#captain duckling ff

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (3/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One | Part Two

Part Three

The castle was brimming with life and gaiety. Orchestral sounds spilled over the balconies and light seeped from every window, illuminating the stone walls and bathing the gardens in an exuberant glow. If he’d had to guess, Hook would estimate the overflow from the ballroom to be in the hundreds as he made his way through the crush of courtiers, adorned in their finery as they eagerly awaited to be announced.

Dukes and earls. Ambassadors and emissaries. Military leaders and loyal sycophants. The creme de la creme of Misthaven and her allied kingdoms were all in attendance - all who had received a royal summons, that is. Hook had witnessed a number of people being turned away at the gate when they had failed to produce the invitation. The exquisitely designed edict with its filigree and gilded letters announcing the event of the century:

The Formal Betrothal Ceremony and Ball between Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Misthaven and His Royal Highness Prince Neal, Son and Heir of the Dark One.

Not that Hook had received one himself, of course; their Majesties had learned their lesson the last time they’d attempted to share blessed news and an invitation with him. Pan had been serious when he’d meant no interference, though they had underestimated what the evil bastard considered as such until he’d enticed most of the Misthaven male youths away from their beds and nearly to their deaths over one of the kingdom’s cliffs, because the sovereigns had dared to have an envoy deliver him news of the arrival of their second child - a son. When David and Hook had confronted Pan before he could lure the boys to their deaths, the demon brat had made it clear that any communication, any interaction, any attempts to maintain or strengthen relationships between Misthaven and “his pirate” would be seen as a breach of contract and met with severe penalties. After that, Hook had once again kept his distance from Misthaven, and Misthaven had kept its distance from him. So, naturally, Hook did not fault them for failing to send him an invite to tonight’s festivities. They could not possibly have known that circumstances were different now.

A fact Tink kept nagging on about these past few months.

Months they had spent attempting to set things right in the wake of Neverland’s liberation. Months they had spent establishing authority and restoring order while dealing with uprisings from those still loyal to Pan. Months Hook had spent ferrying those who had wished to return to their homes, not knowing if one even still existed for them, as he warred with himself over the prospect of returning to his own.

It had been the news of Emma’s betrothal that had started the quarrel with Tink up again. Enjoying a pint in a dark corner of anonymity whilst patroning a tavern in Glowerhaven, they’d heard the toasts and cheers go up wishing the princess and “her prince” well. The Dark One’s son wasn’t truly royalty, of course, but none were fool enough to challenge the title.

While the other patrons had reveled in the news of the betrothal, their spirits high from the glee of gossip and tankards of toasts, Hook had sat with a weighty stone of despondency in his belly even as he’d tried to muster up some semblance of jubilation over the news.

“You must go to Misthaven,” Tink urged. “You have to tell them. Tell her. You can’t let her enter a betrothal or get married without--”

“Do you think I would interfere in her life now?” Hook replied through grit teeth. “Burden her with this… with me, when she has finally found happiness?”

“How do you know it is true happiness she has found? The Law of Surprise entrusted her to you. Gave you the responsibility and privilege of her destiny. You cannot sit by and allow her to--”

“To what?” Hook snapped. “To decide for herself? To pursue a destiny she has chosen? To fall in love and follow her heart while making alliances that will strengthen her kingdom and secure her reign? I am not her lord and master, nor am I her overseer.”

“No. You are not,” Tink said softly. “But you are fated to her. Bonded to her through the Law. Connected in a way she isn’t even aware of, because you haven’t allowed her to know. You owe her the truth before she establishes new bonds with another.”

Hook scoffed, but tapped the ring on his thumb against his tankard as he considered her words.

“At the very least,” Tink continued, “go see her. Before she is whisked off to the Dark Realm to prepare for her new life as Neal’s wife and future Queen of the Dark One’s subjects, go meet her. Make sure it is for love that she has chosen this path, and not out of a sense of duty or obligation. Slake your curiosity of who she has become and give yourself the peace of knowing that in spite of everything, she turned out well.” Hardening her gaze, she added, “And for the sake of all the gods, stop being a coward and go face your brother.”

He hated when the infernal fairy was right.

It was cowardice that had kept him from returning. Fear of having to divulge all he’d done in order to achieve his freedom, the lengths he’d had to go to and the ways in which he’d made Pan believe he’d broken him before finally being able to…

Afraid that there was no longer a place for him among society. Terrified over the prospect that, despite Neverland’s magic and the way it had kept him youthful, his life had already passed him by. Petrified to face the girl he’d been meant to watch over, daunted by the uncertainty of how she might react if he ever managed to work up the nerve to tell her the truth about him, about the Law of Surprise, about the fate’s design that had bonded them to one another before she was even born.

Tink had been right, though. He could not give in to cowardice, so he’d commissioned a new waistcoat and duster, one befitting a gentleman pirate paying court, and made port in Misthaven the evening of his princess’ betrothal ball. His lack of an invitation was no issue with the guards at the gate, he’d merely flashed them his hook and they’d allowed him entry, certifying that the king’s pardon of Hook’s crimes and promises of sanctuary within Misthaven still stood. Though Hook did feel it prudent to tuck his left arm behind his back, beneath his quilted, leather coat whilst in the receiving line, lest one of the guests glimpse it and start a fuss.

He wasn’t sure if it was the maddening wait, the stifling corridor, or the crowd of plumed and perfumed guests that began to grate on his nerves, spiking his anxiety and forcing him to withdraw from the ballroom hall. All he knew was that he’d suddenly found himself in a dark and isolated alcove around the corner from the crush, attempting to steady his breathing while muttering curses at himself for falling apart over something as simple as queuing for a ball.

“Is everything alright, good sir?”

Hook spun around, once more tucking his hook behind his back while his hand swept through his hair in an attempt to straighten his appearance. He stood in stupified silence for several skips of his heartbeat, too stunned by the gorgeous woman before him, until he finally cleared his throat and found his voice.

“Aye, lass,” he replied, unable to keep some of the awe out of his tone. “No need to concern yourself with me.”

The woman, young, blonde, with a slender form that did not fail to fill out the curves of her gown while demonstrating the strength he could detect beneath her proper posture, cocked her head to one side, her seaglass eyes narrowing at him even as a smile slightly tugged at the corners of her exquisite lips, rebutted, “A man hiding away in the shadows is a bit concerning, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” Hook conceded with a slight chuckle. Taking a step forward so she could get a better look at him, his smile broadened when her eyes widened and swept over his form with similar interest. “Truth be told,” he continued in a low timbre, “I am rather out of practice in the rules of court. It has been many years since I’ve attended a royal ball.”

Eyes snapping back up to his, she schooled her features and lifted her chin. “Have you not escorted someone to attend with you? Have you no one whose company you can rely on?”

Hook sighed wistfully. “My brother is here,” he said, attempting to keep all sense of melancholy or apprehension from his tone, “but I have not seen him in many years. My presence may come as something of a shock, and I do not wish to cast a pall on the evening. I would never wish to tarnish the memory of it for the princess.”

“The princess?” she parroted, her brows arching and achieving heights that nearly matched her voice. “You hold her in high regard then?”

“Aye. Very much.” Thoughts of his Emma, and the maelstrom of emotions they brought with them, made his voice constrict in his throat, making his next words a bit strained. “Though, I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance since she was a child.”

The woman’s expression shifted, becoming pensive, almost far away, but as quickly as they had taken hold of her features, she shook off whatever thoughts she’d been contemplating. “Well, I highly doubt anything you do could tarnish this night for her.”

“I appreciate that vote of confidence, love.” Killian scratched behind his ear, his hips swinging with another swaggering step forward as he pressed a little too closely for decorum’s liking into her personal space. “I don’t suppose, once I’ve mustered up the courage to make my way into the ballroom, you would consider bestowing me the pleasure of a waltz?”

The corners of the woman’s lips tipped up again, and Hook wondered what it would take to encourage a full smile from her. Not that it mattered. He’d already accepted the challenge.

“Would such a consideration give you the necessary encouragement to face your brother and the court?” she asked.

Boldly, he took her hand and ran his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, murmuring, “Such consideration would give me the encouragement to do a great many things, Miss…”

Her lips parted, the response of her name on the tip of her tongue, when an attendant rounded the corner and jolted them apart with her exclamations. “Your Highness! I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Hook whipped his head from the attendant back to the woman who had snatched her hand from his and taken several steps back.

“Your Highness?” he said incredulously. “As in Her Royal Highness? Princess Emma?”

“I… I,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry, I must…”

“Excuse us, my lord,” the attendant said, encouraging her charge away from the alcove and towards the hallways that led to the royal entrance at the back of the ballroom.

Hook watched her depart, stunned by the realization that the woman with whom he’d been conversing - and was now rather taken with - was none other than the princess. His princess. His Emma. His Child of Surprise who was no longer a child.

He’d known that already of course, that she was no longer a child. More than ten years had passed since he’d last seen her, but as she was escorted down the hallway, briefly taking the opportunity to glance at him over her shoulder with an apologetic smile and a glimmer of attraction in her eyes, the reality of those years hit him full force. His princess was no longer a child, and once the betrothal ceremony was complete, she would no longer be his.

Forgoing the queue, Hook forced his way into the ballroom without being announced and found himself a vantage point where he could observe without taking on much notice. A resurgence of duty and responsibility filled him. He wanted to - no, needed to - weigh the measure of the man his princess was about to bind herself to in betrothal. Needed to know he was worthy of her.

Although, he was quite certain no man ever would be.

As the ballroom began to fill, his vantage point proved to be less than ideal. Unable to clearly see the dais, he started to shuffle his way through the throng as the prince and his father were announced, followed swiftly by Their Majesties and Princess Emma.

He was halfway across the room when the ceremony began, and the heavy weight of regret, knowing he was too late to do anything, pressed down upon him, keeping him rooted to his spot. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. He was about to lose her forever without having the chance to truly know her. He was a fool for wasting these past few months. A damned fool. All he could do now was watch as the prince and princess recited their vows while a fairy wove the betrothal bonds around them with her wand.

His heartache was quickly forgotten, however, when the final binding spell failed, leaving the betrothal void and eliciting a collective gasp from those assembled.

“I… I don’t understand,” the fairy stammered. “The magic should have worked. I… I don’t know what--”

“Clearly, you did something wrong, dearie,” the Dark One accused as he took a threatening step towards the young fairy.

“No,” Emma stated, stepping between her would-be father-in-law and the scared-out-of-her-wits fairy. “She didn’t. The magic failed to bind us, because…” Turning her attention back towards her would-be groom, Emma declared, “as I have told you numerous times, I have no intentions of marrying you. I don’t care about the deal our fathers made in order to end the war. My heart will never be yours, therefore no vows I make to love you will ever be true.”

Chaotic murmurs erupted throughout the ballroom, but Hook kept his focus on the dais.

“That matters not!” the Dark One shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Emma which made Hook’s hand itch for the hilt of his sword, unfortunately left behind on his ship. “Your feelings have no bearing and are not enough to void the betrothal spell.” Casting his ire upon King David and Queen Snow, he demanded, “Explain yourselves! We made a deal! You agreed to this betrothal on your daughter’s behalf. It is your word and your authority over her that binds that agreement, so why did it fail?”

Hook sucked in a startled breath. He knew why.

“I think I can answer that, and settle this matter,” he called out, causing all eyes to fall on him.

“And who might you be?” Prince Neal demanded.

“Captain Killian Jones,” he proclaimed, stepping forward as the crowd parted. “Though some have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker.” Raising his left arm, he displayed his hook and a hysteria of murmurs further erupted amongst the crowd that was now cowering away from him.

David and Snow’s mouths dropped open and Liam, who had been standing by off to the side of the dais, rushed forward and took his place next to his sovereigns, a look of complete elation and shock coloring his aged face. The fairy fled, leaving Emma, Prince Neal, and the Dark One alone at the center of the raised platform, each of them staring at him with a variety of expressions.

“Hook!” Prince Neal exclaimed, before catching the eye of the many guards stationed along the walls. “Seize him!”

When none of the guards acquiesced to the command, an incensed and clearly alarmed Prince Neal sputtered, “W-Why are you all just s-standing there! Arrest him!”

“Oh, you must not be aware,” Hook said, swaggering his way towards the dais and stopping short of its steps. “You see, I have pardon in this land.”

Turning his incredulity and ire towards the King, Prince Neal opened his mouth, but was silenced by the quiet yet dangerous tone of the Dark One’s question.

“How, pray tell, do you plan to settle this matter, Captain?”

“By claiming that which was owed me the day I saved King David’s life and he vowed to honor me with a boon, dictated by the Law of Surprise.”

“A boon? What boon?” Emma demanded.

With confident, measured steps Hook made his way up to the top of the platform and stood in front of his princess, his body strategically placed between her and his new adversaries. His eyes captured hers and he knew they were crinkling in the corners as he smiled down at her.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he murmured softly. “It’s you.”

Confusion and outrage flashed within her seaglass eyes and displayed themselves through each feature of her exquisite face. Though her reaction, not being what he’d hoped for, sliced through him, he could do nothing about that now, not when a fresh round of threats was being issued by the Dark One and his spawn.

“We had a deal!” the Dark One bellowed. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage to my son in exchange for me ending your war with George! You made a deal--”

“Which they have kept in good faith!” Hook roared, rounding on the imp and causing his son to stumble backwards. “They have prepared and presented the princess for betrothal, and Emma herself recited the vows, even as it went against everything she wished for herself. It is not their fault the fates did not bind the agreement. If you wish to lay declarations of war at anyone’s feet, then let it be mine, but I warn you…” Stepping closer, Hook loomed over the Dark One and in a timbre of hushed menace, he advised, “do so at your own peril.”

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, perhaps sensing something about the man who stood before him that he had not registered before. Beside him, Prince Neal scoffed.

“Are we to be threatened by the likes of you? You are nothing but a filthy pirate.”

Hook grinned darkly and rocked back on his heels, tucking his thumb in his belt. “A few months ago I was nothing but a filthy pirate, but today,” hardening his expression, he declared, “I am Neverland’s King, and you do not want Neverland as your enemy.”

The Dark One visibly started, but the Prince merely snorted. “Neverland has no king.”

Keeping a calculating eye on the Dark One, Hook shrugged and addressed Neal with a casual air. “True. I never understood, with all his theatrics, why Pan had never outright declared himself king, but make no mistake…” The hard edge returned to his tone and countenance, “Pan ruled that island as a dictator king with an iron scepter and a crown of cruelty not even George could have dreamed of matching. Now that Pan’s dead,” the Dark One’s head snapped towards him, seemingly pulled from his thoughts with a number of questions swirling behind his dark gaze, “Neverland is under my rule. The island, its inhabitants, and…” Hook flicked his wrist and the entirety of the ballroom gasped when a jar of glittering dust appeared in his hand, “its magic. They all serve me now, so I say again. You do not want me as an enemy.”

Shrewdly, the Dark One scrutinized the jar in Hook’s hand, then inquired, “What, then, do you propose we do? The terms of the deal have not been met. I ended the war with King George. A debt is still owed.”

“Indeed,” Hook replied, holding out the jar towards the Dark One. “And I believe this canister of pixie dust is more than sufficient in settling that debt.” Hook pulled the jar back when the prince made an attempt to take it. “So long as you promise that accepting it means no further repercussions. Misthaven is safe from any further threats or acts of retaliation from you, and Emma is free to find love and happiness with whomever she chooses. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Papa, no!” Prince Neal protested. “You can’t just--”

“I can, and I have,” the Dark One clipped in a tone of censure before snatching the jar from Hook’s hand. Addressing the King and Queen, he confirmed, “Our deal has been satisfied. My son and I will now take our leave, but heed this… do not call upon me for aid ever again.”

“We won’t,” King David assured him. His eyes cut to Hook’s, relief and gratitude swimming within their depths, but before he could make any further statements another round of gasps rippled through the ballroom as the Dark One and Prince Neal were enveloped in a plume of dark smoke and vanished.

A heavy exhale fell over Hook’s lips and he stood, frozen, in the gazes of his friends, his sovereigns, his brother, and… his Emma.

“It’s you,” she said, her expression and voice void of any inflection he could identify as her eyes seemed to look past him to that far off place he’d seen her subconscious go when they were alone before. “You’re… him. We’ve… we’ve met before.”

“Aye, Your Highness,” he hedged. Her demeanor and lack of response to all that had just transpired made him hesitant to push her too far, too fast. “Moments ago in the corridor--”

“No… no, that’s not. I mean…” Her eyes refocused on him with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something that hadn’t quite made its way to the surface yet swirling through their verdant beauty as she whispered, “It’s you, isn’t it? The man from my… you’re him.”

“Him… who?”

“My pirate,” she exhaled, stunning Hook to his core as she lifted a chain that had been concealed beneath the high neck of her white gown. Dangling from the delicate links was a familiar looking pendant. The seashell he had gifted her - after she’d plucked it from his desk, the little thief - he realized. The far off look returned as she murmured, “Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you.”

His heart swelling, Hook elated, “Good,” and took a step towards her. The action, like all his actions since he’d revealed himself, was not met with the response he’d been hoping for.

Taking several steps back from him, Emma rounded on her parents and shouted, “You lied to me! You made me think it was all in my head! You knew! You knew why I felt so… wrong, so deficient. So… broken. My entire life I’ve… You knew about him all this time and you never--”

“You mustn’t blame them, love,” Hook insisted. “It’s not their fault. I made your mother promise never to tell--”

“Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere,” Snow said, making them all acutely aware of their audience. The societal vultures practically circling in anticipation of the feast such morsels of scandal might provide.

“That won’t be necessary,” Emma seethed. “There won’t be any more discussion, because I’m not interested in anything any of you have to say!”

Hook gaped when she raised her hand, calling forth magic to transport her from the ballroom in a plume of white smoke.

“She has magic?”

“She’s the product of True Love. Of course she has magic,” the Blue Fairy replied with a terse and exasperated tone, having made her way onto the dais to address her sovereigns and offer her assistance. “Your Majesties, perhaps it would be best for you to withdraw with the… captain, whilst the other fairies and I tend to your guests?”

“Yes,” Snow agreed. “Thank you, Blue.”

Hook followed his sovereigns and brother to an adjoining room where they could converse and continue their reunion in private, though none of them seemed to know where to begin.

“I think I ought to go and check on Em--”

“No,” Hook said, cutting off Snow. “Leave her be. She’s had a terrible shock and no doubt needs some time to work out all that’s…”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment more until reality set in. They were here, together, reunited at last, and in a synchronized heartbeat they suddenly found themselves in a united embrace, laughing and crying tears of joy and relief at finally having the nightmare of separation behind them.

“Admit it,” Hook demanded of David, wiping the vestiges of his emotional release from his eyes. “You were hedging your bets when you made that deal with the Dark One. You suspected The Law of Surprise would void it when the time came, didn’t you?” Turning towards his brother, Hook surmised, “That’s why you wouldn’t let me relinquish my claim and bestow it upon you.”

Sheepishly, Snow admitted, “Blue was the one who suggested the idea. We could not be sure, though, given your… uncertain future under Pan’s rule.”

“Speaking of,” Liam chimed in. “However did you manage to defeat the little bastard?”

“It’s a bit of a sordid tale,” Hook told them. “And one I do not wish to relive in detail. Suffice it to say, I managed to gain a certain amount of trust with Pan, which allowed me close access to him. Revealing some of his weaknesses. One of them being… squid ink.”

Liam led them over to the settees and they all sat down as he remarked, “Squid ink is no easy substance to obtain.”

“Aye,” Hook affirmed. “Fortunately, whilst on one of my missions for Pan, I ran into a mermaid who wished to leave her life in the sea behind. In exchange for safe passage, and because she felt bad for nearly crashing my ship upon rocky shoals when she enchanted me with her siren song, she gave me the squid ink she’d stolen from her father’s vault. Tink and I used the ink to subdue Pan.” Fiddling with his hook, he cast his eyes towards the floor as he confessed, “My hook did the rest.”

“And Pan’s death gave you… magic?”

“Not exactly.” Hook pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, exposing the cuff secured to his wrist. “This does,” he said, tapping it with the side of his hook. “It was Pan’s. He was never without it. I learned that it tethered the Shadow to him, acting as a conduit to the island’s power which he could then bend to his will. At first, I had no desire for it, but its use became necessary in order for me to begin to set things right.”

Hook told them how he and Tink had spent the past few months: squashing rebellions from those on the island still loyal to Pan, learning about the island’s magic while working with the Shadow to restore balance to her shores, and returning those he’d brought there under Pan’s order against their will.

“There is still much to be done, but when I heard about Emma’s betrothal, I…” Not wishing to tell anymore half-truths, or admit that the news of her betrothal had not been enough without Tink’s prompting, he let his words trail off. He hadn’t shared with them his misgivings in returning, allowing them to believe these other distractions had been the reason for his delay, causing guilt to churn in his gut as he sat amongst them.

“Where is Tinkerbell?” Snow asked, perhaps sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“She remained behind in Neverland,” Hook replied. “Awaiting further orders.”

“Further orders?” David parroted. “What more could you ask of her?”

“Not from me,” Hook assured. “From Blue.” Glancing down at the cuff on his wrist, he imparted, “The island should go to the fairies. They are the only ones who can truly wield and balance its power. I have no wish to be its sovereign forever, but...”

“But?”

Hook sighed. “All magic comes with a price, and the price of using this cuff is that it cannot be removed unless both the wearer and the island agree to its removal.” A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he cheekily added, “or unless the wearer is dead and no longer has a say in the matter.”

“I don’t…” Liam floundered. “I don’t understand what you--”

“The island won’t let me relinquish my connection with its magic,” Hook said. “After Pan, I believe it finds me preferable and won’t risk falling into the wrong sort of hands again. My hope is that the fairies might be able to convince the island to free me of the obligation, which is one of the reasons Tink remained there. To continue working towards that end until reinforcements arrive.”

“Well,” Snow said, standing and causing the men to follow suit. “That is something we can certainly discuss in greater detail tomorrow. For now,” she turned to her husband and with a firm, yet regal, look, declared, “we really must return to our guests and assure them that all is well.”

“Of course,” David agreed. “You’re right. The gossip mill is no doubt having a field day and our allies deserve whatever reassurances we can give them.”

“My apologies for creating a spectacle.” Hook gave his sovereigns a chagrined and contrite look, but they quickly waved off his self-condemnation.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Snow assured him.

“Snow is right,” David asserted. “Without you, we’d likely be preparing for war with the Dark One. You saved us… again.”

Hook grinned and nonchalantly scratched behind his ear. “I imagine another boon might be in order then?”

David shot him a less than amused look. “I’m not granting you another Law of Surprise, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Though we do not plan to have any more children, I agree with Charming,” Snow said, a hint of amusement coloring her words. “Once was more than enough.”

Hook sobered at the reminder of his Emma, and the mess he’d made of things between them.

“You owe me nothing,” he said. “It isn’t as though I’ve lived up to the last--”

“Enough of that,” Snow admonished. “I know things may not have gone as you’d hoped with Emma, but tomorrow is a new day. Let me have a room made up for you, and tomorrow we can all--”

“Thank you, Snow, but I think I’d rather return to my ship.” When Liam opened his mouth to protest, Hook assured him. “I’ll remain in port. I won’t leave without discussing the matter with you first, I just… I need…”

“Much has changed for you, too, little brother,” Liam acknowledged.

“Aye,” Hook admitted. “Freedom is not something I’ve had much practice with, and I’m still getting my bearings. Still trying to decide what I want to do with my life.”

“You know you always have a home here, right?” David said, placing a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “A place to belong.”

“I appreciate that, Your Majesty,” Hook said, hoping his eyes reflected just how much that fact meant to him. “But do you honestly think things can go back to how they would have been if you’d never sent us to Neverland? Or if we’d all managed to return from the accursed mission?”

David flinched and his features twisted into an expression of guilt and regret.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Hook said, now placing his own hand on his sovereign's shoulder. “I do not blame you. I have never blamed you, but let’s not pretend I can just take my place within your navy and serve as captain of one of your ships. For one, I am no longer a man who takes orders from others willingly, and two… what crew would wish to serve under the likes of me? A pirate. A blackguard.”

“No one is suggesting we pretend the past twenty years did not happen,” Liam said. “There is much to work out, much to resolve and decide upon. For you… and for Emma.”

David’s expression shifted and he now regarded Hook in a way the pirate had never experienced before. Not as his sovereign, nor as his friend, but as a father. A rather protective father. A protective father who might have just registered the charged interactions the pirate and his daughter had shared in the ballroom.

“Indeed,” the man said with a slightly hardened edge on his words. “Perhaps we should have a talk about your intentions with my daughter.”

“Charming,” Snow scolded, saving Hook from having to respond. “Now is not the time.” Squaring her shoulders and taking up her regal posture, the queen declared, “While these matters are all important and worthy of our time and thoughtful consideration, the more pressing issue awaits us in the ballroom.” Fixing her eyes on Liam, she continued, “David and I will need your diplomacy in dealing with our allies. You and the fairies are our ambassadors for the duration of the event.” Shifting her attention to Hook, she offered, “You are welcome to stay, however, it may be best if--”

“If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty,” Hook interrupted, “I think I’d prefer to take my leave for the evening and return to my ship.”

Giving him an acquiescing nod, Snow replied, “Very well. Let us all get through this evening and get ourselves as restful of a night’s sleep as we can. We will then reconvene tomorrow.”

“And Emma?” Hook inquired.

Snow and David shared a quick look of solidarity, then confirmed with a glance towards Liam before affirming, “We will leave her be, for now. As you requested.”

Their silent recognition and acceptance of his sovereignty in Emma’s life both relieved and disquieted him. He’d meant what he’d said to Tink about not being her lord and master, but he would not hesitate to advocate for her if he felt those around her were not acting in her best interest. She needed time. They both did.

“Then I shall bid you all a good night,” Hook said, not waiting for them to reciprocate before transporting himself back to the Jolly Roger in a swirl of crimson, in dire need of a refuge where he himself could process all that had come to pass this evening.

~/~

Hook’s jaw cracked from the wide yawn he released early the next morning, his body stiff and feeling its true age as he went about his normal routine, shuffling through his cabin in naught but his skin. He’d managed to pull on his leather pants, leaving them loosely tied around his waist, when he heard a voice drifting towards him from the dock.

“Ahoy! Captain, are you there?” a woman’s voice softly called out. From the tentative tone and reserved volume, he could tell she was trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. It mattered not, though. He’d know that voice anywhere.

Hastily, Hook pulled on his shirt, a few of the buttons he kept fastened in the front slipped free from their closures, leaving his chest completely exposed. Forgoing his boots or even bothering to check the state of his hair, he rushed from his quarters and onto the deck, stopping short at the sight of his Emma standing atop the gangplank, just shy of the deck. The morning sun bathed her in an ethereal glow, silhouetting her form, which was adorned in her riding apparel, hugging her curves and highlighting her shapely legs in a way that had Hook glad he’d left his trousers loose.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Hook continued to approach her, only now taking in her observations of him. Rather wide-eyed and pinked cheeked observations, he noted with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Princess?” he said, pulling her from her own thoughts, his breath catching at the way she wet her lips before clearing her throat.

“I apologize for arriving so early and unannounced,” she said, straightening her posture before inquiring, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Hook grinned and closed the space between them with swaggering steps, holding out his hand to assist her. “Permission granted, Your Highness.”

When her feet hit the boards of the deck they stood there for a long moment, her hand still tucked in his as she took in the sight of his ship. When her gaze lifted to the mainsail a shudder ran down her spine. Though he was unsure how much she remembered from that night long ago when she last stood there, Hook was certain he knew what had caused her response.

“I sent him back,” he assured her, his voice low and soft.

“Who?”

“The Shadow. He’s the reason the sail is typically black, but I won’t need him until it is time for me to return to…”

Sensing this topic made her uneasy, his words trailed off and she pulled her hand from his. Noises from further up the dock grabbed their attention momentarily and Hook caught sight of her horse hitched at one of the posts, alone.

“Did you come here unaccompanied?”

“Yes,” she replied, uneasiness once again taking hold of her tone and demeanor. “I hadn’t planned it. I was out for my morning ride, clearing my head when…” Looking about she asked, “Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere more private where we might converse?”

“Of course,” he said, not faulting her for not wanting to be seen fraternizing with him. “Follow me, Your Highness.”

He led her to his quarters and stopped at the threshold, allowing her entrance as he hung back. A soft gasp fell from her lips.

“It’s… it’s just as I remembered,” she whispered under her breath, taking in every detail of his cabin. “I thought you were a dream,” she confessed, though he wasn’t certain she was actually talking to him, her gaze far away and her words almost murmured to herself.

