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grimmswan · 2 years

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Devious Delights

Law enforcement Officer Killian Jones catches Emma Swan in a car that is obviously not hers. But the seductive thief shows him that breaking the rules are more fun than abiding by them.

In other words, this is a modern Lieutenant/Duckling Au With Killian and Emma having lots of consensual sex all over the town of Storybrooke.

Chapter One: The Police Station Jail Cells

“That’s strange, Gold is never out this late?” Lieutenant Killian Jones thought to himself when he saw the unmistakable Mercedes owned by the richest man in town.

He followed the car to an out of the way place, then saw a blonde woman emerge from the driver’s seat.

“Turn around and keep your hands where I can see them.” Killian commanded.

He nearly forgot to breathe when she turned around and he saw her face.

“Since when did angels steal cars?” He thought to himself.

He didn’t bother calling it in. There was no one at the station and there wouldn’t be all night.

He got the woman in the back and drove to the station

“What’s your name?”

“Emma, Emma Swan. And you are?”

“Killian Jones.” He replied automatically. “I mean, it’s Lieutenant Jones.” He quickly added to correct his mistake and sound more professional. Something about the woman was throwing him off his stride. He was usually able to maintain an air of authority, but Emma was making him feel like a teenager encountering his first pretty girl.

“Oh, you’re one of the Jones brothers! Everyone’s been talking about how sexy and bad ass the two new cops are.” Emma exclaimed, not helping Killian’s composer at all. “You guys are former military, right? But I thought your brother is usually with you?”

“Liam got food poisoning. I told him to let the chicken cook longer, but he never wants to listen to anybody.” Killian felt he was perfectly entitled to be annoyed with his brother. The doctor had assured them that all Liam needed was to rest, stay near a toilet, and drink plenty of liquids. Had the older Jones listened to the younger one, he would not currently be turning their shared apartment bathroom into a biohazard station.

Emma laughed at the clear exasperation in his voice. Killian thought he had never heard anything more beautiful.

When they got to the station and he had to take her picture for records, she removed her red leather jacket.

Killian forgot how to breathe for the second time that evening.

The white tank top she wore was as thin as tissue paper. Underneath she wore a bra of black lace that molded over plump breasts. Every line and every curve of her was clear to his eyes, since her jeans were fitted snugly over her hips and backside. There was no question that Emma Swan was an alluring woman.

Emma noticed the hot officer staring at her body. The look of desire was unmistakable. In fact, she had never seen it reflected in someone’s eyes so strongly before. It gave her the confidence to have some fun.

“That’s quite the weapon you have there, officer. I have just the holster for it.”

Killian forgot to press the button on the camera.

Becoming flushed and heated under the collar, Killian removed his own jacket, giving Emma the opportunity to check him out.

“Ooo, Lieutenant Jones, that black sweater you have on is making my clit throb.”

The thing was molded to his body, as were the tight black jeans that looked painted on.

Killian chose to ignore her. He was not going to be distracted from his responsibilities again.

He had promised his brother that all of the foolishness of his youth was over and done with. That is why Killian had joined Liam in the military, and that is why he had followed him to the town of Storybrooke and gotten a position in law enforcement.

To give himself time to cool off and get under control, Killian placed Emma in one of the cells and sat at his desk to do paperwork.

Unfortunately for him, his desk faced the cells. There was no one else in the entire station. And the biggest problem for officer Jones was that Emma figured that out before he did.

He was first alerted that something was happening when he heard Emma breathing heavily. He looked up to find her watching him with hooded eyes and her right hand down her pants, the left hidden under her shirt, over her breast.

The erection he had been ignoring since bringing her in started throbbing, painfully.

Telling himself that he was going to make her stop, that he was going to reason with her and explain why what she was doing was a bad idea, Killian grabbed the keys and unlocked the cell door.

Coherent thought left him the moment he touched her bare skin. His voice came out much more gentle and tender than it should have been.

“Emma, you are going to be accused of car theft. How will you plead, darling?”

“Eagerly. Oh please Lieutenant Jones! I plead for your cock!”

