Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadn’t been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didn’t know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasn’t New York City, but it certainly wasn’t Boston or New Orleans either and he’d always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.
Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didn’t take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.
Neither one of them expected a year of of video games and feature stories to dredge up old enemies and even older feelings, but, together, they made a pretty good team.
She’d blame it on being too wired or, maybe, too disappointed, the memory of how easy it had been to play like absolute shit running on a loop every single time she closed her eyes. If Emma was being honest with herself – she absolutely was not being honest with herself – it wasn’t either one of those things.
It was everything else.
It was a disgusting amount of espresso in one coffee order and how undeniably charming it had been to turn the corner and find an eleven-year-old kid wearing her team’s incredibly lame t-shirt asleep on Killian Jones’ legs and how he’d just casually mentioned he had a brother, like he wanted to keep talking to her.
Emma and Killian go sailing together and train together, and Emma’s getting pretty damn good with a sword, and Killian has learned how to use a modern gun, and they’ve started a football club for the Lost Boys, and Emma is learning how to cheat at cards and Killian is learning how to hack a phone
every now and again they travel to other realms to help out someone in need, bantering while they fight bad guys, Emma complaining about the local cuisine and Killian grousing about bad form
they’ve begun to rate their enemies on a scale of one to ten, and argue about it during fights
(“That was a rather clever ploy, using Henry’s voice to lure us here, I’d say that warrants at least a seven.”
“But we knew it was her all along. A seven? Come on. She made a hand joke, you shouldn’t be nice to her. And did you hear that evil laugh? It was practically a cackle. I give her a four.”
“Fair point, love. Shall we split the difference?”
“Five and a half? We agreed no half-points.”
“Five, then.”
“Aww, you giving me your half-point?”
“Not at all. I’m calling it six, and subtracting one for the hand joke.”)
they also do normal-people things like watch TV and make dinner together, although Killian criticises every movie’s sword fights and Emma has yet to figure out how to prevent pasta from boiling over; but these things are byproducts of life, not its focus, and neither of them was made for sitting still for long
when Emma has to sit still for a while, due to breaking her leg in a move that even she will agree was reckless (but really, if you don’t get to swing from a chandelier at least once, what’s the point), Killian takes down the chandelier in their hallway (“just in case you get any ideas”) while Emma glares at him, and reads Harry Potter to her and does all the accents and voices (including an excellent Gilderoy Lockhart), and takes her out to the park so she can go on the swing (“if you really must, Swan, though I suppose you can use the practice”), and helps her get back on her feet before she’s strictly supposed to
they’re both very relieved when she’s able to walk properly again
Emma has a temper and Killian has a temper and they both have issues, so they come to blows because inevitably one will use the wrong phrase and the other will feel ignored or upset or taken for granted, but they never walk away, they don’t run, they’re both stubborn and they stay and keep shouting and talking and venting, and their arguments turn into explanations rather than accusations
sometimes they argue about completely arbitrary, stupid things like the plot of The Princess Bride, just because Killian likes to see Emma’s eyes flash and Emma likes the way Killian leans close when he gets fired up
it drives everyone else crazy, except for Henry, who joins in, and Snow, who tosses in the occasional point to keep them going
they also attend balls and parties and other formal occasions, even if they never quite fit in, what with Killian’s pirate get-up and Emma’s distinct lack of royal manners; they dance a little bit too close and Killian always ends up making the kind of scandalous comment that leaves people flustered while Emma grins like the cat that got the cream, and they have a reputation for sneaking away early or being caught in flagranti somewhere, and apparently he’s a pirate and she goes around fighting people… but they manage to charm most people they talk to, all the same
“This is so cool, mom! I can’t wait to ride with Hope!! *Henry smiles at his baby sister*
“Hmm… Killian, you’re not actually considering this, are you?” *Emma says in a worried tone*
“Come on love, it was a gift from your father. And besides, our Hope is a pirate princess, it’s time she learns how to ride.”
“Time? She’s 4!”
“Aye, love, that she is. But she’s also our daughter and you and I both know quite well that she’s not going to be happy until she masters this skill. It’ll be fine. I’ll be with her the entire time.”
“I just don’t think….”
“What is this really about, Emma?”
“*Sigh* I’m just scared. She’s growing too fast, Killian. Soon she’ll be leaving us and going on her own adventures.”
“Oh, my love. We still have plenty of time before that. And remember, we have to live the moments the best we can. Let’s worry about that when time comes. And you know… we can always make more little ones *wink*”
That makes Emma laugh. She then looks at her two kids and her husband and thinks it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have one more. But the horse thing… well, she’s not really ready, but she knows that she won’t be able to say no to her little girl.