“I thought the whole thing was a nightmare.” Her hands skimmed over the top of his desk, pausing at his hook which he’d failed to secure in his brace before going on deck. “The shadow that kidnapped me, the dark island, the glass cage, the boy…” Her eyes flicked up, meeting his as she continued in a whisper, “The pirate.” Wetting her lips, her gaze never wavered even if his did briefly drop down to her mouth. “You’re real. You were real all this time.”

“Aye.”

Picking up his hook, she turned it over in her hands. “This is the hook you used to attach yourself to the barrel? The one my mother later gifted you?”

“How did you know--”

Setting it down she leaned back against his desk and let out a heavy breath. “I talked with them last night,” she told him. “My parents. After the ball, I demanded they tell me everything.” Her gaze dropped for a moment, then her eyes snapped up to his, determination shining from their depths. His princess was on a mission for the truth. “Did you really not know of my existence until Pan had…”

“No,” he confirmed. “I had no idea the King and Queen had a child, nor that the child was the fulfillment of the Surprise your father had granted me until Pan kidnapped you.”

Nodding her head in acceptance of his word her demeanor shifted slightly, her shoulders relaxing and her gaze softening.

“I want to apologize for the way I behaved last night,” she said. “How I reacted when you…” Her contrite expression gave way to one tinged with anger as she continued. “The morning after Neverland, when I woke up, everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened. My being kidnapped. My parents insisted I had dreamt the whole thing, even Blue made me think I’d…” Her hands gripped the edge of his desk, her knuckles turning white as she continued to lean against it for support, and it took everything within him to not go to her and offer himself as an anchor for her feelings of hurt and betrayal. “My whole life I have been sheltered, not allowed to make decisions for myself, feeling as though something… vital was missing from my life, yet unable to seek it out. Made to feel as though I were mad, because of this dream that would not leave me.”

Swallowing hard, she glanced around his cabin once more before her eyes fell shut. A deep breath filled her chest, followed by a cleansing exhale. When she opened her eyes the anger was gone, but a sadness lingered. Hook would do anything to alleviate it, but he knew she was not finished. There was still so much she needed to work through, to process, to accept, and he would give her the space to do all of it.

“Last night,” she carried on, “when the betrothal bond failed, I truly thought it was because my vows had been a lie. I thought I was standing up to Neal and his father, taking control of my destiny for the first time in my life, only to discover my future was never my own to control, because of another agreement my father made before I was even born.”

Hook winced. “I am sorry, Princess. Truly.” Pushing off from the doorway where he’d been leaning against the jamb, Hook took a few steps into the cabin, stopping at the corner of his bunk. “It was never my intention to leave you feeling powerless or alone. If I could go back, I’d--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice sincere and her eyes full of forgiveness. “You had no way of knowing what the Surprise would be, and with what George did to my mother, who would have ever guessed? I don’t blame you for how my life--”

“You shouldn’t blame your father either, Your Highness,” Hook said in defense of his sovereign. “He had no way of knowing either, otherwise you would never have become my Surprise.”

“True.” She crossed her hands over her chest, a hardened expression once more tightening her features. “The blame belongs to Blue and my mother.”

“What?” Hook balked.

Meeting his gaze, she informed him, “Blue knew about the barrel. She saw it listed on the inventory that was taken when the Jewel made it back with the survivors. They must have put it in the hold when they fished it and you from the sea. Blue could not be sure it had not been corrupted, so she gave the water to my mother without her knowing. It wasn’t until weeks later, when my mother came to Blue worried that something was terribly wrong with her, that Blue confessed what she’d done. She told my mother it was still too early to know for certain and that she should wait to tell my father until she was further along, then later that very same day…”

“He granted me the Law of Surprise.”

“My mother knew he intended to reward you for your bravery and sacrifice, but said she had no idea it would be… Father said it hadn’t even occurred to him to grant it to you until the moment before he declared it. So, no. I do not blame my father.”

Stepping forward, Hook closed the gap between them and took her hand in his. “I will not tell you how you ought to feel, Princess. I just urge you to not let anger and blame linger in your heart for too long. I know what it is like to let such emotions fester, letting darkness creep in and take root in your spirit, giving it a foothold in your soul. Learn from my mistakes, love. Resist it.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

Running his thumb over the back of her knuckles, he softly imparted, “For many years during my first deal with Pan, I didn’t think I had anything to live for. The demon made me a pirate and I became a villain, unworthy of association with people like your parents or my brother. I had resigned myself to a life of exile and wasn’t certain I’d even return to Misthaven, until…”

“Until… what?”

“Until I met you.” How he wished he still had his other hand so he could take both of hers in his grasp, instead, he settled for threading their fingers together. “I wanted to be a better man for you, Princess. I knew Pan would still require a villain, but I was determined to defeat him by any means necessary so that I could take back my own power and control my own destiny.”

“So… what now?” she asked, a soft tremble quaking through her words.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she wet her lips, trying her best to hide her trepidations. “Your expectations. You said you returned in order to claim that which--”

“I said all that in an attempt to stop a war from brewing, and so you might be freed from a deal you never wished to be a part of,” he quickly assured her. “I know all too well the perils of making deals with demons, and it is a fate I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you.” Hook lifted their hands and cradled hers against his chest. “I have no expectations of you, love. I only wish to… to try and make up for lost time. To get to know you and have you get to know me. Fate may very well have its own plan, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever we become to one another is as much up to you as it is to me.”

A smile curled at the corners of her lips. “I’d hoped I hadn’t made that up about you,” she said. “I am glad to know you are, indeed, a man of honor and good form… just as I remembered you to be.”

Hook cocked his head to one side, his brows furrowed as he asked, “If you’ve always remembered the kidnapping, then why did you not recognize me in the alcove last night?”

“My memories weren’t… detailed,” she told him. “More like fragments. Impressions.” Looking past him, she began to call forth some of those memories. “I remembered you were a pirate. I remembered the silver fastenings of your waistcoat and the fact that you had dark hair, and I remembered… your eyes. They were probably the most vivid thing about you that I remembered.” Flicking her gaze up to his, she went on to say, “The truth of a person can always be found in their eyes.” Dipping her head, she demurred, “I’ve always been pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. It’s always in the eyes. I knew, from the moment I looked into yours, that I could trust you. That you were telling the truth about taking me home. Your eyes told me I’d be safe with you.” Locking her eyes with his, she wistfully admitted, “I’ve thought about your eyes so many times over the years.”

Her cheeks reddened and she suddenly could not meet his gaze. Hook wondered what other thoughts she might have had about her dream pirate as she grew older, but held back from making a saucy quip, allowing her to move past him towards his bookcase. Truth be told, he could do with a bit of space between them as well.

“My parents tell me that though you are finally free of Pan, there are still loose ends for you to tie up in Neverland.” Distracting herself she focused her attention on the contents of his shelves, picking through the books and lifting the lids on a few of the boxes. “Once that is done, what do you intend to do with your newfound freedom?”

“Honestly?” Hook exhaled heavily. “I’m not sure.” A tinkling melody filled the room when she lifted the top of what turned out to be a music box, hastily letting it fall shut before turning apologetic eyes towards him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, running her hands down the front of her riding jacket before clasping them in front of herself. “You were saying?”

Hook chuckled, then sobered a bit when he remembered what he was about to reveal. “I was saying, I’m not sure what I’ll do once my duty to Neverland is complete. I would like to return to Misthaven, I just… I’m not certain I have a place here any longer.” Fiddling with a few of the items on his desk, he added, “Of course, there are people here whom I wish to build relationships with.”

“Like your brother?”

“Aye,” he replied, lifting his gaze towards her. “Among others.” He paused, hoping she knew she was at the top of those considerations. “I have missed so much, and while I realize he is now old enough to be mistaken as my father, Liam is the only family I have left.” They both shared a quick laugh over that observation before he declared, “I do not want to miss any more of his life, or anyone else’s of importance to me.

Emma hummed, her eyes cast down towards her feet, perhaps unable to meet his gaze because of the intensity of it. “I’d imagine you’d want the chance to get to know his wife and your nephews as well.”

Her words rocked Hook to his core. “What?”

Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping from the realization. “I’m so sorry! I thought… I thought you knew!”

Hook slumped down on the edge of his bed, a new sense of melancholy and injustice washing over him as he ran his hand through his hair and pulled at the strands in the back. “How long has he… how old are his… why did he not…”

“They’ve been married almost ten years, and have two sons. Her name is Belle and she’s…”

Emma paused when Hook buried his face in his hand. So much time wasted. The toll of the years Pan had stolen from him never seemed to cease in its increase.

The sound of the music box filled his cabin once more, prompting Hook to look up from his sorrows. Tentatively, Emma approached.

“I wish there was something I could do about the time that was taken from you and your brother. I wish I had words of wisdom or answers that might guide you towards what’s next, but I don’t. All I can do in this moment is… make good on a promise I gave you last night.”

Confused, Hook could only stare at her, until she clarified, “I believe I owe you a waltz?”

Hook huffed out an amused breath. Reaching up he pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear and confessed, “I know I instigated that, but truth be told… I haven’t danced a waltz in over twenty years.”

“Well,” she replied, clearly not letting him off the proverbial hook. “Good thing for you there is only one rule.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet before wrapping his braced arm around her waist. Taking his hand in hers she flicked up her gaze and murmured, “Pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

She took the lead until muscle memory returned, then Hook glided them around his cabin, holding her close and marveling at how she’d been able to pull him from his sulliness with such a simple act of kindness.

His Emma was a marvel, to be sure.

“Do you, Princess?” he asked, causing her brows to pinch together as her head tilted to one side. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he clarified, his voice low and hushed, wanting to keep the moment tender despite the question burning at the back of his throat. “What you are going to do now that the threat of Pan and your obligation to marry Prince Neal has been lifted?”

Chewing her lip, she gave the inquiry her considerations before drawing closer to him. Moving her hand from his shoulder to toy with the back of his neck, she sent a cascade of shivers down his spine as she addressed his question with one of her own.

“Did you know that other than the night I was taken to Neverland, this is the furthest I have even been from the castle?”

That piece of information shocked him, though he knew it should not have. Her existence had been kept a secret for the first half of her life because of George, and the threat of Pan had kept her parents cautious for the past decade. Fear had made his sovereigns hypervigilant with their greatest treasure, so no, it should not have surprised him that they’d kept her close to home, safe behind the castle walls, never straying from the grounds.

“I have never left these shores. Never seen the beauty or experienced the culture of other realms, or met anyone who wasn’t thoroughly vetted by my parents.” Wetting her lips, her eyes fell to the charms hanging around his neck, but Hook knew her gaze was far away once again. “I know I have a duty and obligation to my kingdom, my people, and my parents, but…”

“But?”

Glancing back up with a slight expression of guilt pulling at her features, she murmured, “I can't help but wonder if my brother, Leo, was the fates way of allowing me to… That is… I know I should not wish to burden him unnecessarily, it’s just that--”

“Where would you go first?” Hook asked, still swirling them around his cabin, maneuvering their bodies with the same ease in which he attempted to change the course of their conversation. “If you had the means to go anywhere, where would you go first?”

“Neverland.”

Her quick and unexpected reply had him stopping them in their tracks. “Neverland? Why?”

Once again, she worried her lip, her breath hitching shallowly in her chest. “As much as I long to see the world, the memory of the one time I left Misthaven still haunts me,” she said, her voice a tad unsure at first, though it gained a sense of certainty and resolve as she continued on. “I want to go back so I can face it. So I can put the fear it has held over my life behind me, once and for all.”

When she flicked her gaze up to his, something new stirred within those seaglass depths and the effect of it seemed to hum between them, electrifying the atmosphere of his cabin.

“I want to see what sort of place it is now. With Pan gone. I want to know how it has fared under your rule. How it’s changed due to your influence and direction.” Swaying closer to one another, she was practically a hair’s breadth away when she murmured, “I want to see it for myself in the hopes that…”

“That what?”

Her eyes fell to his mouth and his pulse quickened.

“That it proves that I am… not wrong about you.”

It took his mind several skips of his heartbeat to register the feel of her lips against his, but once it did, instinct took over. His braced arm pressed into the small of her back, bringing her even closer to him, their chests nearly touching with the only obstacle between them being her hand. Her fingers curled through his chest hair, pulling a groan from the back of his throat that vibrated against her lips as his own slanted across them. Threading his fingers through her hair, he wrapped his hand around the base of her skull so he could position her head to his liking, deepening the kiss and coaxing her lips apart with his tongue.

The taste of her was captivating. He could spend the rest of his life drinking her in yet never be satisfied, always wanting more, always needing more… of her. Just her. His Emma.

However, now was not the time for more, and from the gentle, yet insistent, press of her hand against his chest, it was evident that his princess was not ready for what could come next if they continued down this path of passion.

“That was…” he whispered against her lips, chasing them without thought.

“Destiny?” She giggled, her nerves and inexperience quivering through her laugh.

Brushing his nose against hers, he loosened his hold, creating some space between them while assuring her, “As I said before, I have no expectations of you, no expectations for what might happen between us or what we might come to mean to one another. Only… only hope and a promise.”

“What promise would that be?”

“I promise to do whatever it takes to win your heart, Princess. I promise, that for as long as it pleases you, I’ll be here, at your service.” Taking her hand in his, Hook vowed, “I will take you to Neverland, and any other realm you wish to see. I will remain by your side, even if, one day, it is only to stand in support of my future queen.”

“What about Liam?” she said, clearly overjoyed by the prospects he’d laid out whilst harbouring some guilt that their fulfillment would take him away from his brother.

“My brother will be here whenever we choose to return,” he comforted. “Besides… he has his own life to live, and whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not, he’s been shouldering a duty and responsibility he was never meant to carry.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve been burdensome to your brother?” Her tone was laced with offense, but it was betrayed by the teasing expression she could not keep from her features.

“Oh, yes,” he cheeked back, winding his arms around her waist. “Quite the burden you are. How will I ever bear being bonded by the fates to Your Highness?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, running her palms up his chest then wrapping her arms around his neck. “Perhaps, you could start by calling me by my name, Captain.”

“As you wish… Emma,” he obliged on an exhale.

She graced him with a smile, then asked, “And you? How may I address you? Or do you prefer Captain?”

He wouldn’t deny the pleasure it gave him, hearing her call him Captain, and he was about to make a tawdry statement attesting to that fact when his eye caught a glimpse of his hook, still sitting atop his desk.

“Call me…” he said, his voice choked and barely able to utter the name he’d long abandoned. “Killian. Please, Emma. Call me Killian.”

“Killian.”

The sound of his name on her breath shot a thrill of wonder up his spine. His lips crashed against hers and they both surrendered to the destiny fate had planned for them long ago.

Which, honestly, should not have come as a… surprise.

Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

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#cs ff #cs fic #csff #csfic #cs au #captain swan #captain duckling #the law of surprise #cssns23 #words by hollye

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 8/?

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! We just moved into a new house, and at first we didn't have internet. I also felt that every spare moment needed to be spent unpacking and getting the house all set up. I finally escaped to Barnes and Noble to write because I just can't do it at home right now! Anyways, I hope the contents of this chapter make it up to you. We're getting to the good stuff ;)

Is the situation Emma is in as a pregnant foster teen accurate? I really have no idea, but it's in the book Impossible that this is based on. I also have no idea if you can make a shirt like that. Again, I'm going by the book Impossible. I'm not following it exactly, but those two plot points were kind of important, so I left them in. Anyways, things are going to keep getting steamier from here on out, though our lovers are far from out of danger. Plus, we've still got Snow, David, and their kingdom out there somewhere, so hang on, folks! It's gonna be a romantic yet bumpy ride.

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jonesfandomfanatic​ @hollyethecurious​

Chapter Eight:

The entire family jumped right in to help Emma solve the riddle that had defeated her mother. Liam dove back into every bit of research he had accumulated about the song Scarborough Fair. He and Ingrid met with the art professor he had mentioned who had done her dissertation on textiles. Elsa talked to the scientists on board ship and zoomed with the family every single day. Even Anna found her niche, taking Emma to the library and helping her check out every book available about pregnancy and childbirth. 

And Killian? He was the rock she could lean on. The one who made her smile or laugh just when things got too heavy. He also ran whatever errands he needed to: taking Emma to her first prenatal appointment, shopping for a long list of different types of fabrics at the craft store to make this impossible shirt, and going for a late night ice cream run when Emma’s cravings started. In some ways, nothing changed.

Yet his declaration of love still hung in the air. He hadn’t brought it up again, hadn’t treated her any differently, hadn’t asked her on a date or tried to get physical. He was giving her space to decide what she wanted, and it honestly was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. 

At the same time, Emma was confused. She had always loved Killian, of course. But was it romantic love? She could even admit she had been physically attracted to him at times, but did that mean she was in love with him? Did she even want something like that right now, when she was processing having a kid of all things and still healing from a violent rape? Did Killian fully understand what he would be getting himself into? Did she want to burden him with all her crap? 

She was just completely and utterly confused. 

Then, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about, Ingrid came home one day from work visibly shaken. The entire family stilled in the process of getting dinner on the table when they saw her standing in the kitchen, her face ashen. 

“What is it?” Liam asked, his voice filled with dread.

“Emma,” she said, her voice choking on her foster daughter’s name, “Liam and I need to talk to you. Immediately.”

Killian found Emma later, sobbing in her bed. When she poured it all out to him, he was livid. 

“This is absolute shit! I can’t believe they would do that!”

“They would, and they can,” Emma explained as she hugged her pillow to her torso. “Because I’m still technically in foster care, my baby automatically is, too.”

“They can’t just take it away from you!”

Emma shrugged. “Ingrid and Liam are no longer licensed to take in infants. I either have to find somewhere else to live, or my baby will be put in a different foster home.”

“Can’t they just get licensed?”

Emma shook her head. “It’s a year-long process of paperwork and visitations from social workers. I’m due in five months! Killian, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?”

She began to sob again, and when Killian eased into the bed next to her and put his arms around her, he could feel the small swell at her abdomen where her baby was growing. He felt a strong desire to protect them both. 

“We won’t let them take you or the baby away from us. We’re a family.”

“That’s what your brother said. Exactly.”

Killian chuckled. “Of course he did.”

“But Killian,” she choked out, “what happens if I don’t solve the riddle? I was comforted at least knowing my baby would be safe and raised by Ingrid and Liam, but now . . .”

She sobbed again against his chest, and he held her tight. “I won’t let that happen,” he vowed. “You aren’t going to go mad, Emma, you won’t. We’ll solve this. All of it. Together.”

*************************************************************************

The only time Emma’s family ever used the formal dining room was on Thanksgiving. Someone always had to actually dust the table and air out the room, but Ingrid always insisted they “do Thanksgiving right,” even down to the old chipped china plates with the maple leaf border. 

So it felt odd to be in here now with the warm summer sun spilling through the window and shining on the ancient area rug. Assorted fabrics littered the table and a sewing mannequin stood in the corner, the headless and limbless torso sending an ominous shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“So this one is probably our best bet,” Ingrid explained. 

She cradled the bundle of scratchy, thick fabric and held it out to Emma who reached out and ran her hand over the coarse woolen felt. 

“That feels like it would make the most uncomfortable shirt in the history of the world.”

Ingrid shrugged. “Does it really matter? You wet this fabric, mold it to that torso over there, and according to Dr. Freemont, when it dries, it will hold together.”

Emma took the fabric and nodded. “So then we have it. A shirt made without needle or seam.”

“Who’s gonna wear it, though?”

Ingrid and Emma whirled around at the sound of Killian’s voice. Emma’s mouth went dry immediately. He stood there, his hair wet with sweat, and his chest bare. Emma couldn’t stop staring at it. She used to think chest hair was gross. She was wrong. Killian’s was thick and dark, and it set her pulse pounding. Realizing just how long she’d been ogling him, she dragged her gaze up to his face. He gave her a knowing grin as he lifted a carton of milk to his mouth and took a swig. 

“Where the hell is your shirt?” Emma snapped.

“Where the hell is your glass,” Ingrid added drily. “You’re not the only one who might like some milk, you know.”

“I just got home from work, and I’m hot,” Killian responded, as if that explained everything.

Emma tried really, really hard not to think of the other connotation of the word hot, but she was failing. Killian hadn’t brought up his declaration since that fateful dinner last week, and Emma was still trying to process it. Yet ever since, she was hyper aware of Killian’s presence. 

His lack of a shirt didn’t help, either. 

“Pour that milk in a glass, Killian, I’m not kidding,” Ingrid said in her rarely used mom voice. 

“Sure,” Killian said, sauntering back towards the kitchen. He gave Emma one more backwards glance with a delighted smirk on his face. Emma’s face heated several degrees. 

“I think I know what he means, though,” Ingrid sighed.

“What?” Emma asked, her head still a little fuzzy.

“Is it really a shirt unless someone actually wears it?” 

Emma sighed in exasperation. “So have someone wear it.”

“I’ll do it.”

They whirled back around to find Killian standing in the doorway again. He had a glass of milk in one hand and a stack of Oreos in the other. He still hadn’t donned a shirt. Emma found herself staring again, admiring the way a summer working in construction had toned his muscles. She dropped the fabric she’d been clutching in her hands and swore under her breath as it rolled across the floor. Killian smirked at her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap it off his face or kiss him senseless. 

“Well,” Ingrid said, seemingly oblivious to the sexual tension in the room, “if Killian’s going to wear it, then that makes things a little more complicated.”

“Why?” Emma and Killian asked simultaneously. He had stepped further into the room, and his close proximity almost made Emma lose hold of the fabric she’d just stooped to pick up. 

“Well, if we mold the shirt to that torso over there, and it dries, I don’t think it will fit him.”

“So measure me,” Killian said, taking a bite of a cookie. His back was to Emma now as he addressed Ingrid, and it was just as distracting as the front of him. He had freckles across his shoulders, and a few along the small of his back. 

“That won’t work.” Ingrid shook her head. “The fabric doesn’t work that way. Not if we’re trying to make it without needle or seam. We’ll have to mold it to your body.”

Emma gave a little squeak at Ingrid’s words and nearly dropped the fabric all over again. To Killian’s credit, he didn’t acknowledge her reaction.

“What would that entail?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his milk. 

“I’m not sure,” Ingrid mused, tapping her finger on her chin. 

Silence fell for a moment, the only sounds from Killian snacking on his milk and cookies. Then Ingrid suddenly clapped her hands together. 

“I’ve got it! Duct tape!”

Killian’s eyes widened. “If you wrap me in duct tape, you’ll never get it off. Not without taking my skin with it.”

“You could wear a shirt,” Emma said. 

“You made that clear already,” Killian smirked at her. “I told you, I’m hot.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean for the duct tape. You wear a white undershirt, I wrap it in tape, then I can put the shirt, molded to your torso, on the mannequin. Then I make the shirt.”

“You’d need to be wearing the shirt when she tapes it,” Ingrid clarified. 

“I figured that,” Killian nodded.

Emma’s throat went suddenly dry. She’d have to put her hands on his body. She’d have to be in extremely close proximity to him. She was equal parts giddy at the thought and terrified. She was light-headed just thinking about it. 

“Perfect,” Killian announced with a grin. “When do we start?”

Emma wanted to ask Ingrid if she would do it for her, but she couldn’t risk that. The riddle implied that Emma had to make the shirt herself. She steeled herself and turned to Killian. 

“Shower so you don’t stink, and then we’ll get to work.”

“As you wish,” he told her with a mock bow before he turned from the room.

Ingrid, still oblivious to the fact that Emma was practically swooning and trembling simultaneously, turned away from the dining room table and grabbed her purse from a nearby chair. 

“Since you’ve got this under control, I’ll head to the supermarket. Anything you need?”

Slightly dazed, Emma managed to shake her head “no.”

“Great, I’ll see you kids later.”

In the kitchen, Killian rinsed his dirty glass and put it in the dishwasher. He smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. He hadn’t pressed Emma in any way since his declaration. Whether she shared his feelings or not, he’d told himself, he would still be there for her. Yet the way she’d reacted to him just now gave him hope. Maybe he would win her heart after all. 

*******************************************************************************************

“Sit right here,” Emma instructed, pointing to the dinner room chair directly in front of her. Killian obeyed, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t hold teasing as she’d expected. They were tender and vulnerable. Emma swallowed nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she scoffed.

“You’re holding that roll of tape so hard, your knuckles are turning white.”

Emma scowled at him and pulled a long strip of tape from the roll. He blanched, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she told him. 

He swallowed, and she followed the motion of his adam’s apple. She licked her lips as she drew closer, touching his arm gently as she raised it.

 “I’ll start with the sleeves,” she explained unnecessarily. 

She had to slip her fingers beneath the fabric to make sure she didn’t accidentally tape his skin. She thought she heard an intake of breath from his throat as her fingers skimmed his bicep, but maybe she’d imagined it. She wound the tape around and around the sleeve of his shirt, but when she began to wrap it around his shoulder blade, she had to step closer to him. He spread his legs to allow it, and she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his collarbone. The sharpness of breath this time was impossible to ignore. She paused and locked eyes with him - he face was so close to hers . . . 

“Did I hurt you?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, so she continued. Was his breathing becoming shallow, or was that her? Was that his heart thumping so fast, or her own? When she wrapped the tape around his chest, she could feel a “thump, thump” beneath her palm. 

“Um, Emma, give me a second.”

Killian grabbed a throw pillow from the wingback chair in the corner of the dining room then resumed his seat. He clutched the pillow in his lap, and his face flamed all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Oh,” Emma breathed softly. 

Killian swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Emma said, her own cheeks warm. 

“I just don’t want to freak you out . . . or scare you or anything. You know, because . . . because of him.”

Emma shook her head, tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks where they fell from the messy bun on the top of her head. She bit her lip as she got lost in his eyes; darker than usual and stormy. She stepped close again, between his legs, and she almost laughed when he clutched the pillow tighter. 

  “Emma,” he groaned, his eyes falling shut. 

“I’m glad,” she said, her own voice deep and trembling, “that I have that effect on you.”

“You do?” 

He opened his eyes, and she nodded. Her hands shook as she lifted them and rested them upon his temples. She threaded her fingers through his hair. It was softer than she had imagined. He tipped his head back and watched her intently. She thought of him the other night, stating so matter-of-factly that he loved her. He had said it as something unshakable and infallible. Something as predictable and steady as the seasons. Then they had gone on as they always had, with no demands that she respond to his declaration in any way. 

“And you could never scare me, Killian,” she clarified. 

Then, suddenly, she was kissing him. She was kissing Killian in the middle of the dining room. His torso was half wrapped in duct tape, he was helping her make this crazy, ridiculous, magical shirt . . . 

And she was kissing him. He was kissing her back. He was kissing her back after declaring his love for her at the kitchen table. He was kissing her thoroughly, his tongue exploring her mouth, even though she hadn’t said it back.  Or maybe it didn’t matter, she wasn’t sure. After all, this was only the second boy she’d ever kissed. But no, she wasn’t going to think about that or him. Not when Killian was kissing her within an inch of her life.

The pillow he was clutching fell to the floor when he wrapped his arms around her, and Emma could feel his arousal through his jeans and pressing into her. For a split second, fear tried to grab hold of her, but it was banished quickly. He wouldn’t just take her; he wasn’t like that. 

Killian pulled away, and Emma was shocked to hear a whimper slip past her lips, especially when he stood up from the chair and took a step back. Why was he pulling away, when they - oh.

He was sinking down on one knee, and she suddenly wondered if she were dreaming. It all felt so surreal, and he was still half wrapped in duct tape. Maybe Snow had whacked her in the head with one of those bottles after all, and all this time she’d been in a coma at the hospital. It would explain so much, honestly. 

“Emma,” he said, (and were those tears gathering in his eyes?), “I know this is a lot to ask of you, since you haven’t even told me yet how you feel about me. And this is something I think I always knew I would do eventually, just not now.” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and continuing. His words reverberated in her soul, and she knew he was right, they were always going to arrive here, somehow. She knew it the same way she knew her own reflection. 

“But with everything going on, I don’t want to wait. I know you face an uncertain future, Emma, but I always want to be by your side. So, will you marry me?” He didn’t even pause for her answer, but plunged ahead. “It makes so much sense, if you think about it. I mean, we’re going to break this curse, Emma, we will. We won’t give up, ever. But, I know you worry, and if I’m your husband, you won’t have to. You’ll know I’ll be there for the baby. It will be mine, legally. It won’t end up in foster care. Not that anything’s going to happen to you, I swear to you it won’t, but if I can ease your burden . . .”

He trailed off, and Emma sank to her knees right along with him, reaching out to cup his face in her hands. 

“And if I do go insane -”

“You won’t!”

“But if we don’t break the curse . . .”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said solemnly, “always and forever.”

