting piss drunk and getting into the accident that caused
his hand devastating enough damage that doctors decided to remove it entirely in
just the course of a day.
He sets the chest down carefully – just inside the door by the haphazard pile of boots slowly taking dominion over the front entry way. His hand itches to straighten them, but he leaves the chaotic mess as it is, reasoning that there will be plenty of time later for him to indulge in his rather meticulous sense of detail.
Naval habits have been hard to leave him, even after all these years.
He must have been more engrossed than he thought, as she sneaks up on him and sifts her hand through his hair before he even notices her presence, nails scratching light at his neck just the way he likes. He represses a shiver but not the low groan in the back of his throat, standing from his hunched position and gathering her in his arms. She folds easily, breathing a greeting into his mouth when his fingers tilt her chin up.
It All Starts With a Dance 