Today is my husband’s birthday. The love of my life. The pepper to my salt. The sugar in my coffee. My other half. Insert other slushy sentiments here. He’s a fantastic guy and we met in a fantastic way. So, here’s a CS au based on our story. Enjoy.
Emma Swan was in hell.
She didn’t know what she’d been thinking. It had seemed like such a good idea when she had spotted the flyer – the perfect way to help Mary Margaret find Prince Charming™ and get her cloyingly optimistic and romantic friend off her back about her own woefully hopeless love life all in one night. Simple.
“Speed dating?” Mary Margaret had asked,as she studied Emma hard. “Speed dating.” Emma had agreed with a nod. “It’s perfect. Multiple first dates all over and done with in one night. The perfect way for you – I mean us – to find true love. Happiness awaits!”
Summary: After a string of murders lead Sheriff Killian Jones to Enchanted, a vampire club located in the outskirts of Strorybrooke, for information, a blonde vampire princess and owner of the club is unwilling to comply without some favors of her own.
Notes: This was written for cssns and inspired by the show True Blood. Emma and Killian are somewhat based on Eric and Sookie with a role reversal.
I’ve been on a hiatus for a while because of a lot of serious personal stuff, I struggled with getting this story started and I’ll be the first to admit there are some scenes I put more thought into than others, so please review with kindness. Also note that not all of the rules of vampires are going to be exactly the same as True Blood, I wrote the elements of the story as I saw fit.
I want to mention EVERYONE who helped me out with this story because ALL of you deserve it! A huge thank you goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for being an amazing beta reader and for all of your suggestions. I would also like to give a shout out to @teamhook and @onceuponaprincessworld for looking it over and for your relentless encouragement and feedback.
Another huge thank you goes to @rouhn for all of your encouragement and for always keeping me on track, and of course for creating the wonderful graphic for my story!
Without you ladies and your constant support, this story would not have been written.
Rated: Explicit for very graphic details of sex, death, violence, and blood sharing. There are mentions of rape and mind manipulation, but the relationship between Emma and Killian is absolutely consensual.
2 He senses the change in her breathing and quickly pulls away. She glares at him, as he laughs and heads upstairs removing his shirt as he glances back. She’s never completed scheduling so fast. before.
Hey, nonnie, thanks for being the kick in the pants to get this done. This factored in nicely to my Killian/Emma/Killian fic I’ve been trying to write for like, months. So here’s some smutty smutty smut of the threesome variety.
He smiled when her hands touched his shoulders, sliding down his chest and toying with the buttons on his shirt. He didn’t look up from his book, though, enjoying the game and the feeling of her chest pressed up against the back of his head. Her hands swirled over his chest and down his sides, then crept up to steal his book from his hand. “I was reading that,” Killian said, amused.
“I noticed. I also noticed that you didn’t notice I had other plans for you,” Emma said, climbing over the back of the couch to sit next to him, heedless of the number of times he’s told her she’s going to ruin the integrity of their furniture at some point.
Draping his arm just behind her on the couch, he turned to face her. “Oh, I noticed, wife of mine, I just wanted to see what you’d do.”
She made a face at him, then leaned forward to kiss him. She slipped her tongue past his lips and he hummed in surprise. “How’s that?” she asked.
“Better.”
She rested her forehead against his, then sat back, looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and expectancy. Few things made his Swan nervous these days and he rubbed her arm in encouragement. “I have a proposition for you,” she said.
Emma’s question is a hushed whisper, just loud enough for Killian to hear above the lullaby playing softly on endless loop from his phone on the nightstand.
“What?” he mumbles, mindful of the volume of his own voice. The song is the only bloody thing that will keep their newborn daughter asleep for longer than ten minutes at a time and he dares not chance disturbing her.
“Your mom,” Emma repeats, her hand patting soothingly over Hope’s middle as she lays between them on their bed. “Was she a fairy?”
Killian chuckles quietly. “My mother was many things, love, but a fairy was not one of them.”
“Oh,” Emma replies, and the breath she exhales is almost disappointed.
He watches as she shifts her hand, tracing a finger delicately over the curve of Hope’s ear, lingering for a moment over the tiny pointed tip.
“An elf maybe?”
This time Killian smiles, reaching for her hand and drawing it to him to kiss at her fingers. “I’m no halfling, wife.”
She slips from his grasp, shifting to tug playfully on his earlobe. “So the ears…”
“Purely coincidence, I’m afraid.” He grasps at her hand again, twining their fingers together. “The only magic I’ve got…is the two of you.”
Though she rolls her eyes, her smile is full of affection, and when she lifts her head, he meets her halfway so he can press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. They feel Hope shift beneath them, and they spring apart immediately, their eyes wide and their breaths trapped in their lungs.