It would be selfish of her, she knew that it would, to ask that of him. Nevertheless, his vow felt like the sun breaking through the darkest of clouds, and she knew she couldn’t refuse his gift. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, then his arms, and she clasped his hands tightly in hers. 

“I love you.”

It wasn’t, she discovered, difficult to say. It was just so true, so undeniable, like how she knew the sun would come up each morning. His smile was bright and blinding, and she smiled too at the sight of his dimples. They had been so rare lately. 

“Does that mean yes?” he asked her teasingly. 

A tear slipped down her face, and she found she couldn’t speak. She nodded, and he understood. Everyone would say they were crazy, of course. He was nineteen, and she was seventeen. It was absolutely insane. Ingrid and Liam wouldn’t like it, she was sure, but she also knew they wouldn’t stop them.

 He dried her tears with his thumb, then traced her lips before kissing her tenderly. The kiss continued as they clung to one another in blissful, shining faith and hope. In that moment, she believed him: They would break the curse. 

Emma and Killian were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t notice the slight shaking of the house or the rainbow colored light that swept through the room. 

**************************************************

It wasn’t the first time Robert Gold had entered the Swan/Jones home when the family was gone. He had explored every nook and cranny, flipped through photographs, smelled their clothes. He knew this family; every weakness to be exploited had been sifted and examined. 

Yet the house had never protested like it did today, and when he turned towards the dining room, he could clearly see why. 

It was a shirt. Hideous, smelly, and dripping wet, but a shirt nonetheless. When it dried, it could even be worn. 

“Well, well, well,” he muttered, reaching out a hand towards it. 

Almost immediately, he recoiled, the shirt burning him before he’d even grazed it. Magic radiated from it. The glamor spell he always wore faded, and his hands turned a scaly green, nails yellowed and gnarled at each finger tip. It wasn’t just the shirt, he realized. The entire dining room reeked with the magic, and he was in pain from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. 

“Of course you’re in pain, Dark One.”

He writhed on the ground and cried out as a much younger face pulled away from his ancient, twisted one. 

“Stop fighting me!”

“I’m doing all this for you, son!”

“Are you, Papa?”

“I got her for you, didn’t I?”

“But I can’t keep her!”

The Dark One could no longer hold onto the shared body, and the younger man stood to his feet, opened the front door, and walked out onto the sidewalk. Neal Cassidy was the name he preferred in this realm, a name that Rumplestiltskin hated. Baelfire was his name: a strong, powerful name.

“Oh Papa,” Baelfire - Neal - whispered, “settle down and cooperate.”

“You know I’ll take over again eventually.”

Neal didn’t argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and gritted his next words through his teeth. 

“This won’t work forever. You’re losing, and you know it.”

“They only finished the first task. They’ll never complete the rest. Not in time, anyway.”

“But that magic - you know exactly what that was.”

Ah yes, he did. True love. He wasn’t worried. The Dark One had defeated true love before, and he would do it again.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #cs impossible au #cs au #lieutenant duckling #modern fantasy #angst #cs angsty august #captain swan angsty august #impossible au

[iamstartraveller776]

Petrichor with Emma/Killian, please :)

Petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground.

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! I hope a little Lieutenant Duckling will suffice.

In the Quiet Moonlight

Killian stumbles across her late at night in a secluded glade. This is the place he escapes to on occasion when his ship is in port—when the past digs its claws too deeply in his thoughts. She’s like a specter, her pale, slender fingers hiking her skirts up to her knees as she picks her way through the damp grass on bare feet. Her long flaxen hair is wild, glowing in the moonlight, and he thinks she might have been out in the downpour that passed an hour ago.

When she settles on a large worn boulder in the center of the clearing, when her face tips up toward the glittering sky, recognition makes an uncomfortable knot in his throat. He remembers the day his brother received his naval commission years ago—and the adolescent girl who had made faces at him behind her father’s back during the stuffy ceremony. A teenage Killian got an elbow in the gut when he snorted at her crossed eyes and wagging tongue. Her triumphant grin, more teeth than lip, was endearing, and for a moment, he forgot the asperity that seemed to have been inked into his bones from birth.

Her delicate features, once rounder with youth, have been honed with time, but they’re no less familiar. No less beautiful. She lets out a forlorn sigh, and he wonders what woes could beset a princess who has everything. He’s heard the tales, of course, of her impetuous nature, of the wild antics that gave her parents their graying hair. A sailor regaled the crew with the story of her stowing away on another vessel, playing a cabin boy for half the voyage before she was discovered. Another swore that he’d once been served by her under the guise of common wench in a seedy seaside tavern. Each account was more outlandish than the last.

But the rumors stopped some months ago. He supposes she’s finally grown into her royal obligations.

He spares another breath as a voyeur before deciding to leave her to her ruminations. He’s hardly in the mood for company himself when he’s in such a state. Unfortunately, his quiet retreat is stymied by the crack of a twig under his boot, and he curses under his breath.

She jumps to her feet, dagger in hand. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

Her mettle draws a smile from him. He rather likes that his sovereign isn’t easily cowed, unlike the simpering political figureheads he’s had the disagreeable opportunity to bow before during his quests for crown and country.

Schooling his face to proper deference, he steps into the glade and offers her the expected obeisance. “I apologize, your highness,” he says. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Her lips purse briefly at the title, but she lowers her blade. “Yes, well…” She pauses, eyes narrowing. “I know you. Captain Jones’s brother.”

He swallows down the turmoil this familiar honor-by-association drums up. Sometimes he dreams of breaking free of the oppressive weight of his brother’s shadow. But he loves Liam fiercely; he’s desperate to make him proud. Particularly when it was his own flaws that nearly cost them this life of military glory before it could begin.

“Aye,” he replies. “Killian Jones, at your service.” Another bow seems to be in order, so he ducks his head.

The princess studies him for a beat, then nods as if she’s made a decision. She squares her shoulders and, despite her unkempt appearance, seems to become the very image of regal heir as she returns her dagger to its hiding place. “You may stay.”

Stay? He raises his brows, but doesn’t voice his bewilderment. “Of course, your highness.”

She rolls her eyes, nose scrunching in a way that is reminiscent of the impish child he remembers. “If you’re going to keep that up, you might as well leave.” She climbs back onto the rock and crosses her legs beneath her skirts. When he stands in place, she gives him a pointed look. “Well? Are you staying or not?”

He ought to go if he wants to keep his head—the king is notoriously protective of his daughter—but curiosity is a siren song he can never deny. “If it pleases you, your—” He cuts off at her glower. “I mean to say, as you wish…Emma.”

“I do.” She pats the space next to her, flashes him a small smile, and it’s the sun peeking over the horizon after a stormy night.

Odd that. He’s never short of comely lasses tossing him a wink and grin. Yet it’s never been like this, though he can’t name what this is. He joins her, leaning against the stone rather than sitting lest he has to make a hasty getaway. No doubt a servant or guard will notice her absence and come searching for her.

Silence stretches between them, marred only by the distant crash of the tide against the pebbled shore. He’s not keen to broach the quiet with frivolous conversation, but he feels he ought to do something. So he pulls the flask out from inside his coat, unscrews the cap, and offers it to her.

She eyes the bottle with suspicion, but accepts it anyway. It only takes a sip before she’s coughing and sputtering, shoving the drink back toward him. “That’s foul,” she says, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

He makes a noise of agreement as he takes a pull from the flask. The sweet, smokey liquor is an old friend, though as a naval lieutenant, decorum keeps him from becoming a lush. “It does the job of drowning your cares well enough.”

“Oh?” She turns to face him. “And what kind of troubles does a hero of the Nine Seas have that need drowning?”

Plenty, he lets his wry look say for him. “A mite more than a princess, I imagine.” The words are out before he can think better of them.

She laughs, though there is a brittle edge to it. “You’d be surprised.”

“Indeed?”

He notices her gaze follow him as he takes another swig of rum. She nearly snatches the flask when he offers it again. This time she only coughs once after a generous gulp.

“I didn’t ask to be born a princess, you know,” she says.

That’s true enough, he supposes. He didn’t ask to be born a pauper. And yet, “You have more than a poor sod like me could ever dream of.”

She makes a derisive noise. “More rules. More expectations. More responsibilities.” She waves a hand in the direction of the capital. “All that luxury comes with a price. My life has never been my own and it never will be.”

The defeat in her tone is a prickly bur behind his sternum, and he frowns. “What would you do with it if you were free to choose?”

Her eyes gleam with fervor. “I’d burn every damnable gown I own and only wear trousers.”

“Trousers?” He grins at the image it conjures. She’d look fetching in them.

“Yes,” she says. “And I’d sail away to find adventure. I’d command my own crew, and we wouldn’t be beholden to any crown.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “A mercenary, then? Or pirate?”

“An explorer,” she counters, gesturing wildly. “One who also comes to the aid of others.”

He gently pries the flask from her hands before she can pour out the rest of his rum. “Worthy aspirations, princess. But pray tell, how will you feed your crew?”

Her enthusiasm dips as she seems to consider his question. “I suppose we can take on cargo and passengers or the occasional job—so long as it breaks no laws.”

“Of course,” he agrees with feigned somberness. Truthfully, there’s a certain appeal to her fantasy. Perhaps when he finally grows weary of his regimented existence in the navy, he might chase the vision she painted. The thought has a tang of betrayal to it, though, as if he hasn’t the right to savor that freedom if she can’t.

“I’d…” she begins, gaze dropping to her skirts as she picks at the fabric. “I’d marry for love. I’d choose who gets my first kiss and who…” Her cheeks color over what she leaves unspoken.

The bur in his chest becomes a spiky vine twisting through his ribs. “Would your parents truly deny you a love match?” After all, King David and Queen Snow were famous for their own enduring devotion to one another.

“Maybe not,” Emma says, resignation bowing her shoulders. “But if there is a man with an acceptable pedigree that I don’t find revolting, I haven’t met him—and I’m pretty sure I’ve met them all.”

Killian can’t hold back a soft laugh at her candor, but he quickly sobers at the melancholy in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says helplessly.

“Why?” she asks. “You’re not the cause of my suffering.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t save you from it,” he says with all sincerity. For a foolish moment, he entertains the idea of helping her run off. But they’d be chased until the end of time, his own brother likely leading the charge.

“No one can.” She stares out into the shadowed forest.

He wants to turn away from the ache drawn in her features, but he finds he can’t. Why had the fates seen fit to lock such a fierce, vibrant soul in a gilded prison? Will all that passion be smothered one day by the weight of her birthright? If so, it would be a travesty.

She glances at him with a guarded expression. “There is something I would ask of you.”

He can’t begin to guess what it might be. “Anything, lass.”

Without a word, she grasps the lapels of his coat and drags him to her. Her lips are suddenly on his, and he’s frozen from the shock of it. As quickly as she ambushed him, she pulls back with an embarrassed apology. No, no. That won’t do at all. This can’t be what she remembers as her first kiss.

He brushes back the veil of hair that had fallen across her brow, hooks it behind her ear and traces a line to the hollow of her neck. Her breath quivers to match the erratic cadence of his pulse. Slowly, so that she can refuse him if she wishes, he leans forward, pressing his mouth over hers in a tender caress. Her skin is soft beneath his palms where he cups her jaw, her lips supple against his. That indefinable something swells in his chest as she slides her fingers through his hair, as she relaxes into the kiss. He’s never had an interlude so full of desire and yet so innocent before, and he wishes they could dwell here indefinitely.

But the need for air eventually overcomes them. The need for reality too.

She rests her forehead against his. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Words tangle on his tongue. There are promises he wants to give her—of the independence and recklessness she craves. But he can’t give them any substance. “Aye,” is all he has left to say.

She doesn’t speak as she slides down from the rock. He doesn’t chase after her when she disappears among the trees, though he’s certain she’s taken something precious from him all the same.

The Jewel of the Realm takes to the sea once more, and he ignores Liam’s concern each time his gaze drifts in the direction of Misthaven. Because it isn’t gloom that darkens his thoughts when he recalls the scent of loamy earth mingled with the scent of her beneath the stars. No, it’s the seed of a treasonous story that’s taken root in his heart.

The tale of a navy deserter who steals away with a princess.

~FIN~

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #lieutenant duckling #prompt #my fic #cs fan fiction #cs fanfiction

[caught-in-the-filter]

Sucktember 2022

Day 10: Tongue

For the prompts from @suck-tember

Summary: Captain Jones fulfills his desire and tastes that of Princess Emma.

This is another continuation of what I wrote for the prompts Innocent and Kiss.

A/N: These are unbetaed simply because September started out of nowhere. 😅 (Thank you @kmomof4 for making sure this one made sense lol 😘)

Rated: E; Words: 760; AO3

——

“Fucking hell,” Emma moaned as Killian slowly ran his tongue through her folds. Her legs drew together, instinctively fighting his unfamiliar touch, but he simply caressed them until she relaxed enough to part them again. She gasped as he pressed his smile to her clit.

“So, your mouth is not as innocent as the rest of you, is it, Princess?” Killian tutted, giving her another teasing pass. He hummed, feral and hungry, at the thought of trading places with her so they could discover together just how dirty her mouth could be.

“No,” Emma shook her head, arching her back as she chased his lips, “but it’s not nearly as sinful as yours yet.”

Killian raised his brow at that. Yet? As much as he wanted to think she was taunting him, he knew she didn’t realize what she was implying.

He would just have to enlighten her to that eventually as well.

“Patience, love. We’ll get there.” He kissed her inner thigh. “If you want to, of course.”

Killian laughed lightly as Emma swallowed hard. His cock twitched with desire to feel her do that around him, but he wouldn’t force her to try. For now, he focused on bringing her pleasure with his own mouth, as well as on how much he was enjoying the taste of her.

“Tell me, Emma,” he said, meeting her eyes once more as he brought his fingers to her core and traced her slick entrance, “have you ever touched yourself like this before?”

Emma hesitated before answering honestly, “N—no. I haven’t. I don’t know how, and I was afraid of hurting myself.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. “Imagine having to explain that to my parents if I did.”

“Fair enough,” Killian smirked, drawing more small gasps from her as his coated fingers slid easily over her clit. “But you deserve to feel the pleasure of which you’ve been depriving yourself.”

His mouth returned to her flesh as he thumbed at the sensitive nub. He moaned approvingly as he gently prodded her with his tongue, carefully stretching her with its soft touch, coaxing her to open for him. She was like nothing he’d ever tasted before, and he knew he could happily spend forever tending to her like this if she’d let him. As he licked at her inner walls, she hissed at the invasion but told him not to stop.

“Does that feel good?” Killian checked as he continued his efforts to bring her to completion.

“Very,” she encouraged. “Please, I need more.”

As Emma’s hips began to buck, Killian introduced a finger to her core. She seemed to welcome it as he curled it and found another highly responsive spot inside her.

“Oh gods, Killian,” she whimpered, “it’s—it’s too much!”

“It’s supposed to be, Emma, I promise. Don’t fight it.” As he suckled her clit, he worked in a second digit, spreading her just enough to keep her gasping but painless. “Relax and let go. Let it consume you.” Slipping his tongue between them, he brought her closer to the edge.

Emma came crashing over it with a loud cry, her whole body shaking as her orgasm took her by surprise.

Killian wrapped his arms around her thighs and held her steady as she tried to jerk away, guiding her through it with his mouth until she finally settled again.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he kissed along her leg to calm her down.

“Yes,” Emma panted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Yes, that was….”

“Beautiful to witness,” he smiled. “And only the first of many, many more, if you’ll allow me to continue.”

“Please,” she nodded, urging him onto the bed above her. “Please, I want to know everything.”

He kissed her, passionate and deep, letting her taste herself on his lips. As his cock brushed her stomach, she met his gaze, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Killian canted his hips away from her. “I will be careful, and I won’t hurt you. But I need you to be sure. It’s alright if we don’t do this.”

Emma’s hands settled on his back, tracing his muscles with her fingers.

“I’m sure,” she reassured him. “Show me what I’m missing.”

——

Tag list ❤️: @anmylica @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @mischievousgraxaim @motherkatereloyshipper @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @sotangledupinit @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @tintedfl0wers @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @xsajx @zaharadessert

#sucktember #sucktember2022 #day 10: tongue #captain swan #CS ff #CS smut #Captain duckling #princess!emma #virgin!emma #Kayla writes

[thejollyroger-writer]

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles - part 4 of 4

“When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, Either hand On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace Of my face, Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each.”

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. I love you all. 

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Part Four on AO3

“Keep going, love, you’re doing great,” Ruby says, trying to keep Mary Margaret from breaking the bones in her hand. Sweat is caked on everyone in the room, even with the chill in the air. Outside, the rain pounds against the windows, the worst spring storm any of them have seen in years, wind slamming the branches of the trees against the glass. 

“We’re almost there, dear,” Granny says, her voice soft and smooth, and Emma makes the mistake of turning to the older woman sitting at the foot of her friend’s bed. Her hands are coated in a deep red, but she shows no signs of the lightheadedness Emma feels. In the chaos of the room, Granny stays steady, her focus never failing, never distracted by the wind or the weather or the cries of Mary Margaret. 

That’ll be me soon enough, Emma says to herself, distracting her mind by going back to her recent conversation with Granny, just three days before. 

“It’s not too late, you know,” Granny says, her voice low in the silence of Emma’s bedroom. “I can easily make you a tincture to remove your little problem.” 

“No!” Emma’s voice is louder than she expected, the answer coming immediately. Sure, she thought — albeit briefly — about how easy it would be for her to ask Granny for something to solve her “little problem”, but the thought itself made her queasy in a way much different than what she has been feeling of late. 

But, as easy as it would make her life right now, she cannot bear the thought of removing the one single reminder she has of those short few weeks she spent in the cabin with Killian, the single reminder she has of the love they shared. 

Even if it brings her downfall, even if it means she has to marry as soon as possible to save from scandal, she will not get rid of it, if only to keep her reminder of the man who truly owns her heart. 

“One more push, honey, that should be all we need.” Granny’s voice calls her back to the present, back to the pain in her hand from where Mary is squeezing her fingers. 

“I want my husband!” she cries, tears streaming down her face, but she does as Granny commands, lifting her back off the bed.

“I know, darling,” Ruby whispers, wiping her forehead with a wet rag to keep the sweat from falling in her eyes. 

Mary sighs, falling back against the mattress, and Emma worries that it was not enough, that she will need to push again — but then Granny gasps, and moments later, the small cries of a baby fill the small room. 

This is far from the first birth Emma has ever witnessed: cows, horses, pigs, dogs, cats. Birth lingers around every corner on a farm, and she has been around it since she was a little girl. But this — watching her best friend give birth to her baby, a human baby — seems wholly different. 

A baby. Mary Margaret has a baby — and she, herself, is going to have a baby. 

She wishes the similarity ended there, but standing there, looking down at the baby in her best friend’s arms, hearing her call him David for the first time, she is overwhelmed with the realization that they are both also alone. Sure, they have each other, they have Ruby, the other staff of the house that have become like family; but neither of them have significant others. 

Alone. 

More than before, she finds herself missing not only Killian, but also David. She leans against the side of Mary Margaret’s bed, her head feeling light as she realizes just how much has changed in the last few months. She thought the biggest change in her life would have been leaving the farm, running away with Killian. But she was wrong. Since returning home, she has lost her brother, lost contact with her love, gained a nephew… and learned that she has mere weeks to marry in order to stay at her childhood home. 

David, Junior — DJ, Ruby jokes, but Mary Margaret loves it — is a blessing, of course. A blessing to them all, surrounded by so much hurt and destruction. 

  DJ, thankfully, remains healthy through his first few days. 

Mary Margaret, however, does not. 

Moreso than before, she finds herself drowning in her grief, sobbing as she holds her little boy, unable to avoid the memory of her husband and their shared excitement for their baby. Holding him, rocking him to sleep, all seem to unearth these memories, and it seems to Emma that she spends more time crying than not, lamenting her new identities of both widow and mother. 

Emma, too, continues to find herself sadder than before. Just as Mary Margaret grieves for her husband, Emma grieves for the life she dreamed of with Killian, now not having heard from him for a month. 

Which is how she finds herself here, riding all the way to Philadelphia beside Ruby with a very specific list of herbs from Granny, who has found herself at wit’s end with all the crying happening lately. 

Despite the heat of the early May morning, Emma leaves her heavy coat on, afraid to give away her current state, which she feels is growing more obvious with each passing day. 

They find the apothecary easily enough, a white, ivy-covered building pressed between two larger brick houses. The cobblestones beneath her feet make her feel off-balance, thankful for Ruby’s presence beside her, their arms linked together, steadying her. 

The bells over the door ring softly as Emma pushes it open and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the shop. The inside of the shop reminds Emma more of a townhome than a store, the open space filled with shelves of herbs and small bottles as well as couches, tables, and books. 

“Hello, lovelies,” a voice calls through the doorway, followed immediately by its owner. Her dark skin seems to glow in the soft lamp light of the shop, black hair braided and piled high on her head. Her dress is a brighter shade of green than Emma has ever seen and reminds her of the way grass seems to change color in the breeze. “How can I help y’all today?” Her accent is unlike anything Emma has heard before, and it takes her a moment to decipher what she just said. 

Ruby, however, doesn’t miss a beat, pulling the small list Granny gave her from the pocket of her slacks. 

“Do you have any of these items?” 

The woman takes a moment, her eyes scanning the page — but when she looks up at Emma, she sees they are filled with sadness. “Would you be able to read the list to me, ma’am?” Her cheeks begin to turn a dark red, and Emma realizes a moment too late what she means: she was never taught how to read. 

Before Emma can take the paper from the woman’s hand, though, another person comes through the doorway, her footsteps heavy on the wooden floors. “Did I hear the bell ring, Tiana?” she asks, her voice thick with the same accent, but her opposite in every other way. She’s pale, even more so in the light pink dress she wears, her cheeks rouged and eyelids lined with kohl, and her hair a collection of shining blonde ringlets that fall down her back. 

“These ladies are searching for a few ingredients, Lottie,” she responds, turning to hand the paper instead to the other woman. 

After a moment of reading Granny’s list, the blonde takes off across the shop, grabbing a small basket before climbing a ladder that Emma didn’t even notice. 

“We definitely have the Wort!” she calls, hiking up her skirts to climb a few rungs further. “Tiana, can you get them some saffron, it’s the bright yellow one behind the counter.” 

Tiana smiles at Emma and Ruby as she moves through the room. “I know what saffron is, Lottie, I use it in my kitchen all the time.” 

“I never remember where our knowledge overlaps,” the blonde laughs, carefully coming down the ladder with a large glass jar in the same hand that holds her skirts out of the way. “We should also have the Rhodiola and the ginseng. You ladies are free to take a seat, if you like, it’ll take us a few minutes to gather all of this.” 

Emma is thankful for the offer, her feet sore and aching in her riding boots. Though she has definitely felt weighed down by sadness and grief, the strongest side effect of her pregnancy is certainly a lack of energy, even when she sleeps well into the morning. Even the minutest task can drain her — and riding all the way to Philadelphia and walking to the apothecary made her feel more drained than usual. 

She nods, taking a seat on the closest couch, and Ruby joins her, grabbing one of the largest books from the table in front of them. It’s well-loved obviously, its spine cracked and embossing worn off the cover, and when Ruby cracks it open on her lap, she finds the pages covered with colorful images of plants, the typed information mostly crossed out and written over with pen, a long, curling script that reminds her of Ruth. 

“I could be an apothecary,” Ruby says, focus on the book spread in her lap. “I find all this fascinating.”

Emma breathes out a small chuckle. “You want to do anything that involves moving to the city, Rube.” 

And she’s right. For as long as Emma has known Ruby, she has flourished more at parties, in the city, anywhere around people. The opposite of their life on the farm. 

“Question for ya, darling,” Lottie asks, approaching them on the couch. “I can give you the lavender in its dried version, but I also have a lovely lavender and chamomile tea blend that I highly recommend.” 

Emma shrugs. “I think that would be fine.” 

“Can I ask what all this is for?” Tiana asks, scooping a bright yellow powder into a vial on the counter.

“My sister in law recently gave birth to my nephew, but has been, understandably, overcome by the recent loss of my brother, her husband.”

“Melancholy,” the blonde calls from the back room. “I’ve read recent journals calling it depression, as well.” 

“This is a… normal thing?” 

Lottie laughs, loud and twinkling that seems to fill the room. 

“The doctors will tell you otherwise, but yes, it’s actually very common.”

Emma swallows, glancing sidelong at Ruby beside her on the couch. “And what about that melancholy happening… during pregnancy?” 

“Yes ma’am, and the suggestions I would make are very similar. If you would like, I could put together another mixture for a healthy pregnancy.” 

“I would appreciate that,” she replies, her voice small. 

  With their goods tucked into the bag slung over Ruby’s shoulder, they step back into the bright light of day, the sun straight above them in the sky.

“Are you still alright visiting a few more shops?” Ruby asks, recognizing the exhaustion that always seems to be on Emma’s face anymore. 

For a moment, she turns her eyes up to the sun, knowing that the heat will only affect her more… but she very rarely gets the chance to be out anymore, and especially with a baby on the way, does not know when the next chance might be. So, she flashes Ruby a smile. “Sure,” she says, linking her arm through her friend’s once more. 

There is something so freeing about the city, something enlightening about the privacy she can find here, surrounded by people, that she cannot find on the farm. She is so used to everyone she passes knowing her, asking about her life and her family, that the silent passing of strangers on the streets is a breath of fresh air in what otherwise is not very fresh at all. The city smells wholly different than her life on the farm, the warmth of the world around her, all crammed so close together, nothing like the openness she is used to back home. 

She couldn’t live here, sure; but she enjoys her time here whenever she gets the chance. 

The market is unlike anything she has ever experienced, incomparable to the weekly sales held by her local townsfolk. She is used to five or six stands, the small hustle of people moving among them; what she finds in Philadelphia is pandemonium in comparison. 

It thrills her. 

The spring crops have brought more types of tropical fruits than Emma has ever seen, and she wants to try each of them: the brightly colored mangoes, prickly pineapples, and perfectly round oranges and grapefruit.  

“Would you like to try a bite, ma’am?” a young boy asks her, holding out a piece of the flesh of a mango balanced on the edge of a shining knife. 

Emma smiles at him, carefully picking up the piece between her fingers. When she places it in her mouth, the sweetness explodes on her tongue, unlike anything she has tasted before. In her excitement, she makes Ruby try a piece, as well, before purchasing three of them and placing them in her bag with the herbs from the apothecary. 

“Hopefully Granny can find something to do with these.”

“I’m sure she can.”

“Where else did you need to go?” Emma asks, and the sly grin that spreads across Ruby’s face makes her immediately regret it. 

“There’s a dress shop near here that I’ve heard some of the local girls raving about, and we can also pick you up a new dress and corset for you to wear when you’re out trying to find your new husband.” 

Right. Emma has, understandably, pushed that thought from the front of her mind, but Ruby is right — though she doubts she should be wearing a corset in her current state. 

The shop is in a row of beautiful brick houses, many with flowers growing in window boxes or in the small patch of grass between the house and the road. The sign hangs over the large front window: French Tailor and Dress Shoppe, and in the window hangs a pristinely-made men’s formal suit, complete with both a waistcoat and full-length trousers; beside that hangs a rich green dress adorned with a delicate lace pattern, complete with matching gloves, which hang in front of  it. 

Just as Ruby places her hand on the knob to open the door, a voice calls from behind them: “Miss Swan!” 

They both turn to see none other than Neal Cassidy approaching them on the street, hat held in his hands as he jogs over the cobblestones. 

Emma turns to Ruby and rolls her eyes, but tells her to go into the shop without her. Ruby just nods, pushing open the door, and Emma hears the twinkling of the door bells as she turns back in the direction that Neal is approaching her. 

“Miss Swan, I thought that was you,” he pants, stopping just in front of her. 

She tries her best to smile, but fears it is more like a grimace as she offers him a small curtsey. “Good day, Mister Cassidy.”

“I recently heard about your brother. What sad news, please let me offer my condolences.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

“May I ask how your family is doing?” 

She thinks about glossing over it, but her anger towards the situation gets the best of her. “Mary is bedridden with grief and leaves only to take care of her newborn son, named after my late brother. Our house is in chaos, taken over by David’s twin, James, who left for the city ten years back and did not return until he got news of David’s death. He has given me six months to find a new proprietor for the farm and marry him, or else our property that has been in the family for three generations is going to auction.” 

By the time she is finished, she must take a deep breath, trying her best to steady herself without reaching for the door — or, worse, for Mr. Cassidy. 

Neal nods, wringing his hat between his hands. “Yes, I’m afraid I heard about your farm. Word travels fast surrounding a tragedy such as this.” 

He stops, obviously expecting a response, but Emma has none. He coughs into the back of his hand, then runs his fingers through his sandy hair. “I have been contemplating riding out to your homestead once more, but I did not know how you would take it. But I want you to know, Miss Swan — Emma, if I may — that the offer I gave your brother still stands. If you will have me, I would be honored to be your husband, especially if it means saving you from losing your family’s farm.” 

She can tell he expects her to be thankful, but instead, she just finds herself filled with anger. 

“Even in my current state?” she asks, pulling aside her coat to reveal her stomach. She is not sure if he understands what she is saying at first, but watches as his eyes go wide. 

He is silent for a moment, eyes traveling from her stomach to her face, but he pinches his lips together and nods. “Yes, but to save your family from scandal, it must be soon. I’ll visit the farm in a week to learn your answer.” 

It’s obvious he expects her to say yes, and she has no real reason not to — because he’s right. If she continues to go unwed, it will only bring scandal to her family. 

“Thank you,” she says — the only thing she can think to say. “I’ll have an answer within a week.” And with another curtsey, and without another word, she enters the dress shop. 

Five days pass, and Emma is lounging in the sitting room when she is startled by a knock on the door. It must be Neal, she thinks, laughing to herself about how confident he is that she is going to accept his proposal two days early. 

But when she opens the door, she feels the breath pulled from her lungs, shocked in a way she has never felt before. Because it is not Neal. It’s the very last person she expects to see. 

Robin. Bruised, bloodied, clothes torn, arm tucked around another man that Emma recognizes from their camp. 

“We didn’t know where else to go,” he says, breath ragged. When he meets her eyes, she can see the pain in them, the losses and hurt, the changes that he has gone through since their last meeting. 

Emma doesn’t hesitate another second, moving aside to let them in. Which is when she sees what is behind them: Four other men, carrying a blanket between them — and on that blanket is Killian, the most injured of the group. 

“Set him on the floor,” Robin commands, pointing to the carpet in front of the couch. 

“Carefully!” Emma adds, eyeing Ruby as she steps around the corner from the kitchen. 

“Well, fuck,” she mutters, loud enough only for Emma to hear.

“Robin, tell me what happened,” Emma says, gesturing for them to take a seat wherever they can find one — which they obviously need to do. 

“We were bloody ambushed, that’s what happened!” the youngest of them yells, but with one look from Robin, he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Will’s right, though,” Robin says, turning back to Emma. “We were traveling per orders from our lieutenant and we were ambushed. Of the forty of us there were, we’re all that’s left.” 

“What about Liam?” 

Robin turns his eyes to the floor, shaking his head. When Emma looks at his hands, she notices they are shaking. “‘Fraid not.” 

“Oh, Killian,” she whispers, kneeling beside him on the floor. 

The room falls silent, either staring at Killian or trying their hardest not to. Emma pushes his hair off his forehead, staring down at him, and has no reaction to Ruby re-entering the room, this time holding a tray of glasses of water, which she hands out to the men on the couch. 

“Can you fetch Granny, please?” 

Without another word, Ruby leaves the room. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the glass of water in his still-shaking hands. 

“Bloody awful is what it was,” Will comments. He, too, has shaking hands. “We were sent on patrol, were told there was possibly an enemy camp nearby. We weren’t gone most of the morning before we were attacked, right out of the bushes. Some of us were dead before we even knew we were there. Little Jones here took a bayonet to the arm and Jones Senior—” 

“Please, Will,” the large man next to him says, setting his hand on his arm. “I think that’s more than enough, really.” 

The man next to him hums in response, and the room goes silent. It stays that way, silent enough to her Granny and Ruby climbing the stairs to the kitchen.

“God above,” Granny mutters, hand over her heart, after she rounds the corner. “I hoped Ruby was joking, but I see she was not.” 

“Please, Granny,” Emma half-whispers from where she is seated on the floor.

“I take it that would be the man you left us all for?” she asks, her face somewhere between a smirk and a scowl, but she kneels beside Emma on the floor nonetheless. 

“Yes,” she breathes, thankful that she did not give away her biggest secret to the strangers in the room. “Can you help him?” 

Granny turns her eyes up to Robin, who is still staring into his glass of water. “Can one of you gentlemen tell me about what has happened to him?” 

Will recounts the same story as before, adding a few more details: he believes Killian took a bullet to the arm as well as the bayonet, and noted that his head hit a rock as he fell to the ground. 

Granny nods through all of this, carefully checking for a heartbeat before feeling his wounds with the tips of her fingers. The whole time she does this, the entire room seems to hold their breath — but when she moves from his heart to the tourniqueted wounds on his arms, the collective breath is let out. 

“I’m going to have to amputate, I’m afraid, it’s the only way to save the rest of the arm, but whether he’ll wake or not is something we will just have to wait and see.”

And wait and see is exactly what they do. 

They wait for two days, the other men insisting on sleeping in the yard behind the house, the weather nice enough for them to spend most of the time outside. With her new tinctures — or, perhaps, seeing how much Emma needs her assistance — Mary Margaret is spending less time being solitary, leaving her room when DJ is sleeping to be beside Emma. 

Emma barely leaves the living room for the whole of those two days, feeling that, somehow, what happened to Killian — to their whole group — was her fault. Logically, it makes no sense: they would have been sent on their patrol whether he spent much of the winter with her or not. Her brain does not agree with logic. 

So she stays there, beside him. Holding his hand, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Holding his hand but squeezing her eyes shut as Granny and one of the other men amputate his arm, then treating what is left behind. Washing the wounds to keep from infection. Sleeping on the floor beside the couch, ignoring arguments from Mary Margaret, Granny, and her back. 

And that is where she is, two nights later, when he wakes. 

Dead. There is no other logical explanation. He knows, somehow, that he is dead, that he must be in heaven. 

He didn’t think heaven would hurt this much, though. 

But heaven is the only explanation he can find as for how Emma is sitting next to him, her hand wrapped tightly around his, both resting on his chest. Until—

“Killian,” she breathes, jumping to her feet, and the pain it sends through his body is unimaginable. Not even hell would be this painful; this can only be the real world, the world they live in, filled with war and grief and loss. 

He winces, feeling the movement in every part of his body.

It is only when he squeezes his hands into fists that he realizes one of them is gone. 

Hence, the pain. 

“Oh, Killian!” she says again, quickly running from the room, unaware of the waves of pain passing through his body. “Everybody!” she calls, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the house. “It’s Killian! He’s awake!”

He wishes he could be as thrilled as she is, wishes he could jump for joy and call out cheerfully to the other people in the house. But he cannot. He barely wants to breathe, each breath bringing him more pain. 

“Pardon?” a familiar voice responds, though he cannot see them around the wall between him and what he assumes to be a kitchen. He knows that voice, knows that at any other time he would recognize it without a second thought… but his brain is full of fog, as cloudy as the sky before it opens with a storm, and the name eludes him. 

The face, too, he recognizes, but he still cannot place it. 

“Jones?” he says, slowly, carefully approaching the couch on which he is laying. “It’s Rob, Jones, how are you feeling?”

“Rob,” he replies, the memories hitting him all at once. Childhood with Robin. Splashing through the creek, sledding down the hill between their houses. Leaving for war together, fighting alongside each other on the battlefield. 

Getting ambushed. His arm, his head… 

Liam. 

“Rob,” he says again, his voice hoarse. “Where’s Liam?” 

His friend’s face immediately falls. The excitement that covered it with his waking is replaced with sadness, and Killian knows the answer before Robin even opens his mouth to speak. 

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” he says, his voice low as he falls to one knee beside the couch. ‘Liam didn’t — he didn’t survive the attack.” 

He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, hoping that when he opens them, maybe this will all be a bad dream. 

Of course, that’s not the case. This is his reality, his new reality: yes, he is back with Emma, a shining beacon as she walks back in the room, an older lady close behind. He should be glad that he is back here with her, has overcome the hardship of leaving her — a hardship that he thought was the most difficult thing he has ever experienced. 

Liam being gone, he learns very quickly, hurts even more. 

The older woman — Granny, Ruby’s aunt, he learns quickly — checks on his wounds, her bedside manner as cold as her fingers, but seems to be content with everything. 

“He’s going to need weeks to heal, maybe even more than that. I’ve only worked with one other amputation in my time, but I’m planning on traveling to town in the next few days to do some research.” 

“Thank you, Granny,” Emma whispers, offering her a smile as she kneels beside Killian once again, this time holding a glass of water. “I thought you would be thirsty,” she says to him, helping guide the glass to his lips, and he offers her a small smile as she does so. 

His eyelids close again as he lets the water cool his throat, just a few small sips — he’s not sure he can handle more than that. When he looks at her again, her cheeks are wet with tears. 

“Emma, love,” he says, unable to stop the chuckle that escapes his lips. “What’s wrong?”

She gently nuzzles her face into his shoulder, careful to avoid his injuries as best she can. “Nothing,” she laughs, her tears obvious in her voice. “I’m just — I’m so happy you’re back.” 

“Me, too, darling,” he whispers, resting his good hand — his only hand, he reminds himself — against her hair. 

All too quickly, it all falls apart. 

A knock on the door startles them all. Granny wipes her hands on her apron, then disappears back into the kitchen, and Ruby moves towards the door. None of the rest of them — Emma and Robin, but also Will and Arthur, who followed Granny from the kitchen — didn’t dare move. 

They all knew the trouble they were in, even with no surviving superior officer. All of them were fugitives, absent from their posts. Any visitor could be the end of them all, and by the look on Emma’s face, the paleness that has overtaken her in the moments since the knock, Killian can tell she was not expecting a visitor. 

“Can I help you?” Ruby asks, opening the door only as much as needed to speak to the visitor. 

“I’m here to speak with Miss Swan. She is expecting me.” 

“I’m afraid Miss Swan is indisposed at the moment.” 

Emma seems relieved by this, the lines on her forehead disappearing as she lets out her breath — but she still has his hand in a death grip. 

“What do you mean indisposed?” The man asks. “Is she sick? I must speak with her at once!” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s not taking any visitors. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back another day.”

“Oh, fuck no,” he replies, the last thing any of them seem to expect, and pushes his way past Ruby and through the door. “I’m going to be master of this farm one day soon, you have no right to—” 

But when his eyes meet Emma’s, he and his words both stop dead in their tracks. A flurry of emotion crosses his face, as if trying to decide which emotion he wants to feel.

By the sharp incline of his eyebrows and the steep lines in his forehead, he chooses anger. “And who are you?” he spits, looking right past Emma to Killian. 

He, too, immediately feels anger at the man’s words, wondering why he feels that he can speak with such authority in a place where he has none. “Why does it matter who I am?” 

His laugh is nothing but poison, pointing at the woman still kneeling at Killian’s side, whose hand is still wrapped around his. “Miss Swan and I are engaged to be married—”

“I never agreed to that!” 

“What choice do you have?” 

“Emma, who is this man?” 

“Emma?!” he repeats with a laugh. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with an enemy soldier. I knew there was something off about this farm.” 

“Please don’t speak to her like that,” Robin says, crossing his arms over his chest. Killian knows that he’s trying to seem intimidating, and it works for a moment — until Little John, a head taller and twice as wide, comes down the hallway behind him. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, traitor,” he spits. “Once I take over this farm, you will all be gone, hanged for your crimes against America.” 

“I will never marry you,” Emma says, her voice absent of the anger that Killian knows must be flowing through her veins, as it is his. 

“What choice do you have? If you refuse to marry me, I’ll tell the whole world of your affair with a British soldier and you’ll be hanged as a traitor, as well. Along with that bastard in your belly.” 

At this, finally, Emma stands, failing to notice the shock on Killian’s face — on the faces of everyone in the room. “Please get out of my house and never return.” 

Instead of moving towards the door, he takes a step towards her, and then another, until he is standing face to face with her. “This will never be your house. It was David’s, now it’s James’, and one day soon, it will be mine.” 

“Leave. Now.” 

“And if I don’t?” A sinister smile takes over his features. 

She shakes her head. “Get out.” 

“Your brother should have taught you better.” 

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, and before anyone takes the chance to jump to Emma’s aid, she proves herself to all of them. 

In one swift movement, she lands a hard punch to the man’s jaw, and he falls to the floor. 

“My brother taught me just fine, including how to defend myself from men like you.” 

Dear James, 

As I am sure you have heard word of already, I have followed through with your demands and found myself a husband. He and his friends, who will also be staying on the farm, are British separatists, and I would appreciate if you could send a letter of support for him, but also let us know when we can travel to you for legal purposes — the sooner the better, as I may be unable to travel soon in my expecting state. Killian will be taking over as the proprietor, and as soon as he is well enough, he will begin learning how to run a farm; thankfully, he has a woman at his side that has done it all before.  

We are looking forward to an excellent harvest here this summer and are thankful for the support you offered us following the loss of our dear David. Anytime you would like to leave the city for a calmer space, please know that you are always welcome. Soon, there will be two children on the farm, and I know they would both very much like to know their Uncle James.

Much love, 

Emma Jones

#my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cshistfic #captain swan ff #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #ouat ff #lieutenant duckling #kind of

[bylightofdawn]

Are ya'll ready for: El seriously overthinks video games + minor FF7 Rebirth spoilers hour?

I'm finishing up the mission on Junon where Cloud and Co go undercover and just watching Cloud lose himself in the role, genuinely getting ATTACHED to the Seventh Infantry and me then having to escort my baby infantry ducklings around as they murder other Shinra troops out of the mistaken belief they are on the other side made me FEEL A LOT OF THINGS. Like holy shit that’s insane even typing it out. And kinda dark and a little twisted. And potentially fucks those poor Infantry troops over yet they are STILL rode or die for Cloud. I wasn't expecting to get socked in the feels as much as I did.

Because Cloud is so detached and emotionally standoffish, watching him seriously get into the role of playing at the Captain of the Seventh Infantry is hella significant.

And I think it's because it's so familiar and something he is missing. He misses the camaraderie and brotherhood of serving. Sure, he moved onto becoming a SOLDIER and who was his damn role model/sempai? Zack Fair who is one of the most big-hearted, best big brother energy dude ever. So of course he would subconsciously internalize that's what a good leader should do. Sure, there was also Sephiroth but he's clearly the worst and reflects what bad leadership skills would be.

So yeah, I think there's a part of Cloud that misses serving, or at least misses that sense of brotherhood. He's been a lone wolf for so long, I can't imagine he's not starved for that kind of connection. It's also prolly easier and less complicated than the relationships he has with the main party.

Okay so that's me being all philosophical. Now let me be a degenerate and horny on main for a second.

Holy fuck nuggets Rufus is so hot. He's ALWAYS been hot but he's especially hot and v. Ice Prince-y and I fucking love it. I am laughing at the absurdity of his clothing and how it continually gets more complicated and ridiculous. He legitimately looks like he's wearing a fucking farthingale with that ridiculous belt collection he's wearing. Or yanno....bdsm gear. XD

Somehow they have managed to take Roche who was already at Maito Gai levels of over the time 100% energy and made him even MORE ridiculously and over the top. I lowkey wish he would stop talking. I have an excellent solution on how to do that and that is for Cloud to shut him up by fucking him until his brains bleed out of his ears over his stupid bike. Or yanno, there are other ways to shut him up varying from gag and other creative things to occupy his mouth with.

Even though it's clear Cloud is pretty hetero-coded but after like 25 years of soooooo much Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Cloud fan content, I don't think that's going to stop the internet (or myself) from shipping him like a fandom bike. Hell I actually love Cloud/Tifa cause I am a disgusting multi-shipper.

Ahem. Anyway I hope Cloud gets to reunite with his Seventh Infantry people at some point. I think I'm like.....1/3 of the way through the game and holy shit. I've discovered I detest minigames. I love side-missions in games but fuck DDR minigames or that damn in real time strategy game Fort Condor. There's a reason I've never been interested in FF Tactics.

EDIT: OMG Red XIII going full on Karen Mode and demanding to speak to the bartender/employee who won’t let him play in the Queen’s Blood tournament because he’s an ‘animal’ is the funniest shit I’ve seen so far in this game. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

EDIT 2: never mind, Red going full on Chester Cheetah/Michael Jackson absolutely takes the cake. I’m ded.  I also stayed up way too late beaten this freaking queens blood tournament mini game and I really gotta go to bed now.

#el plays video games #ff7 rebirth #ff7 rebirth spoilers #final fantasy rebirth spoilers

[theartofdreaming1]

WIPs

Oof, got tagged by the lovely @queenofbaws to share my WIP folder - and it's bad, folks 😰 Most of these have been around for years and while I have kept working on most of them, still none of them are finished 😩 (hence the status "WIP", I guess):

Birthdays (4 birthdays in the life of Bruce Wayne... will I ever manage to finish this one in time for Bruce's birthday in February? Who knows... haven't succeeded in that in these past 4 years ^^;)

The Beast in the Cursed Woods (the Quarry fairytale now has a title... yay?)

Attempting to Connect... (A DickBabs Sci Fi/Cyber AU... first chapter is almost done, actually)

A Night at the Museum (third installment of my "The Taste of Something Stolen" BatCat series...)

Welcome Home (Airport ff with Bruce + Dick + Alfred)

5 times Laura had to patch up her bf + 1 time Max took care of her (Quarry fic in which I mostly make Max suffer through all the embarrassing mishaps that have happened to clumsy ol' me)

Captain Duckling AU (based on this drawing of mine)

and of course all my unfinished fics that torment me (and probably my readers as well) with their incomplete status on AO3:

Partners (DickBabs NoCapes BPD AU)

Ocean's Treasures Washed Ashore (DickBabs Merman Regency AU)

On the Reciprocal Attraction of Heavenly Bodies (DickBabs Regency AU)

This is Not Over, But Just the Beginning (LauraMax Quarry continuedCurse AU)

If you're curious about any of these WIPs, ask away! Maybe talking about these stories will finally get my creative juices flowing, who knows? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'mma tag @wurzelbertzwerg , @clearbluewaters , @thychesters and @rosegardeninwinter , should they like to share info about their WIPs and anyone else who wants to talk about their WIPs... consider yourselves tagged by me :)

#about me #writing is hard #I write sometimes #I'm feeling so attagged right now

[wistfulcynic]

that song only you can hear

So I think we’ve all seen this prompt making the rounds. It couldn’t be more Lieutenant Duckling if it had been designed with them in mind. 

Here’s my take on it. 

AO3

-

The two men met in the middle of the council chamber with a matched pair of elegant bows and a solemn exchange of Your Majesties. Formalities thus observed and ceremonially dispatched, they broke into jovial smiles, gripping each other’s forearms and clapping one another on the back. They were far more similar than different, these men—roughly of a height and with the same breadth to their shoulders, the same twinkle of humour in their eyes and the lines on their faces fallen in the same warm places. One had far more of those lines, being a good brace of decades older—as attested as well by the grey in his hair—but were it not for that they may have been brothers.

“How is your wife?” inquired the younger of the two. “And your, er”—the hesitation was brief, barely noticeable—“your daughter?” He regarded his companion intently. “I trust she is eager to see this negotiation concluded?” 

“Ah,” replied the elder man, his smile faltering only slightly. “She is indeed, as is her mother. They are in the princess’s chambers even now, preparing.” 

--

“No,” Emma hissed, wrenching herself free from her mother’s grip and ripping the delicate pale-pink dress from her hands. “I will not participate in this farce and you cannot make me!” She flung the dress to the floor and barely restrained herself from jumping up and down upon it like a child. 

“I am your mother,” Snow replied coolly, “and your queen, and so by the power of two separate authorities I can, in fact, make you.” 

Emma’s fists clenched and her nostrils flared. “You’ll have to drug me then,” she snarled, “or tie me up or compel me with magic because there is no way in any of the seven hells that I will accept this willingly.” 

Snow folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll see about that.” 

--

“And your brother?” asked the elder man. “Is he is as keen to be wed as my daughter?” 

“Oh, indeed he is,” said the younger man with a bright smile that hardly appeared false at all. “Rarely has he anticipated anything more eagerly.” 

--

In a single, slick move Killian snatched the dagger from Smee’s belt, spun around and pressed its tip beneath the chin of his erstwhile companion and friend. “How dare you, Smee?” he demanded in a silky hiss. “You know how I feel about this farce of an arrangement. You are the only one who knew, the only one I told of where I meant to go. You betrayed me, and I will see that you suffer for it!” 

“Killian!” Both he and Smee turned to see Nemo in the doorway, scowling at the scene before him. “No murder on your wedding day,” he admonished. “And you might also want to consider wearing pants.” Nemo raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the prince’s naked form. “Best not to put the cart before the horse, as it were, and I imagine the chapel gets rather chilly at this time of year.”

--

“Excellent, excellent.” The elder man clapped his hands together. “So when can we, er, expect the prince to arrive?” 

“I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” replied the younger as his eyes darted to the southern doors. “And the princess?” 

“Oh yes.” The elder man’s eyes returned to his companion after glancing, ever so briefly, at the eastern doors. “Any moment.” 

--

“Mother, please,” Emma begged. Defiance was getting her nowhere, it was time to employ pathos. She folded her hands together and looked imploringly at Snow. “Would you truly force me into marriage? With a man I’ve never met? Some useless, limp-dicked—” 

“Emma!” 

“—lump of a prince who will hate that I can best him at swordplay and that I ride astride—” pathos, Emma, pathos! “—and who doesn’t love me!” She widened her eyes and allowed them to fill with tears. “You always said I could marry the man I loved, Mama. You promised.” 

--

They exchanged wide and confident smiles and held eye contact perhaps a heartbeat too long before looking away to focus on their respective doorways. 

--

“Nemo, I’m surprised at you.” Killian resisted the urge to cover himself and instead puffed out his chest. “Smee has always been a snivelling rat of a man, but I never would have imagined you might turn on me like this.” 

Nemo fixed him with a deadly I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed look. “It’s not turning on you to want to see you married, lad.” 

“Happily married, perhaps,” retorted Killian. “Otherwise it’s just shackles by another name. You really want to see me chained for life to some faint-hearted, twee little princess, who will while away her time in needlework and—and flower arranging, and never utter a word worth hearing in all her days?” 

“Rather harsh, Killian, when you’ve not even met the girl.” 

“I’ve met more than enough of her type,” Killian sneered. “And I’m not having it. I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.” 

--

Doorways that remained resolutely shut, obliging the men to meet each other’s eyes again. They exchanged another set of smiles, the elder drumming his fingers on the sleeve of his doublet while the younger tapped a rhythmless beat with his toe on the floor.

Minutes passed, marked by the resonant tick of the grandfather clock set back against the wall. 

The elder man cleared his throat. “Lovely weather we’ve been having,” he remarked. 

“Oh yes,” the younger agreed, relieved to have the silence broken. “So sunny.” 

--

“Emma, of course I want to see you wed to someone who loves you!” Snow exclaimed. “And whom you love in return.” She approached her daughter and gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “But sweetie, we have introduced you to every eligible man within a hundred miles and you’ve shown no inclination for any of them. And we need this alliance with Windhaven, as you well know.”

Emma huffed and pulled away, turning her back and closing her eyes, wishing she could close her ears as well. Blue eyes gazed at her from behind her eyelids, warm and admiring, and a cocky grin flashed. 

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t find love!” persisted Snow. “I have heard nothing but exemplary reports about Prince Killian. He is said to be intelligent and good humoured. And handsome.” 

“Pah,” scoffed Emma. Blue eyes, roguish smile. Hair that fell across his forehead just so…

“Perhaps, in time, love between you two may grow.” 

Emma shook her head, willing the memories away. “It won’t.” 

“But how can you know, my darling, unless you try?”

--

“Bright sunshine,” expounded the elder man. “Good for, er, the flowers!” 

--

“Killian, love is not always some grand, romantic adventure.” Nemo plucked the silk dressing gown from Smee’s grasp and handed it to Killian, who grudgingly slipped it on, then placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes it’s a slow, sweet thing that grows between life companions. Princess Emma is said to be beautiful and kind, and sharp-witted enough to challenge even you. Surely you could at least give her a chance?” 

Killian swallowed hard and shook his head. Bright laughter rang through his memory and his hand flexed in response, closing on empty air and not the soft gold hair it longed to touch again. “I couldn’t,” he croaked. “It wouldn’t be fair.” To her. Or to her. 

Nemo’s expression hardened. “Well life, as the philosophers say, is rarely fair. You’ll just have to learn to deal with that. And to trust that your brother and I know rather more than you do both of fairness and of love.”

--

“Oh yes, flowers love the sunshine.” The younger man groped about for something more to say, anything he could think of with a horticultural gist. “They love the rain, too, I’m told. Both are good for, er, growing things.” 

--

“How do I know I can’t love him?” Emma choked, turning round again. The tears in her eyes were real now, and threatening to fall. “Because I’ve already met the only man I could possibly love!” 

“They call me Hook,” he said, with far too confident a smirk for a man with a dagger at his throat. 

“Oh?” she inquired sweetly. “And why do they call you that?” 

“I don’t know, lass. Perhaps because I can do this.” 

“What?” gasped Snow. “Who?” 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Emma dashed the tears from her eyes and stomped to her window, glaring out at the thick forest below. “He’s no one you would consider suitable! He’s a bandit I met in the forest.”

In a flash of movement he spun on his heel, hooking his leg around hers as he did and knocking her off-balance. The dagger fell from her grasp as she stumbled and he snatched it from the air, spinning it round to hold it against her throat as his arm caught her firmly round her waist and his eyes met hers.

 “One of that group of men you were travelling with?” cried Snow. 

“Yes.” 

“But you were only with them a few weeks!” 

“It was long enough. Longer than you knew Father before you were wed.” 

“That was diff—” 

“Don’t tell me it was different!” Emma snapped. “I know it was different! But it hardly matters now.” She braced her hands against the windowsill as memories of Hook’s touch ghosted across her skin. “When the palace guards found me they captured him as well and—” her voice broke “—he’s in the dungeons even as we speak, even as you’re forcing me marry someone else when all I want to do is run to him!” 

“Emma, he’s not in the dungeons,” said Snow carefully, coming up behind her daughter to place a hand upon her arm. “All the men who were with you when you were discovered—they all escaped.” 

--

“Very true,” agreed the elder man, solemnly. “Very true. Sunshine and rain both is what you need.”

The clock ticked. 

“Do you get rain?” asked the elder man. “In, er, Windhaven?” 

“Erm. We do, yes,” the younger man replied. “Some.” 

--

“You think because you’re older, because Liam is older, that you know more of love than I?” Killian scoffed. “When have you been in love? When has he?” 

“When have you?” retorted Nemo. 

Her eyes were moss green, sharp and defiant. She glared at him, unflinching, and he found he could not look away.

“What’s your name, lass?” he murmured. 

For the space of a heartbeat he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she breathed, “Swan. You can call me Swan.”

“Now,” snapped Killian. “Right now, at this very moment, I am in love with the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. No princess could hold a bloody candle to her, and—make no mistake on this point, Nemo—I will marry no one else.” 

“Indeed? And where did you meet this paragon of femininity, if I may inquire?”

“She was among the men I joined up with in the forest.” 

--

“Ah!” cried the elder man, his smile widening as the eastern doors swung open. “Here she—oh.” His face fell when a page entered the room, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He passed a scroll to the elder man just as, from the southern entrance, another page appeared to hand one to the younger man as well. 

--

Emma spun round to face her mother, eyes glistening with tears but wide with hope. “He’s free?” she whispered. “He got away!” 

“Is this why you’ve been trying to sneak into the dungeons?” asked Snow, with a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice. “Lancelot’s had to triple the guard down there.”

Emma tossed her head but not before her mother caught the pleased hint of a smile. “I told you,” she said. “The man I love. The only one I’ll marry.” 

They met in secret, or tried to—Emma was certain Robin at least must know about their trysts. Mulan surely did, but despite her friend’s frowning stares and thinly-veiled remarks about the foolishness of forming attachments that went beyond those of warm companionship, Emma could not help herself. Hook’s touch lit a fire in her and she craved the flames; every moment she wasn’t with him felt wasted. He seemed to feel the same for he was always snatching her away to steal a kiss behind a tree, always angling to sit beside her around the fire so their fingers might brush, innocently of course, as they passed around the wineskin. 

Snow’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Emma, truly,” she said. “If we had known earlier, then perhaps… but your father has already made the arrangements with Windhaven—” 

“He can un-make them then!” 

“—to break his promise now would be an act of war.” 

“Arghhh!” Emma shrieked. “Men and their wars!” 

Fair, thought Snow. Aloud she said, “At least your love is free. Take what comfort you can from that.” Cold comfort she knew, but her hands, at present, were tied. 

Emma sniffed, then nodded. “He’s free,” she repeated. “That does actually help. I—I suppose I always knew there was no hope of a future for us.” 

--

The elder man read his missive with a scowl then looked up to find the younger one still reading his, with a similar expression. Each made an effort to smooth the temper from his features, but the elder man’s voice still held an edge when he remarked “It seems she’ll be another few minutes.” 