He and Emma are eerily still, watching Hope squirm for a few moments more. Her soft noises of protest make his brow furrow with anxiety and as quickly as she had almost been roused, she falls still again, remaining peacefully with her dreams. Their twin sighs are full of relief and when Emma gently lays her head back on the pillow, he follows suit. Their hands meet again, resting carefully over their daughter while they smile at each other, and Hope’s favorite lullaby continues to play around them.
Emma wakes up feeling more content and well-rested and safe than she’s felt in months, and for a moment somewhere between sleeping and waking, she’s not sure what it is about this particular morning that’s making her feel so warm. Then the arm wrapped around her ribs shifts and the hand cupped just below her cheek readjusts itself, and she understands the warmth around her without opening her eyes. She shifts, nuzzling her nose into his wrist and tucking her feet between his calves, and she can tell he’s already starting to stir.
“You need thicker curtains, love,” is the first thing he mumbles when he presses his lips into her shoulder, ducking his head to her spine as if the problem will solve itself. She feels herself start to laugh, drawing a step closer to wakefulness, and nudges her elbow back into his ribs.
“Ssh,” she whispers, voice thick with sleep, “you have to be awake to talk.”
“What do you call this, then?”
Emma shakes her head against his hand and momentarily pulls her arm from where it rests on top of his, reaching blindly for the comforter tangled up in both of their legs. It only takes a little effort for her to pull it free and when she does, she pulls it so it sits high enough around their arms to keep the light away for a good hour at least. He’s being remarkably patient with her as she continues to deny the daylight, but then she can’t remember a time when he wasn’t patient with her.
“There,” she breathes, pressing the backs of her knees into his and chasing after the warmth that was lost when her arm left its spot on top of his. She can smell the salty air by the docks on his skin mixing in with the smell of her laundry detergent and something in the back of her mind is chanting home, home, home but all Emma does is sigh and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing growing even again.
In an hour, she’ll let him wake her just as slowly, pulling his hand from beneath her cheek to tease the tangles from her hair, whispering her name in his low, soft voice, brushing his fingers across the curve of her arm. In an hour she’ll turn and press a kiss into his chest, brush her thumb across his eyebrows and seriously consider the risks that come with buying black-out curtains. For now, though, Emma couldn’t move if she tried.
Emma’s fear of pregnancy leads Killian to find—and use—a spell that allows him to carry their child instead. A canon-divergent CS pregnancy fic, just with the roles flipped a bit. (mpreg; rated T for implied sexy times) | AO3
Summary: As the baby continues to grow, Killian faces some unexpected challenges: dressing his swelling belly and trying to beat the heat when there’s something constantly pressing on your insides. But he’s always got Emma to help him out.
It seemed as though things started progressing even faster once they found out they were having a girl. The room they’d designated as a nursery was suddenly cleared, and a small pile of infant goods was growing in it. Henry was constantly listing off names he liked (though he hadn’t yet figured out why Emma laughed at the suggestion of Padme). And one day, while working by himself at the station, he felt the little lass (as he’d taken to calling her) start kicking in reaction to him singing to her.
Everything was thrilling in its own right, but the one annoying thing was trying to dress. It didn’t take long for his button-up shirts to stop buttoning, and he wasn’t sure his jeans would ever fit him again. (The thought of his old leather pants was laughable.) He was getting by with the soft cotton tshirts Emma had bought him when he first moved in, but now in his 24th week, the bump was starting to stretch against them and display itself proudly and prominently in front of him. She was definitely his daughter in that regard.
He was cursing at unforgiving denim one morning before work, when not even the hair elastic trick would hold his pants together, while Emma just watched him and started laughing.
“You are ever so helpful, Swan,” he sarcastically called out as he struggled.
“You knew this was coming,” she threw back. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even got them to last this long.”
He mumbled a response, but she apparently didn’t hear.
“Um, louder for the rest of the class there?”
“I said, they’re your father’s jeans,” he admitted in defeat. “Your mother lent them to me, since he wears a larger size. But, apparently, I’m too big even for those now.” He hung his head, fly still undone, and massaged the spot just below his belly button that seemed to be their daughter’s target this morning.
“Come here,” she sighed, holding her hands out and beckoning him to her. He shuffled over and was slightly surprised when she went right for the jeans.
She grabbed both sides of the clasp and then he caught the white glow of her magic as she easily joined them and secured the closing. “There; that should get you through another couple weeks. But we will have to figure out something past that.”
“I’m not wearing a dress, Emma,” he warned, remembering her mother’s outfits of choice when she was expecting Neal.
Emma just laughed. “I didn’t think you would. But there’s lots of stuff out there; we’ll find something.”
“Can’t you just magic them a bit bigger each day?”
It All Starts With a Dance 