“He as well,” replied the younger man. 

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed, marked by three ticks of the clock, then the younger man remarked, “We do get rain in Windhaven but of course the most common weather feature is the, well, the wind.” 

“Of course,” said the elder man. 

--

“She was living among a band of brigands in the forest?” said Nemo. “A woman?” 

“She wasn’t the only one,” protested Killian, thinking of Mulan. There had been something different about Swan, though—for all her courage and daring and skill with a sword, there had been hints that she was unaccustomed to such a rough and ready lifestyle. 

“What are those?” she demanded, wrinkling her nose. Killian laughed, wishing he could kiss it. Her nose was adorable when she laughed, even more so when she scowled. 

“Squirrels,” replied Robin, as though it were obvious. “Their meat is tough but flavoursome. We’ll stew them for a few hours and they’ll be grand. But first”—he held out the squirrels, dangling by their tails—“someone needs to skin and gut them.” 

“Skin and—” Swan gulped, her skin gone faintly green. Killian gave her arm a pat, though he’d far rather hug her.  

“Come along, Swan, we’ll do it together,” he said. He’d been on enough camping trips with Liam to know how to prepare a squirrel. She flashed him a grateful smile, missing the knowing smirk on Robin’s face. Killian returned a scowl. 

“Just remember they need to stew for several hours,” Robin said. “And we will be wanting to eat sometime tonight.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Nemo, “not exactly a suitable wife for a prince. You have your duty as the heir to consider.” 

“If Liam would do his bloody duty I wouldn’t be the heir,” grumbled Killian. “If he likes this princess so much he should marry her.” 

“The king is in negotiations with the Queen of Arendelle, as you know perfectly well,” replied Nemo mildly. “A union between them would secure the border between our countries for the first time in two centuries. That is his duty, and his priority. What is yours?” 

--

“Likewise, I would assume,” said the younger man, “that in Misthaven you get quite a lot of, ah, mist?” 

“We do,” agreed the elder man. “From the mountains and from the sea.” 

“A double misting, you might say,” blurted the younger man, who then caught himself in horror. “That is, I meant—” 

The elder man held tight to his composure. “It is quite a lot of mist,” he remarked gruffly. 

The younger man released a slow breath. “It is at that,” he replied. 

--

“Will you come, then, and meet Prince Killian?” asked Snow. “I promise you that if you truly cannot see a chance at happiness with him then I will find a way to have the marriage annulled. But you must promise to give him a genuine chance, Emma.” 

Emma took her mother’s hands and looked in her eyes. “You swear to me that if I truly do not wish to stay married to him I won’t have to?” 

“If you swear to me that you will genuinely try.” 

It wasn’t long before they abandoned the pretence. It was too difficult to maintain amongst such a small group, and the pleasure of being able to touch each other openly, sit snuggled up before the fire and curl together as they slept—this was far greater than the thrill of secrecy. Each night they would bed down as far from the others as they dared and spend long hours exchanging confidences and gentle touches, long, lingering kisses that set the fire raging within Emma and left Hook panting, forehead pressed to hers and eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to contain himself. 

She didn’t want his restraint, all but begged him to abandon it, but he would not be moved. 

“Not on a forest floor,” he murmured, with a dozen men and bloody Mulan ten feet away. One day we will have a bed, love, a large, soft, private one, and all the time in the world to enjoy it together.” His eyes were so soft, his smile tremulous, his chivalry so unexpected from a bandit such as he. “I promise you, my Swan.” 

Her false name in his beloved voice made her heart ache, but she forced herself to return his smile. “Promise?” 

“On my life,” he breathed, pulling her close. “On my life.” 

Emma squeezed her mother’s hands to quell the aching in her chest. Had he known then, as she had, how impossible that promise was? Even as he made it, had he known it could never be kept? 

Somehow she felt certain he had, and that the knowledge had broken his heart. 

She released Snow’s hands and pressed her own against her heart. “All right,” she said. “I swear it.” 

--

“Mist is, I imagine, also good for flowers?” the younger man ventured. “Rather like rain only less, er… rainy.” 

“I don’t believe I ever thought of it like that before,” the elder man remarked. “We do have a lot of flowers in Misthaven but it doesn’t necessarily follow that those two things are related.” 

“It might be an interesting field of, um, scientific inquiry,” said the younger man, looking as though he wished he could stop talking but wasn’t certain how to go about it. “For your… university? You have a university, I believe?” 

“We do,” confirmed the elder man. “I will be sure to inquire about the relationship between mist and flowers when next I meet with its Chancellor. Perhaps you would care to be informed of his conclusions?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the younger man weakly. “That would be fascinating.” 

“I’ll be sure to send his report on to you,” said the elder man. 

--

“Obviously,” Killian growled, “my priority is Windhaven. As it has to be.” 

“As it has to be,” Nemo agreed. 

“But I cannot—there is only so much I have to give, Nemo. My heart is taken; all I can offer a wife is my respect and my honour, and I cannot pretend to more than that.” 

“I greatly doubt any pretence will be necessary,” Nemo observed. “The princess is doing this for duty as well. But I’m confident that you, as many, many others before you, will manage to come to a satisfactory arrangement. You’re both reasonable people, on the whole.” 

Killian held Swan as she slept, his own eyes heavy but unwilling to shut them and sleep away even a moment of his precious time with her. She was tucked against his chest, snoring gently, a bubble of drool just at the corner of her mouth. 

She was beautiful. 

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing the outline of the bone then down her jaw and to the enchanting divot in her chin that he never passed up an opportunity to kiss. He kissed it now and she mumbled something in her sleep, shifting to press closer to him. He tightened his arms. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

He hadn’t meant to say it, knew he shouldn’t say it, wasn’t free to say it. He wasn’t free to feel it either, though, and yet he did. Oh, how he did. 

Her eyes blinked open and she smiled a sleepy smile. “I love you too,” she whispered. 

“Have you been—were you just pretending to be asleep!” he accused, teasing to conceal his aching joy at her confession. 

“Sometimes I pretend,” she said softly, “so that you’ll hold me the way you only do when you think I won’t remember it.” 

He kissed her then, and held her so tightly he feared he might crush her but she merely squeezed him back, her kiss as desperate as his own. He wished he’d never have to let her go.

But he knew, even then, that he did. 

“And what if we can’t?” 

“Can’t what?” Nemo frowned. 

“Come to a satisfactory arrangement. What if after a certain time has passed we find that we despise each other and a life spent together could only bring misery to us both? What then?” 

Nemo sighed. “In that, I must say highly unlikely event, the king and I would find a way to annul the marriage and cancel the contract.” 

Killian looked at him sharply. “You would?” 

“If you were truly miserable then yes, of course we would.” Nemo’s expression softened, into a fondness he rarely allowed himself to show. “Above all else, we love you.” 

Killian drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Very well then,” he said. “Let’s go meet this princess.” 

--

The eastern doors opened again and both men’s heads swivelled hopefully to face it. Two pairs of broad shoulders slumped in relief and two grateful sighs were exhaled as Princess Emma came through them on her mother’s arm, trailed closely by the sturdy and inescapable figure of Lancelot. The princess took her place behind her father, head held high, though no one observing her could fail to notice her red-rimmed eyes, or the white-knuckled grip of the queen’s hand on her arm. 

Moments later the southern doors swung open to admit Prince Killian, flanked by his brother’s most trusted adviser Captain Nemo and the royal valet William Smee. He stalked into the chamber with no expression on his face but eyes that flashed with frustrated anger—that is until they fell upon the princess. 

Killian froze, and Nemo and Smee stumbled as he came to a dead halt several steps away from where he was meant to go. All eyes in the room turned to him with varying expressions of surprise and annoyance—including Emma’s. Hers blinked and then widened and her lips fell open in a tiny gasp. Blue clashed with green and a silent conversation was held, communicating more in that split second than the two men had in their twenty minutes of stilted discourse.

The clock ticked once, then Killian squared his shoulders and began to walk again, as though he’d never stopped. He took his place behind his brother with eyes still flashing, though with a rather different emotion now. As she observed him, the corners of Emma’s lips twitched. 

No one noticed. 

--

The raid came so quickly even the Merry Men were taken by surprise. One moment they were asleep and the next the Royal Guard were there, dragging them from their bedrolls and disarming them before they had even come fully awake. Rough hands tore a shrieking Swan from Killian’s arms and two more held him fast; though he fought with all his might he could not break free of their grasp. Frantically he kicked at the legs of the man who held him, a stout brute of a fellow who refused to topple but finally loosed his grip enough for Killian to wrench himself free and dart away. The camp was in chaos and he spun round madly in search of Swan, calling for her, and then he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice. 

Swan’s voice, crying his name. 

“Hook!” she screamed and he followed the sound to see her fighting like a hellcat against the clutches of a man with night-dark skin and muscles that themselves had muscles. Desperate fear gripped him and he fought like a feral thing, charging blindly through the melee in pursuit of her. 

“Swan!” he bellowed, but he was too late. The man swung onto a horse with her flung over his shoulder and galloped off, leaving Killian in despair and too distraught to notice as another group of men descended and different hands grabbed hold of him and he was bundled away—too distraught to even feel surprise when he found himself in Windhaven’s royal carriage with Nemo there to greet him wearing a stern frown that masked, for the first time in Killian’s memory, reluctant admiration. 

--

“All right, let’s get this o—er, let us conclude the negotiations,” said the elder man. “Now that we are all, finally, present.” He cast his gaze about the room, making eye contact with all those present, then nodded at the court scribe. 

“We are met here today to conclude negotiations and solemnise the contract of marriage between Princess Emma of Misthaven and Prince Killian of Windhaven,” the scribe intoned, indicating the scroll that lay unrolled upon the council table. “Terms of said contract have been agreed by Their Majesties King David of Misthaven and King Liam of Windhaven.” 

The elder and younger man acknowledged one another with a nod. 

“Said contract has been read,” the scribe continued, “and the terms agreed by both relevant parties and given that there are no objections—” 

“Wait!” interrupted a voice. “I have an objection.” 

All eyes turned to Princess Emma—including Prince Killian’s, his wide with surprise. 

“Emma,” muttered Snow under her breath. 

“I would like the contract to be amended,” declared Emma, ignoring her mother, “to prohibit Prince Killian from eating hedge-onions with every meal.”

“Hedge-onions?” her father choked. 

Emma batted her eyelashes. “I could not dream of entering into a marriage with a man who insisted on constantly eating hedge-onions.” 

Prince Killian blinked, then his lip twitched as he replied. “Hedge-onions are very healthful, as everyone knows.” 

“They smell hideous.” 

“The smell is easily neutralised by chewing parsley.” 

“Hmph,” said Emma, tossing her hair. “That’s what someone who eats hedge-onions would think.” 

The rapt attention of the room focused again on Killian. The moment stretched (tick, tick) and then he gave a nod. “Very well,” he conceded. “No hedge-onions.” 

“Erm, good,” said King David, as the scribe hastily amended the contract. “Now, if we might—” 

“Provided, that is, that Princess Emma agrees that should her feet ever become cold in the night she will put on a pair of bloody socks or warm them by the fire, and not on another person’s bare skin.” 

“What?” bellowed David as Liam shot his brother a dagger glare. 

“What?” echoed Killian, blinking innocently. “I’m sensitive to cold, you see, and I don’t think I could stand to be married to someone who insisted on using me as her own personal stove.” 

Princess Emma muttered something under her breath. It was hard to make out the words, but they sounded very much like sensitive to cold, my ass. 

Aloud she said, “Fine. I’ll wear socks. To bed, because that’s so sex—” 

“Emma!” Snow hissed, and across the room Killian’s eyes danced with mirth. 

“If there are no further objections,” huffed David, as the scribe frantically attempted to translate ‘no cold feet in bed’ into proper royal legalese, “perhaps we might sign this damn—er this contract.” 

“No objections,” said Killian. 

“No objections,” echoed Emma. 

David gave them each a stern look then accepted a pen from the scribe and signed his name at the bottom of the contract with a flourish. The scribe passed the pen to Liam, who then did the same. 

“The contract of marriage is now official,” intoned the scribe, “and the nuptials may proceed as planned. I believe the wedding is to be held in the palace chapel in, er, ten minutes’ time.” 

“That’s correct,” David confirmed, but before he could suggest they all adjourn thereto and take their places, Killian’s voice piped up again. 

“There’s just one thing I’d like to do before the wedding, if I may,” he said. David turned and regarded his future son-in-law with trepidation. He dearly hoped there would be no more talk of nighttime activities or bare skin. 

“What is it?” he asked warily. 

“Only this.” 

Killian shrugged Nemo’s hand from where it rested on his shoulder and strode across the room. Emma pulled free from her mother’s grip and darted forward to meet him halfway. They near-collided in a tangle of limbs as he caught her up tight in his arms and she clutched at the lapels of his coat to pull his lips to hers. 

Varying degrees of concern, confusion, alarm and amusement played across the faces of those who observed as the affianced couple shared a fiery kiss that lasted for many, many ticks of the grandfather clock. When at last they broke apart it was only to rest their foreheads together and exchange wide and glorious smiles. 

“Hook,” Emma breathed. 

Killian brushed her nose with his. “Swan.” 

“How could it be you?” she demanded. 

“How could it be you?” he countered. 

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “I don’t care. Let’s get married. Now, before they change their minds.” 

The elder man and the younger exchanged identical pained expressions. 

“Aye, lass,” murmured Killian in his bride’s ear. “Good call.” 

“Mmm,” replied Emma. “And then once that is done, I do believe someone owes me all the time in the world with him and a large, soft, private bed.” 

Killian laughed and kissed her again, then offered her his arm. “Lead the way, my love,” he said. 

—

@thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @courtorderedcake​ @captain-emmajones​ @shireness-says​ @killianjones-twopointoh​​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @teamhook​

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #captain swan #lieutenant duckling #princess Emma #prince killian #royalty au #prompt fic #arranged marriage #and yet #non-linear narrative #that song only you can hear #profdanglaisstuff

[everything-person]

CS January Joy Day 7: The Rescue

A/N: So this fic idea spawned from a Wander Over Yonder short called The Hero. Its really funny highly suggest you watch it. This has been an idea of mine for a while and has been in the draft graveyard for maybe 3 years. Point is its been a long time idea and I’m super excited about finally being able to post it especially for an amazing event such as @csjanuaryjoy​. Special thanks to @profdanglaisstuff​ who hoped on as my beta last minute. 

Summary: Princess Emma has gone missing and with the kings promise of a special reward for the one to bring her home safely her friends plan to be the ones to do just that.

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Once upon a time the princess turned bandit met the shepherd turned prince. They fell in love and together they defeated the Evil Queen. They became the rulers of a grand land best known as The Enchanted Forest. Under the rule of Queen Snow White and King James the Enchanted Forest came a time of peace and prosperity. 

One fortunate day Queen Snow White and King James announced the birth of a beautiful baby girl, a new princess for the kingdom, and she was given the name Emma. The princess was the product of True Love and would wield the most powerful light magic in all the realms. She would be known as the Savior. The kingdom rejoiced, days of celebration were held in honor of the princess. Nobility and Royalty from all over came to pay their respects and welcome the new princess.

Though the princess’s birth was a happy and welcome one, a great danger lay hidden. For with great light there must be great darkness. A prophecy told of a day when the Savior would be stolen away by darkness. Only to be rescued by one true hero, with the help of his sidekick-

“Whoa,” Pinocchio interrupted, “which one of us is the sidekick?”

Baelfire froze, looking at his friend. Even in the dim light of the tavern he could make out Pinocchio’s confused and slightly agitated glare.“Well I don't mean to be rude, my friend, but you're the sidekick.”

“Oh,” Pinocchio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “And how do we know you're not the sidekick?” 

“It says that the hero is Emma's True Love.” Baelfire stated, gesturing to the book open in front of him. 

“That proves nothing.”

Baelfire let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the book closed. “Okay well I guess whoever saves her is the hero and her true love.”

Pinocchio’s eyebrows furrowed, “Allow me understand you. Are you suggesting when we go retrieve Her Royal Highness, Rightful Heir to Misthaven’s Throne, The Savior, most powerful light magic wielder in this and any known realm, that whoever gets to her first will be the one she marries? Am I understanding you correctly?”

Baelfire shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have a better idea?” 

Pinocchio stared at the man across from him. The buzz of the tavern surrounded them. 

The two men had grown up with Princess Emma. For a time she wasn’t Her Royal Highness Princess Emma, she was just Emma, their friend. They were all playmates but as they grew Baelfire and Pinocchio saw her as Princess Emma and perhaps a bit more. They both wished to court her but before they had a chance to make a request she was stolen away from her 21st birthday ball. She's been missing for months and in their Majesties’ desperation they decreed that ‘the one who saves Princess Emma and brings her home will be the one to take her hand in marriage.’ Many have already tried but no one has even caught a glimpse of the princess. After hearing the news, Baelfire and Pinocchio decided they would save the princess and they would have a better chance of that together. Baelfire was in charge of finding out information on where the princess might be, hence the tavern they’ve been sitting in for nearly two hours. Pinocchio was in charge of transportation both getting to where the princess was and their escape route.

“I'm taking your silence as a no. So whoever gets to Emma first is the one who marries her, agreed?” Baelfire stuck his hand across the table.

Pinocchio stared at the offensive hand for a moment. Baelfire was right, he didn't have a better idea and Emma's father did say whoever saved Emma had her hand. So technically whichever one of them got to her first is the one to save her. Pinocchio grabbed his friend's hand and gave it a firm shake, “Agreed.”

“Good, because I think our man just showed up.” Baelfire nodded towards the man entering the tavern as he stuffed the book holding the prophecy in his satchel.

The tricorn hat on his head, long hair draped over the shoulders of his long coat hiding the sword and pistol at his hip all gave him away. 

Pirate.

Pinocchio made to stand but a kick to the leg made him fall back in his chair. “Ow,” he exaggerated, glaring at his friend.

“What are you doing?” Baelfire questioned him.

“I'm going -”

Baelfire interrupted, “That's not how you deal with pirates. You make them” he holds up a purse of coins, “come to you.” He finalized his statement by slamming down the coins on the table.

Though Pinocchio doubted him at first once the pirate saw the gold he knew they had him. The man sauntered over to them. “That’s quite a bit of coin you have there mate.” He stood over their table with his thumb in his belt. He wore a smirk that was anything but friendly.

“More than a bit and I was hoping to win some more.” Baelfire leaned back in his seat meeting the man's gaze.

The man's smirk turned into a smile, “Well you're in luck, we were just about to set up a game. Perhaps you'd like to join us.”

=====================================

His father beckoned him over. “Pinocchio come meet the new princess.” 

The little boy cautiously walked to where his father was standing next to the King and Queen. They smiled kindly at the boy as he approached. Once he was at the side of the crib he stood on the tips of his toes in order to see. 

There laying in the crib was a small baby. She was wrapped in a white knitted blanket lined with a purple ribbon and in the corner read a name. “Pinocchio this is Emma.” the queen introduced him with a quiet voice.

“Hello Emma.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked back at him with big soft eyes, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape. He couldn’t help but reach into the crib and pet her head lightly . “She is so soft and so small.” 

The adults chuckled at his observation. “Yes she is.”

“Pinocchio,” His father's voice caught his attention. He turned to see his father had knelt down. “Princess Emma is going to need a friend. Someone to help her and teach her things. Someone she can rely on. Can you do that? Can you be Princess Emma's friend?”

Pinocchio smiled and nodded. “Yes father. I will try to be the best friend I can to Princess Emma.”

“Good boy.” His father said and gave him a pat on his head.

A small whine came from the crib. Emma was rubbing her face letting out more noise. Pinocchio looked over the side. “Oh no Emma don’t cry. Look.” He pulled on his ears, sticking his tongue out and made silly noises until the princess calmed down. “See it’s okay.”

“Thank you Pinocchio. You are sure to be a very good friend for the princess.” the king assured him.

====================================

Baelfire had the pirates in the palm of his hand. With each hand he would buy another round for the table. He had now gotten the table thoroughly drunk, with all the men laughing jovially and ready to spill their guts at the right question. This is why he's sure he is the hero the prophecy spoke of, only the hero would be clever enough to persuade pirates into giving him the information he required.

“So Captain I hear you’re quite the fearsome pirate,” Baelfire started.

“Aye the most fearsome on the seas. No one dares cross Blackbeard's sword.”

“Having that kind of reputation I’m sure you pass through many ports and hear many different tales.”

“Aye I keep my ear to the ground for the best treasure to pillage and plunder. Are you in the market for some jewels or magical trinket?”

“None actually. I was hoping to hear what the best gossip pirates have to offer. Who’s picked up what?”

“Sorry to disappoint mate but I can’t think of anything worth telling.” 

A drunken crew member piped up at this, “Capt’n what about that blonde woman? She was certainly interesting to look at.”

Baelfire's eyes darted from the crew member to his captain. Hoping he was right, he asked “What blonde woman?”

(A couple hours later)

“I know where Emma is!” Baelfire burst through the door of Pinocchio's workshop. Pinocchio jumped at the noise, dropping his tools. His glare at his intruder morphed into a curious gaze.

“Well where is she?”

Baelfire strode up to the workshop table pulling out a map. “The pirates said they came across a ship that held a beautiful blonde woman aboard.”

Pinocchio’s face pinched together as he stared at the man before him, “You do realize Emma isn't the only blonde woman in all the realms.”

“They said she wields a sword like a warrior, has the tongue of a sailor, fought like a man, backed down to no one all while looking as if she'd come down from heaven.” Baelfire cocked his head to the side, “You know as well as I do how fiery Emma can be.”

The former puppet nodded, “Alright where did he say she was?”

“Here.” Baelfire pointed to the map.

“So how are you getting us there?” Baelfire asked as Pinnochio looked to where they were going, plotting the fastest path they must take. Pinnochio smirked at the question, “Well what's a hero without a noble steed?”

===================================

Baelfire’s feet pounded against the earth beneath him as he weaved through the trees. His rage and frustrations fueling him forward. It'd been two days since Pan tricked him and sent him back to the realm he detested. Back to the father that chose power over him. 

He found his papa stood by his word and got a castle for him. The castle was filled with all kinds of magical items but that wasn't all. There was a woman there as well. His papa found a new love. He was making a new family. 

Baelfire rubbed at his eyes, fighting the tears that desperately wanted to fall. He didn't care about his papa or this new family he wanted to make. All he wanted was out of the realm and away from all things magical. 

The further he ran the more his vision blurred. He began bumping into trees, swatting away branches that crossed his path. The more obstacles in his path the more determined he was to run faster. A root caught his foot, causing him to tumble forward, landing face first into the dirt below. He rubbed his head as he took in his new surroundings. He was in a small clearing filled with tall grass and flowers swaying in the breeze. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, feeling the pressure mounting inside him. He felt as if he was going to burst. He clutched at the dirt beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut. Just as he was about to let it all out he heard something. 

Something that made him freeze. 

He heard laughter.

He lifted up his head to see a girl running into the clearing, looking behind her. Since she was looking behind and not where she was going she tripped, tumbling forward and landing face first a few feet away from him. She pushed up into the same position he was in, shaking her head before lifting it and noticing him for the first time. They looked at each other for a moment, neither sure what to say or make of the other. 

The girl cocked her head to the side before asking, “What are you doing?”

Baelfire scrunched up his face and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Playing,” she answered simply.

Baelfire scoffed, “Little girls shouldn’t be playing in the forest.”

Before he knew it Baelfire was being knocked back in the dirt. He looked up to see the girl now standing over him.

“I’m not a little girl. I can take care of myself.” 

Baelfire looked up at this strange girl standing there with her arms crossed. “Who are you?”

She dropped her arms, looking him over before offering her hand to him, “I’m Emma.”

==============================

Baelfire thought fondly of when he met Emma in that clearing all those years ago. They continued to meet in that clearing a few more times, both curious about the other. She would allow him to air his grievances about his father, about magic, about all that's happened to him. He told her about his plan to leave this realm and he asked if she would want to join him. That was when he found out who she was and what she was. Her Royal Highness Emma, Crown Princess of Misthaven. When he found out who she was he was afraid that her parents wouldn’t let him see her anymore because of who his father was. So he made a deal with his father to make a deal with the King and Queen. 

Baelfire promised to forgive his father if his father went to the King and Queen with a deal. Rumplestiltskin promised to never harm anyone in their kingdom if his son could continue to be friends with the princess. But she wasn’t just a princess. She was also the Savior, product of True Love, wielder of the most powerful light magic. Though she had light magic he asked that she didn’t use it in front of him. He saw what magic did to his father and the magic of Neverland. No matter what kind of magic it was Baelfire didn’t trust it. 

“Hey! You awake back there?” Pinocchio called out to him from his seat at the front of the wagon. 

Blackbeard said the ship that held the blonde woman was heading south. Baelfire suspected that they would need to make port within the next couple days before they headed back onto open water, so they are heading to a port town known to harbor pirates. With any luck they’ll find the ship Emma is on.

“No one could fall asleep with the way you're steering,” Baelfire grumbled. “This uncomfortable wagon wasn't what I had in mind when you said ‘noble steed.’”

“Well what do you expect the sidekick to ride in? Besides, a wagon any bigger would slow us down. You might want to try getting some rest while you can. By the map you gave me, we will be there by sundown.”

“The hero doesn’t need rest and is always prepared to leap into action.”

Pinocchio was right. They arrived in the small seaside village by the time the sun had fallen past the horizon. They were able to find a place to rest their horse and hide their wagon until they can determine whether or not Emma is here. 

“So You head to the tavern and I’ll head to the docks-”

“No,” Baelfire cut off his friend.

“What? That was our plan. You go see if you can get any information from the tavern. While I go see if I can spot Emma on any of the ships in the dock.”

“There's no need for that plan anymore.”

Pinocchio pinched the bridge of his nose, getting annoyed with Baelfire’s know it all attitude. “And why the hell not?”

Baelfire rolled his eyes, grabbing his companion’s arm, turning him around. He stretched his arm out, pointing towards a porky little man wearing a red cap, “That is why.” Baelfire dropped his arm, “We’ll follow him.”

Pinocchio looked between the man they are now apparently following and his accomplice in this quest. “Okay I give up, who is he?”

“He is the first mate of the pirate that will lead us to Emma.”

“How could you possibly know that?” asked Pinocchio, exasperated.

“Look just trust me. If they don’t have Emma, they will know where she is.”

Pinocchio eyed Baelfire, not really believing him until he saw the look in his eye. It was a look of conviction. Baelfire fully believed that this man would lead them to Emma.

Pinocchio slowly began to nod. “Okay let's go.” 

The pair followed this man as he, along with three others, went from shop to shop. When the group of men seemed to be finished they carried three barrels, four sacks, and two crates between the four of them. The men walked down towards the docks.

“Where's their ship? I don’t see it,” Pinocchio inquired, looking up and down the pier. 

Baelfire watched as the men they were following walked down to a row boat. He then cast his eyes on the water. “The pier was too small for them to dock.”

Pinocchio followed Baelfire's gaze and saw the men in a row boat rowing towards a ship in the distance. Baelfire, frustrated, began to rub the back of his neck, trying to come up with a new plan. “Okay good news this allows us to sneak onto the ship easier. Charging up the gangplank wasn’t the best idea in hindsight. Bad news is you need to build a boat right now.”

“Just because I was wood once doesn’t make me a miracle worker.” Pinocchio looked up and down the docks until he saw something that could help them. “Look there.”

Pinocchio pointed to a small sailboat haphazardly tied to a post. They waited until the row boat was halfway to the vessel when they made their move. Baelfire threw the rope off its post, while Pinocchio pushed the boat in the water. They both jumped in before it got too far from the dock.

They laid low so as not to be seen. Pinocchio was able to steer which way their boat drifted with the rudder.

“Oi Smee look,” a crew man called out when they made it back to the ship, pointing back towards the docks. “Some poor bloke lost ‘is sail.”

The man laughed as they raised their boat, unaware of the floating vessel's intent. Because they were unable to use the available oars, over fear of being spotted, they simply drifted hoping the rudder would be enough to lead them close enough to climb aboard. After a while of just drifting Baelfire began lightly drumming his fingers against the wood beneath them. 

“Stop that.”

“Can’t you make this thing go faster?” Baelfire growled at his companion.

“Unless you think I can control the waves and wind we are at the mercy of both,” Pinocchio huffed.

“We wouldn’t be if we were able to row-”

“That’s a great idea if part of your plan is to get caught. With an idea like that you must be the hero from the prophecy,” Pinocchio drawled, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Listen. The possibility of being caught is better than aimlessly drifting.”

“You just have to be patient.”

“Translation: I’m a sidekick and wait for stuff to happen.” 

Pinocchio punched Baelfire's leg, tired of his arrogant attitude. Baelfire glared at him, thrusting his leg forward, kicking Pinocchio in the shoulder. Pinocchio grunted then grabbed hold of Baelfire's foot, twisting it in an unnatural way. Baelfire gasped, yanking his foot out of the other man's grip. Before Baelfire could retaliate they both were jostled as the boat bumped into something. They looked up to see that while they were busy arguing they had drifted right next to the ship. They both looked at each other before Pinocchio dropped anchor and they prepared to board the ship.

“Alright let's go.”

Pinocchio grabbed Baelfire's arm, pulling him back down in his seat. “Wait,” he aggressively whispered.

“What?”

“Do you hear that?”

Underneath the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the hull of the ship, was the sound of cheers. They could just make out the sounds of cups clashing, laughter, and music floating down from the deck above. 

Baelfire's brows furrowed, “Why are they celebrating?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is they are drinking. We both know how pirates like their drink.”

“So?” Baelfire said through gritted teeth, wanting him to get to the point.

 “So we wait until they are too drunk to stand then board the ship, grab Emma, then row back to shore. By the time they gather themselves we will be headed for home.”

Baelfire turned his head back up, contemplating this new plan. “If we go now with half, if not all the crew on deck, we risk a better chance of being captured if not killed. Then who will save Emma?”

Baelfire closed his eyes and balled his fist, “Fine. We wait.” 

So they waited and waited. Though their plan was smart they did not count on the waves rocking their small boat, effectively putting them to sleep. The sun cresting over the horizon woke Baelfire. Once he was fully awake it dawned on him what had happened. He bolted upright, jostling the boat as he did. He turned to his side to see Pinocchio sprawled out asleep, and he gave him a quick kick to rouse him. 

“Wake up, we fell asleep.”

Pinocchio's head rolled as a groan escaped his mouth. Baelfire sighed before bending down, running his hand across the water's surface and flicking his wrist, causing the water to hit Pinocchio in the face. Pinocchio sputtered, now wide awake. He turned to shout at his attacker but his anger quickly vanished when he saw the sun. Both men jumped to action. Pinocchio attached his short sword to his hip as Baelfire threw his cutlass onto his back.

“They say you can truly measure a man by his sword,” Baelfire commented, eyeing his companion’s choice of weapon.

“The size of the sword doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to use it.”

As they prepared to board, Pinocchio turned to his friend, “Hey.”

Baelfire turned to see a sincere and serious look in his eye. 

“No matter what happens up there, Emma's safety and happiness comes first.”

Baelfire nodded, reaching out his hand. Pinocchio accepted it, giving it a firm shake.

“May the best man win,” Baelfire said as they both turned to the next part of their journey. They prepared themselves for a moment before grabbing hold and ascending the ship.

==========================================

“Come on. Let’s go,” Emma encouraged her friends as she entered the tavern.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Pinocchio warned warily.

“Yeah Ems we can get better drinks and food back at the castle.”

Emma turned facing her supposed friends, fixing them with a look. “You both promised me a drink so I suggest you stop your squawking and accept that we are here.”

Baelfire huffed as Pinocchio gestured for Emma to lead the way. The three of them settled on a table in the corner near the exit at Pinocchio's insistence. A bar maid came over and distributed three mugs of grog. Baelfire paid the wench and the three friends cheered their glasses together. Baelfire begrudgingly took a sip of his drink, grimacing as he swallowed the foul beverage. Pinocchio put his drink back on the table, wanting to have a clear mind in case any problems arose. Emma finished her drink in record time.

“Okay you've had your drink, can we leave now?”

“Come on Pinocchio lighten up.” Emma nudged his shoulder with her own, “This is supposed to be fun.”

“And what is so fun about spending a night in a dirty tavern, drinking gross grog, and being surrounded by drunkards?”

Emma glared at Baelfire. “It’s freeing. No one knows who we are, no guards, no one telling you what to do, being able to see how people really live.”

“Yes because who wouldn’t want to be a part of the adultery, lying, and thievery part of everyday people's lives.”

“Look, if you're going to act like this all night you can just leave.” 

There was an awkward pause as the two friends stared each other down. Without breaking eye contact, Baelfire rose out of his chair, turned and left the tavern without another word. Emma huffed, leaning her elbows on the table, looking into her glass. This wasn’t her first time sneaking out of the castle but it was the first time she asked her friends to join her. She was excited to spend the night with them without having to be the proper princess everyone expected her to be. But it seemed her friends didn’t understand that.

“Come on Emma. Let's go, I'll walk you back to the castle.”

“Pinocchio if you're so eager to leave why don't you just go too.”

“Emma-”

Emma slammed her hands on the table, fixing him with a look, “Look if you don’t want to have a drink then just go.” 

A burst of laughter turned her attention to the back of the bar. Emma smiled, “If you guys don’t want to have fun then I’ll go find my own.”

Emma pushed off the table, walking toward the table that caught her attention just moments before. Coming up to the group she placed her hands on their table, leaning forward addressing the man that seemed to be the center of attention. “So what are you boys playing?”

=========================================

The sound of swords clashing filled the air. The night's rest was all the pirates needed to sober up enough to fight the invaders. Pinocchio and Baelfire weren’t making it easy on them. 

“What the bloody hell is going on up here?!”

The outburst distracted Pinocchio and Baelfire just enough for the crew to disarm them of their weapons. They grabbed the men, forcing their arms behind their backs and them onto their knees. 

A man dressed in only leather pants descended the stairs onto the main deck. He wore chains around his neck, at the end of one arm was a brace holding a hook in place of a hand, and at the end of the other he clutched a sword in his grip, prepared for battle.

“Well?” The man paused, looking around waiting for someone to speak up, “Your Captain asked you a question, I expect an answer.”

“Cap’n these two snuck on board at day break.”

The captain looked over these two men, “Let me guess, more heroes come to take on the great Captain Hook.”

“There is nothing great about you. You filthy pirate,” Baelfire spat.

“You know I’ve grown rather tired of boys still wet behind their ears thinking they can come aboard my ship,” The captain spoke louder. “Why don’t we make an example out of these two? To remind everyone why they don’t cross Captain Hook and the crew of the Jolly Roger.”

The crew cheered as Baelfire and Pinocchio began to struggle out of their ropes, but two crew men firmly held them down.

“Now,” Hook raised his sword towards the men on their knees. “What shall we do with you?”

The crew erupted with suggestions but just as soon as the shouting started it stopped.

“What is with all the yelling this morning?” 

Everyone's attention turned to the stairs, where stood the woman they were looking for. She made her way down the stairs dressed only in a black shirt that came down mid thigh on her, her blonde tresses falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her face scrunched up, as if she were in pain, her hand rubbing circles onto her head. 

“Emma.” Hook dropped his sword, running over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He made it just in time as she tripped on the last step, falling into his arms. Hook opened his mouth to speak again but Emma held her hand to stop him.

“Caspian,” Emma pointed to the crewman, “what was that devil juice you gave me last night?”

“Tequila ma’am.”

Emma waved her hand, “Never. Never again is that allowed aboard this ship.”

“Love, what are you doing up?”

Emma snaked her hand that was resting on his bicep around his neck while the other began playing with the chain hanging from his neck. “Well, I got cold and had the unpleasant experience of waking up alone.” She paused, looking up at the captain through her lashes, “Then I got a splitting headache from all the shouting so I decided to find out what pulled my captain from my bed.”

“It wasn’t by choice, love. But it seems we have some unexpected visitors.” Hook nodded his head toward the middle of the deck.

Emma finally turned her head to see her two childhood friends being held on their knees, bound and gagged. “What the hell,” she whispered to herself. 

Disentangling herself from Hook she moved to stand in front of the two men. She waved her hand, removing their gags. “What are you guys doing here?” Emma crossed her arms waiting for an answer.

“We came to rescue you and bring you home.”

Emma brows furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“You were kidnapped-” Pinocchio was cut off by the crew bursting with laughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly.”

“But the prophecy-”

“Prophecy?” 

A crew member came forward holding a book, “They had this with them ma’am.”

Emma took the book, offering a smile as thanks. She looked down and realized what she was holding in her hands, “You mean the storybook you made for me when I was ten?”

“But your father offered your hand to anyone who could bring you home safely,” Baelfire informed her.

“EXCUSE ME!? He did what?!”

“I thought you said you left your parents a note, lass,” Hook piped up from the railing he was leaning against. 

“I did, they either didn’t read it or didn't believe it. Fuck! We’ve been gone for months now. They must be worried sick.” Emma began pacing. While she never wanted to cause her parents and distress she just wanted some space. In the midst of her pacing a thought occurred to her and she stopped. 

“Wait,” she turned back to the men on their knees, “There are two of you. So if this was a “rescue mission” and the prize was my hand how was that going to work, huh?”

The men stayed silent.

“What? Was it whoever got to me first cause I know for damn sure neither of you are keen on sharing.”

Baelfire and Pinocchio hung their heads in shame.

“Really? I can’t believe you two.”

Hook approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder, “What do you wish to do, love?”

Emma relaxed in his embrace, her gaze still fixed on the men before her. “Take them to the brig for now.”

As the crew stood them up they struggled against their restraints, pleading with Emma to listen to them. Their pleas fell on deaf ears as Emma and Hook retreated to the captain's quarters. Hook closed the door behind them, looking wearily at Emma, who had her back to him, her hands placed on his desk with her head hanging down. 

“Emma? Love? Are you alright?”

Emma sighed, turning around, “I’m just in shock I guess. What were they thinking? What was my father thinking?”

“I would assume your father was desperate to have his daughter back safe at home. And as for your friends, they saw this as an opportunity for you to view them more than just your friends.”

Emma huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Did you ever have feelings for them as they do you?”

Emma turned to see him inspecting his hook. At the sight of his uncertainty her shoulders dropped and her face softened. She walked over to where he leaned against his bookcase, moving to stand before him. She gently cupped his face, making him look at her. “Never. I would be lying if I said I never thought about being with one of them but I never felt for them the way I do you.”

Killian smiled, turning his head to give her palm a tender kiss.

“I do care for them. Pinocchio has been there for me ever since I could remember, and he is great.”

“But..?”

“But he has it in his mind that he has to take care of me.”

“Ah and we both know you are a lass that can take care of herself.”

Emma hummed in agreement before continuing, “And Baelfire hates magic because of his father. So he would always hate a part of me. And I know he still plans to find a way out of this realm, never to return. I would love to explore other realms, hell it’s why I ran off with you, but the Enchanted Forest is my home.”

Emma looked up to see Hook's eyes had gone wide and his jaw set. “Killian, what’s wrong?”

“That man was Baelfire? The Dark One’s son?”

“Yeah why?”

A look of pain crossed his face as he moved away from Emma. 

“Killian what is it?”

“You remember the woman I told you about? The reason for my revenge against the Dark One?”

“Yes, Milah wh-” then it dawned on her, “Milah was Baelfire's mother.”

“Aye,” he tried to force a laugh, “The dark humor of the gods I suppose. I not only took his mother from him but the woman he’s in love with.”

“Hey stop that.” Emma placed a hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t take anyone. We both left on our own.”

Killian looked at Emma, still feeling the weight of guilt on his shoulders. 

“Do you regret meeting me?”

“Never. Meeting you was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.”

Killian leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft reassuring kiss. When the kiss ended they pressed their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry for what happened with Baelfire, Milah and you. But I refuse to feel bad about falling in love with you,” Emma whispered.

Killian sighed contentedly, “So what do we do now?”

========================================

A week later

King James sat on his throne in the council room with his head in his hands. His heart was heavy with grief. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder, he looked up to see his wife wearing a sad smile.

“I just want her home.”

“So do I. We just have to have hope-”

His wife was cut off by the sound of the doors bursting open, a dwarf running into the room.

“Grumpy what is it? What's wrong?”

The dwarf in question was out of breath, leaning forward on his knees. “It’s...It's Emma,” he panted.

The king stood with a force that sent his chair to the floor. “What? What about Emma? Has she been found?”

“She *inhale* She..*cough cough*”

“She’s what?” Charming demanded.

“She’s home.”

They heard a small voice coming from the entryway. Snow and Charming’s eyes both snapped to the door behind the dwarf to see their daughter standing there in a pair of black boots, brown trousers, and a white long sleeved shirt underneath a blue vest. 

“Emma!” The couple gasped before they made their way around the table, past the still out of breath dwarf, engulfing their daughter in an embrace.

After a couple minutes they pulled back slightly, looking over their daughter.

“Emma we were so worried about you,” Snow said.

“Are you alright? How did you get back?” Charming inquired. That's when he noticed there were three men standing in the room. All of them stood straight shoulder to shoulder, with their hands behind their backs. He recognized two of them as being Baelfire and Pinocchio, the third man he’s never seen before but by the sight of him dressed head to toe in leather he assumed this was the man that stole his daughter away.

“I see.” The King let go of his family, stepping towards the men. “So who was it? Which one of you brought my daughter home to me,” he asked, smiling brightly, overjoyed that his daughter was home.

He waited for Baelfire or Pinocchio to step forward. For one of them to take credit for the rescue. He was taken aback when the pirate stepped forward, revealing his arms weren’t in restraints.

“Actually, Your Majesty, it was I that captained the vessel that brought your daughter home.”

Charming’s brows furrowed, he approached Baelfire and Pinocchio, turning them to see their hands tied. Charming turned back to his daughter and saw her holding the pirate's hand.

“What's going on?” Charming asked.

“Emma?” Snow looked between her husband and their daughter.

“I wasn’t kidnapped, I left willingly. I love you both and this kingdom, but it’s suffocating being the Savior and Princess of Misthaven. I wanted to explore, have adventures, like the ones you used to tell me about.”

“So you ran away with this pirate?”

“Killian Jones, at your service Your Majesty.” Killian bowed, hoping the show of respect would give him some brownie points.

“I met Killian about a year ago-”

“And where exactly was that?” Charming now stood with his arms crossed.

“At a tavern in the village.”

“You’ve been sneaking out of the castle!”

“Charming,” Snow chided her husband. “We’re listening, Emma, go on.”

“We met about a year ago and he would tell me about all the places he’s gone and things he’s seen. Then he offered to take me with him. And we fell in love.”

“A simplified version of events but the truth.”

“Why did you come back now? After all these months?”

Emma gestured to the men next to them, “These two tried a dashing rescue, and informed me you offered my hand as a prize to whoever could get to me first.”

The frustration and confusion that once captured his features melted away and shame replaced them, “Emma you must understand. We didn’t know where you went, what happened to you, if you were even alive. We grew desperate.”

Emma sighed, “I know. That is why we are here.”

Confusion once again crossed the King and Queen’s face.

“Ahem. I suppose it’s my turn to speak. Your Majesties, as the one to bring the princess home, I humbly ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”

====================================

“Captain on deck!”

Killian boarded the ship that he’d called home for over 300 years.

“How’d it go Captain?” Mr. Smee asked as he approached him.

“It went as expected.”

“So, Mistress Emma?”

Killian smiled, “She just saying her goodbyes.”

Emma stood on the docks with her friends who were now unbound. The king and queen had given them their blessing. So while the King and Queen were busy planning their wedding, that will take place a year from now, Emma and Killian were free to travel and have adventures. Emma said goodbye to her parents this time around now all there was left was the unfinished business between the three friends.

Emma shuffled from foot to foot, unsure what to say, “Guys I-”

“Are you happy?”

Emma looked at Pinocchio. “What?”

“Does this, traveling on a pirate ship, being with Hook, make you happy?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah. It makes me really happy.”

“Then go.” Pinocchio nodded towards the ship. “Be happy.”

Emma embraced her long time friend, before letting go, turning to Baelfire.

“I know one day you’ll find whatever it is you're looking for.”

Baelfire stayed silent as he embraced her. Once he let her go she made her way up the gangplank onto the ship. She approached the man that won her heart.

“You ready for that adventure I promised you, love?”

Emma wrapped her arms around Killian’s neck as his looped around her waist, “I believe we were headed to Agrabah before we were rudely interrupted.”

Killian chuckled, “You heard her lads. Set course to Agrabah.”

#cs jj #cs january joy #cs fanfic #cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #baelfire #pinocchio #captain duckling

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (1/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. Want to make that clear from the get go. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T (for now) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One

Smoke billowed from the hull, choking the air as steel clanged around them. Shouts and screams echoed across the deck that was coming apart beneath their feet.

“The King! We must save the King!” Liam bellowed over the melee, dispatching a man who, up until a few days ago, had been one of their brothers-at-arms. No sooner had the man’s body hit the boards than another rushed forward to take his place, challenging the traitorous sea captain whom they had expected to aid them in their mission, not take up arms against them.

“Brother!” Killian cried out, moving through the throng towards Liam with slashes of his cutlass clearing the way.

“The King!” Liam commanded once more. “Get to the King! That’s an order!”

Killian’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword and he swallowed past the instinct to ignore such an order. Notes of black powder, brine, and blood filled his sinuses as he took in a fortifying breath and turned away from his captain in search of His Majesty King David. Through the soot laced plumes, the dying breaths of a ship that would soon find itself on the bottom of the sea, Killian could see King David fending off multiple assailants with sword skills that had become legend. Movement through the swirls of ash caught Killian’s attention and his stomach dropped. Lurking behind the King was an unseen assassin, and Killian had but a few seconds to launch himself between his would-be sovereign and certain death.

The force of their meeting blades jarred Killian, but he held firm. Applying a few less than savory tactics to give him the upper hand, he made quick work of the assassin then threw himself into the fray, defending the King as they fought side by side until the remaining adversaries lay dead.

“Y-You,” King David panted, his chest and shoulders heaving from his exertions as he tried to catch his breath. “You serve my… my father, King George.”

“Not any longer, Your Majesty,” Killian told him. “Once we learned of George’s treachery against Queen Snow, we could not stand idly by and accept such orders.”

“We?”

“My brother, Captain Liam Jones, and those of us who chose to follow good form rather than betray a treaty made in good faith.”

“Lieutenant!” one of their men shouted. “Captain says we must abandon ship at once!”

“Too right!” Killian called out, grasping the King by the arm. “Time to go, Your Majesty.”

The planks they’d used to board the crippled vessel were just coming into view when the ship lurched and began to list violently. Grabbing onto the rigging, Killian prompted King David to hoist himself up onto the gunwale.

“Here!” Killian shouted, forcing a length of rope into the King’s hands. “Take this and swing over. Our men will catch you!”

“What about you?”

“There’s no time! You must go, Your Majesty. Now!”

When the King attempted to voice his protest once more, Killian gave him a firm shove, forcing him to cling tightly to the rope as his feet lost purchase with the side of the ship. The sight of the King being hauled to safety was the last thing Killian saw before the deck beneath him gave way. Agony ripped through his wrist where the rigging was still wrapped around it. The weight of his body and the vicious twisting of the rope as it held to the cleats it was knotted upon effectively severed his hand, dropping it into the flood waters below with a sickening splash that preceded the rest of Killian’s body as he desperately tried, and failed, to grab onto the railing with his remaining hand.

Sea water filled his mouth, still open from his screams of pain, and forced its way down his throat. Panicked, he reached out, hoping against hope to make his way out of the collapsing hull, determined it would not become his tomb. Through the vanishing streaks of sunlight, Killian watched in horror as crimson began to surround him. His own blood, freely flowing from the shredded remains of his wrist, colored the frigid waters as his consciousness started to wane and black threatened to overtake red. Something brushed his side, and with the last vestiges of his strength and wits, Killian noted it was a barrel, still sealed and buoyant, making its way back towards the surface with the line and hook that had once secured it within the hold still attached. Scrambling, he secured the hook to the straps crisscrossing the front of his uniform and prayed the sea would not yet claim him, giving into the oblivion that was proving too much to overcome.

~/~

The room was still. Too still. And bright with sunlight. The serenade of cooing songbirds, the swishing of skirts, and the flutter of wings too big to belong to the nesting swallows were within earshot.

Killian groaned and willed his eyes to open, though he had to squint past the assault of the sunbeams streaking in from the windows. Just as he’d deduced while coming out of his stupor, he was no longer on a ship, but in a stone room with many windows and a number of cots filled with others who, like him, were suffering from a variety of injuries. Killian had almost gotten up the courage to inspect his own grave wound when a shifting presence seated at his bedside snapped his attention to the person keeping vigil.

“Y-Your Majesty?” Killian croaked, stunned by the fact Queen Snow would be the one in attendance at his sick bed. “What? How?”

“Shh,” Her Majesty soothed, waving one of the healers over. “You have been unconscious for some time.”

“Surely you have not been at my side this entire time.”

The Queen chuckled. “No. Your brother and I have been taking it in turns.”

“Why on earth would you--”

“You saved my husband’s life. Ensuring you survived your injury seemed like the least I could do.”

His injury. His hand. Killian clenched his eyes tightly and swallowed back the bile his anxiety was threatening to send up his throat. The Queen took his remaining hand and leaned in to softly murmur words of comfort into his ear.

“The fairies did all they could, but with your hand lost to the sea they could not…” She paused, her voice strained and filled with compassion as he finally opened his eyes and lifted his head so he could take in the bandage wrapped remnants of his left arm. “You had already succumbed to fever by the time the ship returned, and while their magic was able to tend to the wound, the trauma you sustained made it difficult for them to apply the full measure of their powers. Now that you are awake, you can begin to…” Again, her voice trailed off, most likely distressed by the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “Lieutenant, look at me,” she insisted, squeezing his hand a bit tighter until he complied. “You will survive this. Your brother tells me there is none as resourceful or as a stubborn as his little brother, so I know you will manage to adjust in time, and with the fairies aiding you in your convalescence--”

“Younger,” Killian choked out, a sob catching in the back of his throat. When the Queen’s brow pinched together, her head tilting in perplexity to his response, he clarified, “Liam knows I abhor being referred to as his little brother. I prefer younger.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips - lips as red as roses, or so it had been said in the tales chronicling her and the King’s storied love - and the corners of her eyes crinkled affectionately as she yielded, “Younger.”

“Your Majesty,” the young fairy she had waved over when he’d first awakened timidly interjected. “I should tend to Lieutenant Jones now. Would you also like me to send word to Captain Jones--”

“No, I shall inform him,” the Queen replied. With a sigh she stood from her seat and allowed the fairy nurse to take her place. “See that you comply with everything they request of you,” she commanded Killian, her gaze turning regal and unrelenting until he nodded his agreement. “Good,” she said with a warm smile, one that tilted further upwards into a teasing smirk as she vowed, “I promise to look back in after Captain Jones has had his chance to fuss over you.”

“Perhaps your fairies ought to put me out of my misery now,” Killian groaned, the prospect of Liam hovering by his bedside, relentlessly questioning the fairies’ work while issuing his own commands of healing and restoration upon his little brother making him wish for the sweet abyss of sleep once more.

~/~

It had been the rumors of poisoning that had first started the brothers Jones to question their allegiance to King George. Whispers of a treachery that would ensure Queen Snow’s line ended with her had begun to spread and with it, the suspicion of their King’s true character. Killian had suggested King George might not be the noble and just ruler they had first thought when signing on with His Majesty’s Navy after being freed from indenture when the ship they served sank in a storm, but Liam would not hear such slander. It was not until the rumor had been confirmed by Lancelot, a soldier turned traitor they had been tasked with capturing, that Liam finally accepted that which Killian had tried to convince him.

King George had poisoned Snow White. Cursed her during his toast at the wedding that was supposed to unite their two kingdoms - an added benefit to the true love she’d found with George’s son, Prince David. It was not love, either for his son or new daughter-in-law, that filled the King’s heart that day, though. George had wanted revenge, he wanted to punish them both for going against his wishes, for robbing him of a union with a more prosperous kingdom, so he had Snow’s goblet dosed with a potion that rendered her barren and unable to produce an heir, a fact he revealed to them after he’d returned to his own kingdom, thereby nullifying the treaty they’d made in good faith before the wedding.

Lancelot had not only provided them with the truth about their King, but confided in them his knowledge of a plot the sovereign had conspired against his own son. The newly crowned Misthavian King’s life was in danger. Before George had dispatched Liam’s crew to go after Lancelot, he’d commissioned another ship to lay in wait, sure that King David would sail to confront his father about what he had done. Their orders were to waylay King David’s vessel and see to it the ship went down… with no survivors.

Without a moment to spare, the brothers Jones had rallied their men, calling upon them to reject the traitorous King and instead take up arms in the service of the noble King David, and set a course towards the location an ambush would most likely take place. Luck had been on their side, arriving just as King David’s ship had begun taking on water.

During his many weeks of convalescence, Killian learned that upon returning to Misthaven, King David had accepted the allegiance and oaths of fealty from those who had defected. In addition to new loyalties was the boon of acquiring George’s most prized ship, the Jewel of the Realm, of which he had insisted Liam remain captain once the damage she’d sustained in battle had been seen to.

Both Liam and Queen Snow kept Killian apprised of the war that was now in full swing, and the lieutenant would be lying if he said he was not eager to join his brother in the fray once more. His injury (and his own stubbornness), however, was delaying such a desire from becoming reality. Though healed to the best of the fairies abilities, it was Killian’s determination to rehabilitate and acclimate to his new reality without any magical assistance that slowed his progress. All that changed, however, when he heard the news that repairs had been completed to the Jewel, and Captain Jones was being called forth for his first mission under their new sovereign.

“Are you sure?” Tink asked, again. “You’ve been doing so well without it.”

“I will not let my brother sail into dangers unknown without me to watch his back,” Killian growled. “You’re the one who kept insisting I was making things too difficult for myself, so just perform the bloody magic so I can present myself to Their Majesties at my brother’s side!”

Tink gave him one last assessing look, then sighed. Holding out her wand, she sent a cascade of magic over him, altering the dominance of his muscle memory from his left side to his right.

“There,” she said. “All you were able to do with your left hand before, you will now naturally experience with your right.”

Killian clenched and released his right hand, then wrapped it around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. Drawing it, he cut the air around him with metallic swishes, marveling at the ease with which he instinctively maneuvered it with his previously weaker hand.

“We still need to determine the attachment you wish to have fashioned for your brace,” Tink reminded him, but Killian waved her off.

“Later.”

Returning the sword to its scabbard, Killian straightened his appearance. “Have they assembled?”

Tink peered over the gallery’s balcony wall that overlooked the throne room. “The King and Queen are just now being seated. They’ll be calling for your brother momentarily.”

“Then I’d better hurry,” Killian quipped, shooting Tink a quick wink. After a few steps, he stopped and turned back, grasping the fairy by her shoulders and pulling her in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmured before pulling back and placing a quick peck on her cheek.

Tink rolled her eyes. “Go,” she said with half a laugh, and Killian did not have to be told twice.

“What do you think you’re doing out of the infirmary?” Liam questioned when Killian made it down to the hall outside the throne room just as the Royal Usher appeared to announce their entrance.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you go on this fool’s errand without me, did you?” Killian needled with a hint of cheek.

“It only becomes a fool’s errand when a fool joins it,” Liam shot back, stifling the smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Precisely,” Killian agreed, waggling his brows in Liam’s direction. “Your involvement alone has seen to it.”

A chuckle rumbled through Liam’s chest and he slapped his brother good-naturedly on the back. “We’ll see what His Majesty has to say about it. I suppose you’ve earned at least that.” Turning to the usher, Liam requested, “Please announce our arrival to Their Majesties.”

Nodding, the usher signaled the guards who pulled open the large wooden doors.

“Captain Liam Jones and Lieutenant Killian Jones of Their Majesties’ Royal Navy!”

Killian kept stride a step behind his captain, focusing on his breathing and the rampant beat of his heart the closer they got to the dais. Though he’d had the pleasure of becoming acquainted enough with Queen Snow to no longer be nervous in her presence, this was the first time since shoving the King off the gunwale of his ship that Killian had been in the imposing man’s presence. Following Liam’s lead, he bent low at the waist when presented and awaited acknowledgement from his sovereigns before straightening to attention.

“Lieutenant Jones, how wonderful to see you,” Queen Snow greeted with a warm smile. “Though, I confess, we had not expected you.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Killian offered. “I hope you forgive my impudence, but once I learned of the commission placed upon the Jewel, I could not, in good faith, sit idly by whilst my captain and fellow sailors answered the call of duty.”

“And do you feel as though you are fit for duty, Lieutenant?” the King inquired, assessing him with a stern glance that flicked to the brace that covered his blunted wrist. “We’ve been kept apprised of your progress, and it was my understanding you had refused magical assistance.”

“It’s true, Your Majesty,” Killian replied. “I was resistant to it, but I have since relented.”

In his periphery, he saw Liam’s head jerk slightly towards him, his eyes darting to the side as he remained at attention in the presence of their commander and king.

“I see,” the King said, his expression growing pensive as he shared a look with his wife. “And you are adamant in your request to join your captain?”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“And you, Captain? What have you to say about your Lieutenant’s request?”

“I leave such matters in Your Majesties’ hands,” Liam responded with the diplomacy he’d been taught, until a flicker of something passed over his features and he dared to add, “but there is no other I would rather have by my side whilst completing this mission than my lieutenant.”

Killian fought against the proud grin pulling at his lips and lifted his chin a bit higher as he awaited the King’s response.

King David cast his eyes towards his wife who gave a demure nod before he turned back and stood, surprising the assembled court.

“Then I suppose we have no objection,” he commented. “However, there is something that must be done first…” He held his hand towards a squire stationed next to the platform. The lad approached, a broad sword laying flat across his palms, and presented the weapon to the King who grasped the hilt as he motioned for Killian to step forward.

“Kneel,” King David commanded, and Killian, knowing he was the final deserter of King George’s service who had not undertaken a new oath of fealty, did as he was commanded. The weight of King David’s sword rested against Killian’s shoulder and his eyes never wavered from his sovereigns as he was asked, “Do you, Killian Jones, in good faith and without deceit, pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to the Sovereign Family who governs it? Will you, to the best of your ability, faithfully serve those who may call upon your duty as well as those who are in need of your charity? Do you vow to never cause harm to those to whom you have sworn your allegiance and that you will honor your accords so long as they are honored in kind?”

“I do,” Killian answered tightly, his throat constricted from the swell of emotion rising up within him.

King David lifted his sword and repositioned it to Killian’s other shoulder. “Then in addition to accepting your allegiance, and in accordance with the practices and traditions of this land, I not only recognize your selfless bravery in saving my life, but offer you a boon in addition to my gratitude.”

Killian’s brows pinched together and he felt the tips of ears go red. Other than the Queen’s remarks after he’d regained consciousness, nothing more had ever been mentioned regarding his actions that day in battle. He had simply been doing his duty; never would he have imagined a public ceremony, much less a boon.

“It gives me great pleasure to bestow upon you…” the King continued, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed hard, “The Law of Surprise.”

A flurry of murmurs erupted throughout the throne room. Killian’s lips parted in shock and his brother had to assist him back to standing.

The Law of Surprise. A windfall whose nature is unknown to the parties involved. Whatever treasure or lands or blessing the King had yet to become aware of, but destiny had already designed for him, would actually be Killian’s to claim, the value of which could be innumerable.

Vaguely, Killian was aware of the order that the hall be cleared as the King offered the lieutenant his hand. Accepting the gesture, he managed to croak out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“No. Thank you,” Queen Snow replied warmly, having joined the men from the dais. “Both of you. This Kingdom is forever in your debt.”

“And I am in yours,” King David declared, releasing Killian hands. “Until the Law of Surprise is fulfilled. So…” Reaching into his robes, the King produced a scroll, sealed with the Sovereign stamp. Handing it over to Liam, he continued, “Take all precautions to keep yourselves safe during this mission the Queen and I am tasking you with. These orders are to be kept under seal until you are ready to depart from our shores. We cannot risk anyone finding out.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Laim replied, taking the scroll and giving a reverential bow of his head. “Come, little brother,” Liam prompted, slapping Killian on the back. “We have our orders and must ready the Jewel.”

Killian stumbled, his body slow to obey, still too overcome by what had transpired. Bowing to their Majesties, Killian was about to follow his brother out of the hall when the Queen surprised him once again by throwing her arms around him and giving him a tight hug. Words seemed to get caught in her throat for a moment, and Killian sensed there was something she wished to say, but then thought better of it.

When she finally pulled away, she took his hand in hers and imparted, “Take care of one another and return home as quickly as you can.”

“Aye,” Killian answered with one last nod of his head. “Until we meet again, Your Majesty.”

~/~

Awaiting them on the deck of the Jewel was a large trunk with a smaller satchel set atop. Liam gave the order to prepare to set sail, and the crew busied themselves with their tasks, ignoring the parcels as best they could.

Liam motioned Killian towards the captain’s cabin, and once they were below they began to inspect the King’s orders together. Having grabbed the satchel on his way down, Killian opened the latch as his captain broke the sovereign seal on the scrolls.

“Star charts?” Liam murmured, inspecting the first parchment closely. “I've never seen these constellations before.”

“And I’ve never seen markings like this,” Killian added, showing his brother the golden sextant that had been hidden away in the satchel. “To what strange land are we headed?”

Liam set aside the star chart and began to read the official missive. “We're going to a new land, brother,” he said excitedly. “One that requires… a pegasus sail in order to reach it!”

“A Pegasus sail?” Killian replied, incredulously. “Is that what the trunk aboard deck contains?”

“Aye!” Liam answered, his eyes continuing to scan their orders. “A sail woven from the feathers of one of the last remaining pegasus.”

“Legend has it that horse could fly.”

“Indeed.” Liam looked up from the scroll, his eyes as big as saucers. “So can we. Our orders are to fly to this new land and stop King George’s men from obtaining a weapon.”

“What sort of weapon?” Killian snatched the parchent from Liam’s hand and began reading the orders for himself, even as his captain continued to relay them.

“A plant.”

“A plant?” Killian parroted, snidely. “His Majesty wishes us to cross realms for a plant?”

“All King David knows is that George also has a pegasus sail, and plans to use it to send men to obtain that plant, which, according to the fairies, can be used as a weapon capable of terrible destruction.”

“So, what? Does he wish for us to capture the plant for ourselves?” Killian did not much like that plan. He would gladly fight his enemies, but his code demanded he fight fair. The only weapon he knew of that came from plants was poison, and the idea of using such a tactic was underhanded and loathsome. Was it not George’s use of poison against Queen Snow that had caused them to defect from the kingdom of their birth in the first place?

“No,” Liam assured him. “We are to stop George’s men from retrieving it, burn their sail, and once we’ve returned, burn ours as well, so no one can ever venture there again.”

Killian relaxed his posture, relief flooding him, along with a measure of guilt that he’d ever doubted King David and Queen Snow's intentions.

Doubts that were further laid to rest when one of the men called down from the hatch, “Lieutenant! A parcel has arrived for you. From Her Majesty the Queen!”

Both men made their way back up, and Killian took the parcel from the sailor’s hand. It was heavy and odd-shaped, with a letter attached. Handing off the parcel to Liam, so he could open the note, Killian shook out the page and read:

Dear Lieutenant,

Tinkerbelle informed me you had yet to choose an attachment for your brace. I hope you will forgive my presumption, but I thought this might be a suitable option.

The wrapping crinkled as Liam opened the parcel, exposing a shiny, silver hook, the base of which had been refashioned to fit the mechanism within his brace.

It is the very hook you used to strap yourself to that barrel, which ultimately saved your life that day. It is my hope that this hook will bring you the same favor each and every day you wear it, as it did the day you brought favor back into my own life when you first employed it.

Yours,

Queen Snow

The entire ship had gone silent, with only the snapping of the sails and splash of waves against the hull daring to compete with the Queen’s words. Sun gleamed off the surface of the hook, still held in Liam’s hand, and Killian swallowed tightly as he took it in his own. Holding it up, he considered how this seemingly inconsequential piece of equipment had changed the course of his life, and with the Law of Surprise still owed to him by the King, the greatest of those changes were as yet unknown to him. Queen Snow was right. He could think of no other attachment that would be more fitting for whatever the fates might have in store for him.

Positioning the hook into the end of the brace, he gave it a firm turn until it clicked into place, restoring a piece of himself he never thought he’d get back. Clearing his throat, Killian shifted his posture, bringing himself to full height, faced his brother, and asked, “What are your orders, Captain?”

Liam’s eyes filled with pride, but he maintained his composure in the face of their crew. “Deploy the Pegasus sail and begin charting our course, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye,” Killian acknowledged before addressing the crew. “Get ready to set sail, mates! Make speed!”

~/~

Killian’s boots sank into the damp sand as he followed Liam up a small hill, heading away from shore. Behind him, the rest of the scouting party fanned out, their eyes cutting through the vegetation ahead for any sign of inhabitants. Dense jungle crept towards them with towering trees and lush ferns obscuring any view they might have into the island's heart. Once they made it to the top of the berm, Liam turned to instruct his men and Killian followed suit. No sooner had Liam opened his mouth than a voice spoke up from right behind them.

“Are you two lost?”

Whirling back around with his sword drawn, Killian was astounded to find an adolescent youth staring at them curiously. Where the devil did he come from?

“You look lost to me,” the boy said with a smirk as he lazily perused the men before him, seemingly undeterred by the many swords pointed his way.

“Identify yourself, boy,” Liam commanded.

“I'm Peter Pan,” the boy stated. With a sweeping hand, he gestured towards the island and added, “I live here. Who are you?

Liam studied the boy for a moment more before sheathing his sword and signaling the rest of the men to do the same. “Captain Jones,” he replied before gesturing towards Killian. “And this is my lieutenant. We're here by order of the king.”

Killian secured his own sword, unnerved by the way the boy’s eyes lingered upon him, especially his hook, before responding to Liam’s statement.

“The king, huh? We don't have any kings in Neverland,” he informed them, then smugly added, “just me.”

“That's funny,” Liam deadpanned whilst pulling a folded piece of parchment from his vest pocket. Shaking it open, he held it up in front of the boy. “We seek this plant.” He gave the boy a moment to look at the drawing. “Now tell us, boy, where can we find it?”

Ignoring Liam’s demand, the boy plucked the parchment from Liam’s hand and inquired, “Your king sent you for this plant?”

“You know it?”

“Dreamshade?” the boy replied, his brows high upon his forehead with a glimmer Killian did not much care for sparking in his eyes. “It's the deadliest plant on the island. Your king is really ruthless.”

“It’s not like that,” Killian countered. “King David sent us here in order to prevent that plant from falling into the ruthless hands of King George. We’re here to safeguard it, not exploit it.”

The boy flicked his eyes up from beneath his brows, and the sinister smile pulling at the corners of his mouth made Killian’s blood run cold.

“Funny,” the boy drawled. “They said the same thing.”

A battle cry rang out from the treeline, followed by the sounds of foliage being snapped and trampled by a dozen or more men rushing from the brush. King George’s men descended without warning, having clearly arrived at the island before them with enough time to set up an ambush. Killian drew his cutlass and threw himself into the fray, clashing swords with an enemy whose blade was smeared with a black, sticky substance he did not recognize.

Though outnumbered, King David’s men were able to make short work of George’s. Killian surmised they must have made land on the opposite side of the island and were therefore already fatigued from their trek through the jungle, giving King David’s men the upper hand. When Killian managed to disarm the opposing captain, his hook pressed against the man’s throat as he gave the order of surrender, George’s remaining men all threw down their weapons and sank to their knees.

“Tie them up,” Killian ordered as he scanned the beach for the treacherous boy who had clearly aided in the ambush. He did not find the little miscreant, but did see his brother wincing at the water line, his hand clamped over his arm as blood oozed from beneath his fingers.

“Liam!” Killian cried, rushing to his brother’s side. “You are wounded!”

“It’s nothing,” Liam said, attempting to wave him off. “Merely a flesh wound.”

Unable to keep his balance, Liam practically fell into Killian, who wasted no time in tucking himself under his captain's arm.

“Starkey!” Killian called out, gaining their bosun’s attention. “See that the prisoners are transported back to the ship in the other dinghy. I’m taking the captain back to tend to his wound.”

“Aye, aye!” Starkey replied, ordering two of their men to accompany the captain and lieutenant back to the Jewel.

By the time Killian managed to get his brother back on board and safely within the captain’s quarters, Liam’s complexion had become sickly pale and his skin clammy. When Killian insisted on seeing the wound, Liam muttered something about Killian fussing like an old woman.

“Let me see!” Killian barked in command, taking his brother aback enough that he complied.

Rolling up his sleeve revealed a nasty gash on his forearm, but more alarming than the blood were the black streaks running along his veins beneath his skin.

“What the devil?” Killian muttered, examining the pattern branching up Liam’s arm.

“I think it was… whatever they had… coated on their… blades,” Liam said, his breathing clearly labored. “Some sort of… poison, perhaps?”

Poison.

“Dreamshade,” Killian exhaled on a panicked breath before launching himself towards the cabinets at the far end of Liam’s cabin. “There must be a cure,” he said, rifling through the bottles of potions and elixirs the fairies had supplied them with. “An antidote or magical healing potion that can--”

“Oh, you won’t find a cure in there,” a voice quipped from behind him.

Spinning around, Killian found himself face to face with the demon boy they’d met on shore. Pan.

“He'll die as soon as the poison reaches his heart.”

His callous tone had Killian seeing red. Grabbing the boy by his tunic, Killian slammed him against the steps that led up to the helm, hook at his throat as he demanded, “Tell me how to save him!”

Pan appeared more amused, excited even, than terrified, and merely hummed before confessing, “There is a way to stop him from dying.”

“Tell me,” Killian snarled, releasing Pan and taking a step back so the boy could procure something from his belt.

“Pixie dust,” Pan stated, holding up a pouch that somehow shimmered despite its dark leather exterior. “Powerful stuff, and easily capable of curing any ill. Even dreamshade.”

Killian reached out to take the pouch, but Pan toyingly pulled it away. “I must warn you,” he said in a tone of mock seriousness. “All magic comes with a price, and this dust is no exception. Don't use it unless you're willing to pay.”

“Whatever the cost. Whatever you want. It's yours,” Killian agreed.

Pan held his gaze for a second more then handed the pouch over. Killian wasted no time. After righting his brother, who was nearly slumped off his chair and unconscious, he pulled the pouch open with his teeth then poured the contents on the festering wound that was nearly black as pitch. The glittering substance shone brightly as it reacted with the poison, forcing Killian to shield his eyes.

“Brother!” Killian shouted, shaking Liam’s shoulders and willing him to wake up. “Brother!”

Jolting awake, Liam sucked in a deep breath and swallowed thickly, his eyes casting about as he got his bearings. “That's captain to you,” he croaked out cheekily when his eyes landed on Killian, attempting to assuage his brother’s concerns. Getting to his feet, he let Killian help stabilize him as he asked, “What happened?”

Relieved to see the ruddy vitality return to his brother’s cheeks and no remnant of the vile dreamshade clogging his veins, Killian chortled, “It doesn't matter. Let's pay the boy and be on our way.”

“What boy?” Liam inquired, prompting Killian to turn circles within the cabin.

“Boy!” he called out, unnerved by the way the brat seemed to appear and disappear into thin air. “What do you want?” he called out again, when suddenly, from overhead, shouts began to bellow on deck.

“Is that…”

The acrid scent hit Killian at the same time as his brother and their heads snapped towards each other as they exclaimed, “Fire!”

Scrambling up the hatch steps, they were met with chaos as the crew floundered helplessly under the flying embers of the pegasus sail, its golden plumage being consumed by flames.

“What is the meaning of this!” Liam shouted. “Who is responsible for--”

“I decided what I wanted,” a now familiar voice stated from behind. “I want this ship and a crew to serve it… and me. That’s my price.”

Dread laced with fury washed over Killian. Stepping forward he towered over the demon boy and through clenched teeth declared, “No. I never agreed to--”

“Whatever the cost. Whatever you want. It's yours,” Pan parroted his own words back to him, a self-satisfied smirk twitching at his lips that made Killian’s blood boil.

“I cannot pay you with something that is not mine to give.” Sweeping his arm out towards the men, he said, “These men’s lives are not mine to barter, and are therefore exempt from having to pay the debt I alone owe.” Casting a glance towards his brother, Killian swallowed hard before turning back to the boy. “It was my brother’s life you spared, so it is my life… my service alone that--”

“No!” Liam shouted. “Killian, don’t be a fool. None of us shall pay such a price.” It was now Liam who loomed over the boy, who appeared as bored as ever. Drawing himself up to full height, Liam commanded, “You may have taken our sail, but that does not leave us without means to leave this place.” Calling out over his shoulder, Liam bellowed, “Lieutenant! Take a contingent of men and retrieve George’s sail. Starkey! Take this miscreant to the brig.”

Killian wanted to argue, unable to shake the feeling of dread the boy’s presence wrought over him, but before he could voice his concerns Pan issued his own warning.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Captain. Your brother made a deal for the island’s magic, and all magic comes with a price. You would be wise to honor the cost.”

“Your cost is too high,” Liam sneered. “I won’t see any of my men forced into your servitude, especially my brother, simply for my sake.”

“Very well, then,” Pan quipped with a shrug. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Liam scoffed and turned his back on the boy. Setting his sights on Killian, who still had not made a move to carry out his earlier order, Liam opened his mouth to issue it again when his face purpled and a choking sound emitted from the back of his throat. Killian watched in horror as his brother collapsed, the sprawling blackness of the dreamshade once again snaking its way up the veins of his neck.

“Liam!” Killian rushed to his brother's side and gathered him in his arms. “No! No, no, no, please!”

“I did warn him,” Pan drawled in a taunting tone. “He should have paid up when he had the chance.”

“Let me pay,” Killian begged. “The deal was struck between us. You and me. I’ll stay in exchange for my brother’s life and our men’s freedom. Save him, return them all to our kingdom, and I’ll remain here. In your service. For as long as you wish.”

“And the ship?”

Killian hesitated. The Jewel wasn’t truly his to give, but surely their Majesties would value the lives of their subjects over a vessel they’d only acquired in battle.

“Aye. The ship as well.”

Crouching down in front of the brothers, Pan’s indifference to the gurgles and gasps of dying breath from the elder sprawled prone in the younger’s embrace only heightened Killian’s terror as the boy stated, “Ten years.”

“What?”

“I want to make sure the terms are clear this time,” Pan clarified. “Ten years of service from you and this ship, with no interference from your brother or your kingdom.” His cold eyes shifted down to Liam’s, which were wide and bloodshot with panic. “If you make any attempt to rescue your brother or take back this vessel, I’ll consider the deal forfeit… as well as your lives. Yours, your brothers, and anyone else who mettles. Deal?”

“Yes,” Killian agreed, desperately. “We have a deal.”

“Captain?” Pan inquired of Liam, who could only nod his consent, though reluctantly. “Excellent.”

With a wave of his hand Liam’s malady was lifted, but before Killian could assist his brother back on his feet, Pan flicked his wrist again and Liam, along with the rest of the crew, disappeared before his very eyes.

“What have you done with them?” Shooting to his feet, Killian grabbed the brat by his tunic and began shaking him violently. “Where have they gone? Tell me!”

“Relax,” Pan replied. “I’m keeping up my end of the bargain.” Turning his head, he nodded towards the far end of the coastline. “There. Your brother, fellow crewmen, and captives are there.”

Killian’s head snapped in the direction of Pan’s gaze, and he loosened his grip on the boy as a ship, King George’s ship, came into view as it rounded the coast. The main sail was not the golden color he’d expected, knowing George’s men had also used a pegasus sail to reach the island. Instead, a sail blacker than night whipped briefly until it caught the winds, billowing out towards the sea.

“What sort of dark magic…” Killian murmured beneath his breath, but the question was cut short when he witnessed the vessel begin to lift out of the waters. Scrambling to get a better view, Killian pulled his spyglass from where it was usually stowed at the helm and peered through the lens. Across the expanse he caught sight of his brother, peering back at him through his own glass. Killian’s heart constricted in his chest. He had not even the chance to say good-bye. Had not been given the opportunity to set his affairs in order. There was so much he'd wished to say, so much he’d wanted his brother to know and to impart upon others who had become important in his life.

Tinkerbelle, the other fairies, Queen Snow, King David. What would they think about the deal he’d struck? What would become of his brother and the other men when they returned without the fleet’s prized vessel? Would they be punished? Demoted? Would his actions become a millstone around their necks for the next ten years?

As the levitated vessel grew smaller and smaller, making its way through the skies, Killian could only pray that the fact that they’d been successful in thwarting George from obtaining dreamshade would be enough to satisfy the king. When at last he lost sight of the ship within the clouds, Killian lowered the spyglass and heaved a despondent sigh while choking back tears. Though he may not know the plight Pan’s service might bring him, nor the response of the king when Liam returned, one thing he did know was Misthaven’s war with King George was far from over, and he would not be there to protect his brother, fight for his sovereigns, or prove he was worthy of the boon the king had already gifted him. A boon that would go unclaimed and unfulfilled.

He supposed he ought to be grateful the Law of Surprise did not work in reverse. He would not wish this misfortune on anyone.

“There, there,” the voice he’d already come to hate patronized. Killian stiffened when the bastard approached, standing beside him and gazing out upon the Neverland waters. “Is it really so bad?”

Killian did not respond. His years of indenture taught him to hold his tongue, and though he was loath to be back in a position of servitude he would shoulder the burden and play the part of compliance, unwilling to give the demon any recourse that might alter their deal and prolong his sentence.

Wiping away the vestiges of the emotional farewell to his former life, Killian straightened his posture and faced his new master. “The ship and I are at your command. What are your orders?”

Pan smiled, a sickening expression that made Killian’s stomach churn, and circled his quarry. “I do have an errand for you, but I’m afraid it must wait until my shadow returns.”

Killian’s brows scrunched in confusion, but he said nothing.

“Until then…” Pan halted his steps and squared himself off with Killian, his hands clasped behind his back as he rolled onto his heels. “I think a makeover is in order. For you and the ship.”

“A makeover?”

“Indeed.” Snapping his fingers, Pan’s smile grew broader as Killian was knocked off kilter. Steading himself, he realized his entire wardrobe had changed. Gone were the crisp white linens and gold embroidered navy wool of his uniform. In their place was a pair of buttery soft black leather pants, a billowing, smoke-hued blouse beneath a silver garnished, corseted leather waistcoat, and an adornment of rings and pendants.

“What the devil?” Flicking his bewildered eyes to Pan, he balked when the boy extended a can of paint and brush towards him.

“Here,” he said. “I’ve seen to your makeover, you can see to the ship’s.”

“And what, exactly, am I to make over?” Killian asked through the tick in his jaw.

“Her name,” Pan declared, as though the answer were obvious. “You no longer sail the Jewel of the Realm,” he informed Killian. “From now until your service has ended, she’ll be known as… The Jolly Roger.”

Killian swallowed the bile creeping up his throat, his fist clenching at his side. “So you mean to make me a pirate.”

Pan’s gaze flicked down to the hook braced at the end of Killian’s left arm, then slowly scanned its way back up. “Oh, I think you and I both know there’s a part of you that’s always been a pirate. Now the exterior and occupation will match the man beneath.”

Anger sparked within him. How dare the little devil associate his hook, gifted to him by the Queen for what it represented to them both, with something as vile and villainous as piracy. “You know nothing about me,” Killian seethed.

“Perhaps not,” Pan shrugged. “But we’ve ten long years together. I imagine we’ll come to know one another quite well by the end of this… arrangement.” Setting the paint at Killian’s feet, Pan’s tone hardened. “Ready your ship, Captain. It’s a pirate’s life for you. For the next ten years at least.”

Killian balked at the boy’s sudden disappearance, then gave himself a moment to come to terms with all the demon had said. He was right. For better or worse, this is the deal he had struck. Picking up the can and brush, Killian made his way to the bow and with a heavy heart, rechristened the Jewel.

Later that evening, with the ship’s main sail infused by a spectre Pan referred to as his shadow, it was not the Jewel of the Realm that departed Neverland. No. The Jolly Roger set sail to complete her first mission. A mission to transport orphaned, abandoned, and truant boys from a lawless place called Pleasure Island back to Neverland. A mission carried out not by Lieutenant Killian Jones of Their Majesties’ Royal Navy of Misthaven, but by the blackguard who would come to be known as the scourge of the seas, a villain whose soul would be described as being as black and depraved as the sail he hoisted. The fearsome and reviled pirate, Captain Hook.

Part Two 

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.) @paradiselady19 @aprilqueen84 @kmomof4 @mie779 @donteattheappleshook @stahlop @anmylica @undercaffinatednightmare @zaharadessert @karl0ta @booksteaandtoomuchtv @courtorderedcake @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @the-darkdragonfly @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @whimsicallyenchantedrose @badwolfreturns @deckerstarblanche @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @youherotype @kday426 @snowbellewells @alexa-fangirl-forever @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @unworried-corsair @justanotherflailgirl @sals86 @natascha-ronin @livykatelin00-blog @jackieorioncat @annep1 @ilovemesomekillianjones @soniccat @youplaylikeagirl @th3capta1n @cocohook38 @zippoluv @killian-whump​

#csff #cs ff #csfic #cs fic #cs au #cssns23 #captain swan #enchanted forest au #neverland au #captain duckling #the law of surprise #words by hollye

[searchingwardrobes]

No Wives, No Mothers, No Lovers : 5/7

Yes, finally! An update! @snowbellewells​, I'm sorry this fic is taking me so long to finish. I hope you enjoy this chapter, especially the characters that appear in it, even though it ends on a cliffhanger. Yes, I said a cliffhanger. On the bright side, this fic is near completion. Yay! Love ya, Marta, and I hope this summer is full of sunshine and rest.

Summary:   He must be hallucinating. Because Emma Swan is supposed to be in Miami, Florida where he left her. Emma Swan isn’t supposed to be on this rocky stretch of beach, completely drenched, and wearing a ball gown of all things. A Lieutenant Duckling AU (sort of) in which Emma is a siren who isn’t supposed to fall in love with a human.  

Length: about 3k in this chapter

Rated: T

Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three  | Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @winterbythesea @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare​ @onceratheart18​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1​ @iverna​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​

Chapter Five:

Killian gasps and coughs, his chest burning and his head pounding. He’s trembling all over, soaked to the bone, and the rain is pouring down again. Everything is blurry; he can barely see through the storm and rain, but he thinks he sees Emma’s blonde hair. Thinks he feels its soft, silky strands caress his cheek, which is odd. Her hair should be wet. But maybe every bit of it is a dream because his eyes slide shut, and then darkness surrounds him again . . . 

The next time he awakes, he can’t keep his eyes open, no matter how hard he tries. He only gets glimpses of the people around him, and a bright light above. The light hurts. The sand and rocks scrape his skin. Someone calls his name . . . 

He awakes the third time in a hospital bed. The light still hurts. So does his throat. Its silent except for the beeping of machines. Liam is asleep in the chair beside his bed, but the moment Killian turns his head, Liam is awake and reaching for his hand. 

“Emma,” Killian manages to rasp out, his throat like sandpaper. 

Liam frowns, shaking his head. “You were alone on the beach when we found you.”

Killian struggles to speak, but his throat feels like it’s closing up. Liam tries to get him to stop talking, to calm down. 

“Must . . . find her . . . help her.”

Liam has a difficult time meeting his gaze, but he finally manages to tell him the truth. “Killian, it stormed that night. The tide was strong. The shoes Emma was wearing washed up on the beach, so . . .”

And just like that, a piece of Killian dies. At least, it must, considering what comes as the months slip by . . . 

The doctors can’t explain any of it. There seems to be no purpose for the fevers that rage, the pain that afflicts different parts of Killian’s body: sometimes his throat so he can not speak, sometimes his legs so he can not walk, sometimes his head so he can not tolerate the light. Things get worse as the days turn to weeks, the weeks into months. At times he struggles to breath, at others he doubles over in pain. He has no appetite, but he tries to eat whenever he sees the fear in Liam’s eyes. The food only comes right back up again, though. He’s slowly wasting away, and nothing can explain why. Every test comes back negative. There’s no cancer, no autoimmune disease, no tumors, no explanation whatsoever. Killian jokes that he’s a gift to medical science. Neither Liam nor Elsa laugh. 

He never thought of himself as important in the town of Storybrooke, or even well-liked. Yet, all of a sudden, he seems to be the town's beloved son. The church’s pray for him every Sunday, fundraisers are thrown to cover his medical costs, a wheelchair and a ramp are donated by the nuns in town, and they have enough casseroles in the freezer to feed them for an entire year. 

He has visitors often, even from “the dwarves.” When Liam and Elsa push him along Main Street in his wheelchair, everyone stops to talk.

One afternoon, Killian shouts for Liam to stop. 

“What is it, little brother?”

Killian peers at the boardwalk along the shore, his eyes narrowed. A flash of bright red hair is the last thing he sees. Killian sags in his chair. 

“Nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

*******************************************************************

Miles away, a strange procession walks towards the shore. Three beautiful young women carry the emaciated body of a fourth young woman. Though the fourth one is unable to keep her eyes open and sags in their arms, she is easy to carry.

The women walk right into the sea, floating the sick woman’s body upon the water. Her blonde hair fans out around her. It was once sparkling gold, now it is a sallow, dirty yellow. Her once pink, fair skin is now a ghastly gray. Her full cheeks are now sunken and dark circles line her eyes. 

The eldest of the women, a woman with auburn hair named Belle, takes charge. She has served Mother Ocean for fifty years now. Not as long as Emma, but half her sentence. Mother wouldn’t appreciate the word “sentence,” however. She would call the last fifty years her “gift” to Belle. 

“Mother! We need your help, Mother!” Belle calls. 

The ocean ripples around them, shimmering as it curls around to caress them. Though no words can be heard with human ears, the four sirens can understand Mother Ocean as she speaks. 

Well, at least three of them can now. The blonde may be past the ability to hear anyone, even the ocean. 

What is wrong with my daughter? Why is she sick? Sirens can’t get sick!

“Obviously they can,” mutters Ruby, her dark hair cascading about her, still full and dry though it is halfway in the water. Ruby has served Mother Ocean for thirty years and can still be a bit rebellious.

“Careful, Ruby,” Belle warns. 

“Emma is dying!” Ruby snaps. “I don’t give a damn about protocol.”

The Ocean calls herself their Mother. Calls the sirens her daughters. Says she loves them. But she can also be a cruel and capricious master.

My Emma can not die while in my care! 

Mother Ocean rages, ripping Emma’s body from the hands of her sister sirens and plunging her beneath the waters. 

“No!” the other three shout. 

Mother Ocean releases the blonde siren in mere moments, however. Emma pops up out of the water, choking and gasping for breath. She sags, struggles, then goes back under. The other three grab her and hold her aloft upon the water once again. 

“See!” The siren with bright red hair weeps. Her name is Ariel and she has only just begun her sentence as a siren two years ago. She still has 98 years of service ahead of her. 

I don’t understand. The Ocean’s voice echoes in their heads. Why can’t she breathe underwater anymore? Why can’t she swim?

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Ruby replies. 

Suddenly, the waves grab the brunette. Tendrils of watery tentacles wrap around her neck, and Ruby begins to gasp for breath, her fingers clawing at the watery strands about her neck. 

Perhaps I have tolerated your insolence for too long, daughter!

“Please, Mother,” a sickly voice rasps, “spare her. She is only worried about me, her sister.”

Mother Ocean drops Ruby with a splash and envelopes Emma in a watery cradle. 

My dearest Emma, what is wrong?

Though she is gasping for breath, Ruby still speaks the truth. “Perhaps it’s the fifty years you added to her sentence. She only had twenty more to serve!”

She vowed she would do anything if I only saved that boy. She defied me by going to him at all! She knew the rules! I had mercy upon her. And him. 

It was the way of the sirens. No wives, no mothers, no lovers. Mother Ocean would not rescue a woman from drowning if she was any of those things. And when a woman made the deal - salvation from drowning in exchange for one hundred years of service as a siren - she also agreed to never fall in love. 

“Honestly?” Belle says quietly. “She was never the same after the cruise ship.”

She has always been tenderhearted. Sighs Mother Ocean, as if it is a character flaw. Yet she defied me too that day!

Belle, Ruby, and Ariel exchange hesitant glances. It’s true. Mother Ocean has to be fed, and it’s up to her sirens to fulfill her appetite by luring people to their deaths with their song. It isn’t a pleasant task for any siren, but it has always been especially difficult for Emma. Maybe because her family died the day she was rescued. Or maybe because there had always been something special about Emma. A sense of compassion and justice. That fateful day when Mother Ocean had called them to the cruise ship, Emma had stopped singing when she saw the bride in the water, frantically searching the waves for her groom. Emma had been tempted to save that bride, and Mother Ocean was not happy. 

Then Emma had disappeared. They all knew she was heartbroken. They didn’t know she had swam towards Killian - the boy she’d fled from in Miami. 

“She tried to forget him, you know,” Ariel tries to explain. “She said she didn’t even mean to go to him. She didn’t even know where he was. She said she felt a tug in her middle, and she swam where it was tugging her.”

Mother Ocean trembles. What did you say?

Ariel, new at this and still terrified of crossing Mother Ocean, gives her sisters a terrified look. 

“A tugging,” Belle takes over. “She felt a tug telling her where to swim, so to speak.”

And after I saved the boy?

“She was depressed at first,” Belle explains sadly, “and then there was the day you called us to that yacht. She did her job, same as always, but halfway home, she was struggling to breathe and swim.”

I remember that. I carried her home. 

“And it’s only worsened since then,” Ariel continues. “She felt like she had a cold, which should be impossible.”

Sirens are immortal during their hundred years of service. They can’t get sick or hurt. They don’t even get tired or need sleep. Then, after their service is fulfilled, the immortality is lifted, and they are a human again at the same age they were when called: 17, 18, or 19. Each girl gets to choose where to live out her new human life. Her sisters help her plan, get settled, and then . . . Her memory of a siren is erased. 

One hundred years, then a clean slate. It seems an easy choice. At first. When all you're thinking of is death by drowning. 

“I’m telling you,” Ruby says, voice still raspy from Mother Ocean’s threat, “you broke her heart with your punishment. She’s tenderhearted about our job, yes, but she’s always loved you, Mother.”

She is a good daughter. Mother Earth caresses Emma again, rocking her in a sweet embrace. And I love her. Which is why I don’t understand. If she loves me, why should fifty more years with me matter? I confess, I was relieved to have her longer. I don’t want to give her up. 

“That isn’t love!” Ruby shouts. In a perverse way, maybe she wants Mother to destroy her. 

What do you mean? 

Tears stream down Ruby’s face. “Love wants what is best for the other person. Love doesn’t demand affection. Love doesn’t threaten. We fear you, Mother!”

“Ruby,” Belle whispers with concern. 

As you should!! Thunders mother ocean. What power on earth compares to mine? 

“None,” the girls answer.

“Please, Mother,” Ariel begs, “heal Emma.”

I - I don’t know how. This . . . shouldn’t be possible. The boy - No, it couldn’t be. It’s never happened.

The three sirens exchange glances, then they nod in agreement.

“He’s sick, too,” Belle tells the Ocean.

What?

“We tracked him down,” Ruby explains. “We thought maybe if Emma knew he was okay, she would get better.”

Ariel picks up the story. “But when we found him, he was dying. With the same symptoms Emma has.”

“Is it because Emma kissed him?” Belle asks. 

If that were the case, Ruby would have died a long time ago.

Ruby shrugs with a self-deprecating smile as the Ocean ripples with her version of laughter. 

I suspected when you mentioned the tugging Emma felt. It’s incredibly rare, but Emma has found her true love. They are now connected. 

“Then why are they dying?” Ariel asks. 

Because I have separated them. The only way either one will survive is if I let Emma go.

“Then do it!” the three girls shout.

I won’t let her go! She is mine!!!!

“Exactly like I said,” Ruby says sadly, softly, “you don’t know how to love.”

It is eerily silent for several long, tense, moments. Then the tide sucks at Emma’s body, ripping her from the arms of her sisters. The girls cry out, tears streaming down their cheeks. 

Give her to me. It is the only way.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #lieutenant duckling #sort of #they're younger but still have trauma #modern fantasy #sirens #emma as a siren #au of siren by kiera cass

[the-darkdragonfly]

Wash us clean 🥰🥰

aww! my feral little fic ❤

xox

* * *

Chapter Eleven {coming.... soon?}

“The crew will demand a trial.”

The words drifted towards him like a slow current, lazy and meandering while the thrum of his blood still sang within him. The scene had been one he had witnessed before, the blood and disarray permeating the room. But the air which had seized in his chest as he shoulder his way, cutlass drawn and eyes raging, had withered into a dull thankfulness at the sight which had greeted him.

He had missed it.

He had put her in this position.

Unattended and alone, surrounded by men he knew all too well and trusted far too little than to put her into their hands.

And yet he had.

The scrap on deck had been a mere distraction. A cover. His hand shook, residual adrenaline coursing through his body

The Princess.

She was his responsibility, had been since they pulled her from that watery cage on board the Revenge, when she met his eyes that evening in the quiet of his cabin, before she was covered in the blood of a man who had tried to harm her. She had been his when her face had lit up, unexpectedly happy at the bath he had gifted her- the only thing he had to gift her at the time. She had been his while she chewed on her lip in distraction and she commanded his attention over maps and charts and proclaimed the course of their journey with a flick of her hand.

And he had allowed harm to befall her.

He simply nodded, Andersen voice calm and low at his shoulder after having coaxed a shivering Emma from the wretched confines of her small room, hands shaking, covered in blood while she kept her eyes averted from his.

* * *

I love spoilers! Send me an ask and I'll give you a WIP spoiler!

Tagging: (wanna be tagged?? let me know!)

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @batana54 @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @veryverynotgoodwrites @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @xhookswenchx @justanother-unluckysoul @itsfabianadocarmo @zaharadessert @jadehowlettthewolf @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @asluve @winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche

#wash us clean #a captain duckling story #the darkdragonfly #wips and spoils #emma x hook #emma swan #killian jones #ouat ff

[caught-in-the-filter]

Sucktember 2022

Day 6: Innocent

 For the prompts from @suck-tember

Summary: Princess Emma wants Captain Jones, but her responsiveness and her kiss give away her inexperience.

A/N: These are unbetaed simply because September started out of nowhere. 😅 (This one doesn’t get to any actual smut, just a little kissing and flirtation.)

Rated: E; Words 718; AO3

——

“Well, hello, Princess,” the pirate drawled, caging the young royal against the tavern wall with his arms at either side of her. “What brings the crown to such a seedy place as this?” Smirking as her breathing quickened at his brazen caress of her cheek, he admired that she didn’t break as he brushed back her hair from her face and caught a lock between his fingers. “It’s dangerous for a lass like you to wander in here unattended.”

The Princess chewed her lip and straightened her back before countering, “Maybe I like a bit of danger.” Though her hands were as shaky as her voice, she pushed off the wall and slid her palms along his vest, grasping his lapels as if she feared she’d run away if she didn’t hold onto him. She met his curious gaze and added, “And maybe you could help me be…attended to.”

The Captain’s brow raised at that, and his smile grew into something softer but no less interested. He cupped the back of her head and lowered his lips to her neck, slowly kissing along the column as her pulse raced beneath their touch, laughing lightly at her gasp as he nipped at her earlobe.

Ghosting his breath over her open mouth, he brushed his nose against hers and teased, “Just how innocent are you?” Her cheeks turned red at his question, and he almost felt bad for asking it, if he hadn’t thought her blush so endearing.

“Does it matter?” The Princess pulled him closer and kissed him herself—well, she tried. The kiss was inexperienced and rigid, her nerves clearly getting the best of her despite her admirable efforts not to show it. But as he kissed her back, her tension eased as she allowed him to guide her through it, and they moaned into each other’s mouths as the pirate pinned her to the cobbled stone behind her. “I don’t want to be,” she said quietly when they finally parted.

“Mmm, that’s quite the tempting treasure you’re offering,” he admitted, already hungry for another taste of her skin, “but I’m afraid you would return home to find two very angry, very powerful parents, who also happen to have their own army. I’d like to not get on their bad side.”

“They don’t have to know,” the Princess shrugged. “I’ve simply taken an interest in sailing. So, I’ve ordered the best Captain to teach me how to do it.”

“You order me to do this?” Mischievous fire sparked in his eyes.

“No,” she shook her head, “I would never.” The Princess seemed to shrink into herself as she pulled away from him and cast her eyes to the floor. “I’m asking you to do this.”

The pirate hadn’t meant for her to take his reservations as disinterest. On the contrary, he was all the more delighted by her wit and commended her risky secrecy.

“Well,” he paused, tucking his curled finger beneath her chin until she looked at him again. “If you’re absolutely sure you want to sail, we can adjourn to my ship to begin your lessons promptly and properly. But there’s no going back once you first handle a mast,” he punned to lighten her mood, but his tone was serious, “so you have to be certain.”

“I—” the Princess paused, anxious again as her gaze flicked to the prominent bulge in his trousers, “—I think I’m sure, but….”

“It’s not going to hurt you,” the Captain reassured her, giving her another chaste kiss. “I’d make it so good for you.”

“Prove it,” she challenged. “Show me. Please.”

“If you can promise me I won’t lose my head,” he joked, dragging his palm down the front of her gown and pressing on her skirts at the apex of her thighs, “I’d be honored to take yours.”

“I promise.”

“Right this way then.” He stepped back and waved for her to join him, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly into his embrace as she walked with him. He flicked the shell of her ear with his tongue and purred, “And for the record, you’re more than welcome to command me if you’d prefer, but perhaps we’ll save those lessons for another time. Don’t think I’m letting you slip away after just one.”

——

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#sucktember #sucktember2022 #day6: innocent #captain swan #CS ff #Captain duckling #princess!emma #I guess this could technically be a prequel to day 5’s mini fic #Kayla writes

[zaharadessert]

Neverland and Captain Duckling for the WIP Game please! :D

Okay so neverland can be found here...

And Captain duckling ended up as a reblog so I'll give it to you as a response here...

Captain Duckling is… the first idea I had for a CS fic, but it’s turned into the most complicated mess and it’s currently on hold because I have no idea what to do with it any more. I have bits and pieces written, and I think I’ve worked out the backstory, but I haven’t made much progress with actually writing it yet. I’m really hoping that I’ll actually get it written at some point, but for now, here’s a little snippet, that I’m not even sure I’ll use, but I actually really like it, so I’m going to try and work things in. I’m thinking that with such a complicated backstory there will be a lot of flashbacks, but who knows at this point? Hahaha

Thanks for the ask! Snippet is under the line!

Emma took a seat at the bar, it was quite busy so there wasn’t an empty table that she could occupy, besides… sitting at the bar where Robin or Regina were within easy shouting distance was safer. Not that she really needed to be kept safe as such, but considering who she was… it was better to be safe than sorry and if needed Regina could poof her home at a moment’s notice. Having the ex-Evil Queen as your step grandmother had its advantages sometimes. A tankard of ale was placed in front of her with a wink from a blonde, but greying Robin and Emma smiled at him from beneath the hood of her cloak. If Emma had thought her parents didn’t know she snuck down to the Golden Arrow at least once a month, she would have been a simpleton, but she had chosen here when she was a little younger because the relative safety compared to where she could have gone seemed to placate them from actively trying to stop her going anywhere.

She was her parent’s daughter, too adventurous for her own good.

“Anything interesting going down tonight?” she asked, curious about the unusually full tavern.

“Well, we’ve got a rather notorious Pirate in town, actually,” Robin replied, leaning on the bar as he wiped out a metal tankard with a cloth.

“And you let him in?” Emma asked with a frown, glancing over her shoulder at the rowdy crowd.

“He and Regina go way back, apparently, although he looks like he hasn’t aged a day since she first met him, somehow,” Robin shrugged. “They’re not as bad as they sound, sure they’re loud, but what drunkard isn’t, and people are less likely to start a fight if there’s a Pirate all too willing to draw his sword at the next table,” he added. Emma looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So you’re saying… he’s good for business?”

“They drink a lot, pay their tabs and discourage anyone really nasty from causing trouble, I think they sate their blood lust at sea and just want somewhere to relax, cheat each other at cards and drink,” he said with a smile, looking across at the group, and clearly someone had waved at him because he nodded and reached for a jug, which he started to fill with ale as they kept talking.

“Cheat at cards?”

“If you play cards with a Pirate and expect him not to cheat, you’re a fool, but this lot seem pretty keen on honour amongst thieves and good form… As a former thief, I think I hold some kind of gravitas…” he said with a smile as he set the jug on the bar and reached for another.

“It’s nothing to do with your wife being able to turn them all into mice with a snap of her fingers at all,” came the low drawl of said wife from further down the bar, winking at Emma. Who laughed, unashamedly.

“Ah, but your Majesty you gave that up…”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t if someone causes trouble…” she shot back, her hand on her hip and levelling her husband with a gaze that would have made a lesser man quake.

Emma, still laughing looked over her shoulder, a prickle on the back of her neck making her sit up a little. Blue eyes met hers from across the room, and she found herself frozen in place, laughter still lingering on her lips. Ringed with kohl, and creased with laughter lines, he was, for a moment, as still as she. Emma found herself captivated by the man with the blue eyes, in a way she’d never been by anyone else before.

#cs ff #wip game #ZaharaDessert Writes #unnamed captain duckling #neverland au

[bananachickens]

Lieutenant Killian Jones on board of the Jolly Rogers talking to his fellow lieutenant, lieutenant Swan.

#lieutenant duckling fanfiction #killian jones #lieutenant killian jones #captain hook #cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs au

[seriouslyhooked]

Lighthouse (CS AU)

Short oneshot where Emma is the Princess and Killian is her longtime love. He’s serving his last deployment in the royal navy and she is eagerly awaiting his arrival. Available on AO3 Here and FF Here.

A/N: This is a fluffy drabble that was prompted FOREVER ago by a lovely reader. They wanted the song “Lighthouse’ by Collabro and the story to include a Lieutenant Duckling Reunion fic. It has been so long since I’ve gotten to write something like that, and I have really missed it, so here is my attempt at some cuteness for you all. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to the awesome reader who suggested this!

Please let him be safe. Please let him come home. Please let him return to me.

The silent prayers were ones that Princess Emma had begged for more times than she could count. Over the past year, while Killian was out at sea, serving in the royal navy, Emma had been beside herself with worry. It was bad enough to be separated from the man she loved, but to know that he could be in danger all this time pained her heart in shades of sadness she’d never be able to vocalize.

If she had her way in this scenario, Emma would be down at the docks, watching the horizon for any sign of his ship in port. No, forget that idea, she’d be on the ship with him, facing whatever harrowing adventures the high seas might call for without a drop of fear. When she was with Killian, nothing could touch her. The magic they shared was a barrier against anything bad, a fortifying force that protected them both, and Emma felt steadier and at peace. But alas, her destiny was written already, and it held no space for seafaring voyages or long treks on the open ocean.

As the one-day heir of the realm, Emma was expected to put on a brave face and attend to her duties. The people looked to her and her family for leadership and guidance. They all played a part in the health of this kingdom, and her birthright was to inherit all of this someday. At some point in the not too distant future, when her mother and father were ready to step aside, it would be Emma who took the throne, but all the grandeur and the power meant nothing to her, not without Killian to share it with.

Every spare moment she thought of him, and imagined what it would be like someday, when this was all behind them. This was his last deployment under the careful watch of his elder brother Liam, and prior to his going, he’d already received her parent’s blessing to marry her, though not before asking Emma for her hand herself. She’d accepted in a heartbeat, failing to let him even finish the romantic question when she understood his intent. She was desperate to be his in every way, and remembering the smile he’d bestowed on her and the kisses that they shared when she’d agreed, it was obvious that Killian felt the same.

Almost a whole year had passed since that miraculous night, and not long after he was sent away, sailing for the edge of the known world to see what lay beyond. It terrified her to think of what danger may lurk in what was unknown, but Killian reassured her that it would all be fine. He and Liam knew what must be done. They understood the sea and their mission, and Killian swore to find his way back to her just as he had so many times before…

“I just wish that you didn’t have to go,” she’d said, unable to hide her tears in the early morning hours before his ship set sail. They’d run off together to the guest house in the garden, a special spot of theirs since they met when they were younger. For years it had been their hideaway. Killian called it their sanctuary, and Emma always thought that was an apt description.

“Believe me, love, if there were any way around this, I would see the course. You know I’d give anything to be here making you mine as soon as may be. But my brother needs me, and your father has been clear. We need these alliances for the good of the kingdom, and the safety of the people, you most importantly.”

“I know,” Emma agreed, understanding more than most how precious their alliances were with the kingdoms of all realms. This voyage, though long and arduous, would protect them for years to come, and was the last request of Killian’s brother Liam before Killian exited the navy. “You just…”

“I just what, love?” he asked, cupping the side of her cheek and watching her with those beautiful blue eyes of his that always made her dizzy. They were so focused in on her, as if the universe began and ended with what she was about to say. In a world where she was important but never felt truly seen, she’d grown addicted to such attentions. Killian truly knew her and still loved her, and she was more herself with him than with anyone she’d ever met. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him and savoring the warmth and electricity that came when he was close.

“You just made me love you so much, that letting you go feels like losing part of myself.”

The murmured curse he let loose before devouring her lips made Emma shiver with delight, but she was hardly cold. His touch was like a fire, sizzling through her and marking her as his, just as much as she was marking him as hers. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but it felt mere seconds later when they pulled apart. The brightness of the room and the daylight that was breaking signaled much more time had passed than seconds, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of time together ever would be.

“There’s nothing in this world or any other capable of keeping me from you, Emma. My love for you is constant. Not just for this life, but every one from here to always. Have faith in me, my love, because I promise I will be home to you as soon as I am able.”

Though the words were whispered so long ago, Emma still felt them wash against her skin as the sun began to sink over the tree line. Out here, in the back woods of the palace, she was totally alone, but if she couldn’t be with Killian, that solitude was all she could accept. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to fantasize that he was here. Autumn’s chill was back once more. The year was up, and so too should his mission be. In a perfect world she’d hear the gentle crunch of footsteps and catch the subtle scent of ocean waves. The footsteps would approach with precision and determination until the moment just before he reached her where heat flared through her system. She fended off tears at how good her imagination was becoming, and then she felt him, the undeniable press of his body on hers that was so much more vivid than any daydream ever could be. Her eyes popped open and her heart took flight.

“Emma,” he said, nuzzling into her neck as he held her tight and the sound that came from her chest was one of desperation and relief. “Gods how I’ve missed you, love.”

“You came back,” she said, spinning in his hold and seeing that this was truly real. Killian was here and alive. He was somehow even more gorgeous than when he’d left, and he was looking at her with even more affection and love than he’d had before. Tall dark and handsome did no justice to all he was. He was perfection, and he was all hers.

“With a light like yours to return to, there was no other option, love. Trust and believe in that.”

He whispered the words of affirmation as her hand came over his chest. She felt the racing of his heart, and she knew, without his admitting it all that things had been the same for her him as they had for her. She may have been here, and he may have physically been worlds away, but her heart could not reside in a space without him. Now they were together again, and she was whole, happy, and unwilling to ever let him go.

Pulling him in by the collar of his navy coat, Emma almost wept when their lips met after so long a separation. His taste was just the same, his arms, holding her close, the warmest and most soothing home she’d ever known. She was safe here and hopeful, finally believing that the worst was behind them. From here on out things would be different. She and Killian would be together, and there’d never be cause for such sad partings ever again.

“I thought for certain that the love we shared before was as big as it could be…” he murmured, running his hands through her flowing hair and smiling at her, as if he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t all a beautiful dream they’d both soon wake up from. “How wrong I was in such a thought. This love grows deeper every day. It can’t be quantified. It just…”

“It just is,” Emma echoed, and he agreed, kissing her again and grounding her in a happiness that had been missing for twelve long months. Only when they were breathless, did they break apart, but even then his forehead rested against hers, his arms surrounding her, giving them space to breathe each other in and surrender to their feelings.

“I’ve brought you something, Emma,” he finally said, and she could see the pride in his eyes at the mention of this gift. “It’s something I hope you’ll find worthy of a woman like you.”

Emma knew she’d cherish any parcel from her sailor, but the preemptive affirmations died on her lips as he pulled out a small velvet pouch. Inside the compartment was a ring with a band of white gold, and a green blue gem unlike any she’d ever seen. In the royal vaults there were many treasures belonging to her family, but none that looked like this. It was a sapphire, but colored in such a vibrant aqua hue it didn’t look like any stone she’d seen before. Yet it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this iridescent shade. In fact, it was one that always seemed to find the two of them some way or another.

“Killian, it’s gorgeous,” she said in awe, amazed at how much it looked like the lightest flecks of color in his piercing blue gaze. She knew that in her own green eyes there were flecks of this tone too, a shared sample of their souls, indistinguishable and utterly spectacular. “But you didn’t need to bring me anything. All I need is you, you know that.”

“I do, love. Believe me, a man doesn’t forget such miracles when he’s as blessed as I am. But you are to be my wife, and after searching for some time, I finally found the ring I know was meant for you.”

With gentle ease, he took her hand in his and placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and matched the modest white gold of the band he’d given her in promise before he left. Emma knew he’d had the choice of any ring in the castle for his proposal, but he was determined to find something special just for her. She didn’t need anything more than the wedding that would come, but when he shared the origin of this particular gem, she felt its significance.

“I found this treasure at a time of great pain. I missed you so dearly, that even the sea could offer no distraction. Twelve weeks into a twelve-month journey and I was homesick, as I’ve never been before. I walked along the beach in port and found this in a tide pool, underneath a rising moon. Liam gave most of the crew some leave for the first time in ages, but there was nothing that I wanted when I knew you were waiting for me here.

“My brother insisted I get off the boat, despite my attempt at protest, and so I wandered for a while, thinking only of you. Of your beauty and your brilliance and the future you deserve, the one I will do anything to give you. The waves in that water are notoriously unruly and sporadic. They rage along the coast and filter into tide pools unlike our shores here, but the locals claim that the sea bring treasures and tricks alike from far off places. Needless to say I didn’t care about these stories. All I cared about was you. I was thinking that maybe I should come home, even though the mission was not over, and then I found this, glistening in the water just below.”

Emma looked down at the stone and their hands intertwined. She imagined each point of his memory, feeling it so surely, it was like she had been there too. It helped in easing the pain of separation, and she settled in the fact that soon their being parted would be just a distant remembrance, never to be repeated.

“The first time I held you in my arms for a dance, you were dressed in a gown of this shade. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

“Neither will I,” Emma agreed, recalling her public debut. She was a girl of sixteen and Killian was the brother of one of her father’s most trusted Captains, a whole year older than her but already in her eyes so much more mature. Now, so much time had passed, but when he smiled at her the same boyish charm was ever present, and she fell under his spell, stepping into his arms as she would to share a dance. Out there, in the setting sun he held her close, guiding her though there was no music, and she tried not to cry the joyful tears that threatened to spill as he twirled her, eliciting a laugh and making her feel lighter than air.

“Finding this felt like a sign, that even we were parted, we would always be together. I carried it every moment since, knowing someday it would end up here, with you.”

“And now it’s here, and so are you,” she whispered, stealing another kiss from him and halting their dance. He was the sweetest man alive, of that she had no doubt, but suddenly that sweetness was not what she needed. What she needed was love, the love that only they shared, made real in a stolen, private moment.

Reading her mind and her wants with precision, Killian pivoted from dancing to sweeping her up into his arms. She laughed aloud at the motion but didn’t pull back far. Instead she clung to him as he strolled through the back way. A few minutes later, when they arrived back at the garden house she was in no way surprised. She hadn’t been out here since his leaving, but it was just as she remembered, and immediately her sense of inner peace solidified. This was everything she’d wanted and more.

The kiss he pressed on her once they were shut away inside was filled with heat and desire, and soon kisses devolved into so much more, a merging of two people who had missed each other fiercely and we were intent on tying themselves together once again. It was perfect, hard-fought reunion, and Emma would cherish the memory always. But perhaps no part was as special as the glow that came between them when she was wrapped up in his arms hours later, safe and happy as the dawn of a new morning began to break. The world was not bright enough to have created such vibrancy, that was all thanks to them and their true love. As a product of two soul mates, Emma had inherited a bit of magic herself, but that magic was always the strongest in the arms of her Killian.

“Gods above, Emma, you are my light, my truth, my home,” he murmured, his words placed between the lightest kisses that sent thrills of pleasure dancing across her skin. “I’ll love you forever, I give you my word.”

“Good,” she replied, silently affirming that she felt the same with a gentle kiss before finally giving in to the tiredness of her body. And luckily for both of them, the sweet dreams that came of their reunion were nothing compared to the joy of their life together. For they had found something better than wishes – a love so real it would live forever, and a bond so sure it would always lead them home.

………………

Where ever I am Where ever I go Whatever happens, this year I know That you'll be with me to the end When the cold sets in Like you told me all those years ago You hold my hand Where ever I lay And you guide me through come what may Bring the silence through the noise I still hear your voice I remember what I heard you say I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Whenever I feel I'm all by myself And every word is a cry for help I just think of you and then I'm safe again I feel you close though you're somewhere else I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Do you remember What we used to say? I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home

Post-Note: Wow, so first and foremost, if the person who requested this even still reads my fics (because it has literally been something like 4 years since they asked for this), I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I am so sorry for making you wait so long, but I am also so grateful for your lovely prompt. What happiness this fic created for me as I wrote it. I hope you all get to share in that too as you read the story. I’m also shocked at how close I am getting to 200 chapters of the mixtape. I can’t tell if it is something that I should put on hold, or make a volume two perhaps, but in the meantime, thanks so much to all of you for reading, for commenting, and sending me amazing songs to include. It has meant the world to have your support, and I hope you’ll continue to join me on this slow but steady journey in cute CS oneshots!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193

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