“That’s not what I,, oh okay.”

Emma dropped to her knees and reached for Killian’s belt, pulling the leather strap from his jean’s loop with her teeth.

Killian was so stunned that he could only stare in awe as she did whatever she wanted to him. The strongest lust he had ever felt overwhelmed him, and he became totally at her mercy.

The appendage was straining against the confines of the fabric, springing free the moment it was released.

Emma was impressed. Lieutenant Jones was certainly packing.

Sultry eyes staring up at him, she opened her mouth wide and slowly engulfed the organ.

She let herself be choked. Her eyes watered and spit dripped around the shaft.

Ever the gentleman, he tried to push her head away, but she resisted, moaning around him to show she was enjoying herself.

The softness of her lips around him made him forget about everything but the pleasure she was giving him.

When she pressed her tongue on the other side of him and traveled over his length, Killian was sure he had forgotten how to breathe for the third time that night.

Emma could not describe the thrill of taking the man into her mouth and having him at her mercy, even while she was on her knees before him.

Adding to the fun was how vocal Lieutenant Jones was. Though Emma wished she was wearing a skirt, so she could slip off her panties and stuff them in his mouth in order to muffle his constant moans and praises. She feared if he got any louder, the whole town would know what they were up to.

Still, it was exciting, and she had to admit a real turn on. She felt herself growing wet the more he expressed his pleasure.

“Any chance you’ve got a box of condoms stored somewhere around here?” She moved her hands over his shaft to continue his pleasure, which caused him to be unable to answer her question.

Emma was good at reading people. And to her, Lieutenant Jones looked like the type to be prepared for anything.

She let go of his manhood and stood up. When he made a choked sound of protest, she pushed him to sit on the cot in the cell and assured him, “Don’t worry, sailor. I’m not done with you, yet. But we can’t continue without a sheath for your sword.”

His eyes stayed on her the whole time as she hurried to his leather jacket and pulled out his wallet.

Emma smiled in triumph that sure enough, there was a condom tucked inside.

On her way back to the cell, she noticed Killian had left the keys in the lock. The practical and logical part of her suggested slamming the door shut, locking him inside and making a quick getaway, but every other part of her wanted to experience what the Lieutenant had to offer.

There was also something about the way he looked at her, practically pleading with her to return to him.

So instead of doing the smart thing, she continued with her risky behavior.

Emma tossed the condom packet at Killian, who remarkably caught it. Then, keeping a few feet from him, she tucked her hair behind her ears, looked at him seductively, then peeled her shirt off.

“Bloody hell, you’re beautiful.” Killian breathed.

Feeling empowered by his words and the look of wonder on his face as he gazed at her, Emma swayed her hips, turned around, and bent over, giving him a much closer view of her jean clad ass.

Holding onto the bars for support, Emma removed her boots, then shimmied out of her pants, giving extra movement to give her admirer a little thrill.

WIth her back still toward him, Emma unfastened her bra, then allowed that too to slide from her onto the floor.

When she turned to face him again, she was caught off guard by his lightning quick reflexes. Killian pulled her onto his lap and claimed her lips with his own. His hands were everywhere, splayed on her back at first, then one moving into her hair while the other moved to cup a breast.

If Emma thought she was turned on before, it was nothing compared to now. His kiss was lighting a fire inside her that had never been so hot. Her own hands were digging under his shirt, encouraging him to remove it so she could better explore him.

Reluctant to pull away, Killian stopped kissing her long enough to allow her to push off his shirt, before his hands and lips were back to touching her.

When his mouth began to trail down her neck, Emma reminded him with a moan, “If you want to do more than kiss me, you have to let me up to remove my panties.”

But Killian was not about to let her go again. Luckily for him, what she wore was a thong made of delicate lace, and Killian was in great shape.

Emma let out a gasp and a giggle when he simply tore the garment from her. She could feel the muscles flex on his arms.

She had never been wetter or more turned on in her life.

“Hand me that condom packet, now.”

Killian did as she commanded. Emma ripped the wrapper open with her teeth, then insisted on sliding the prophylactic over his impressive length herself.

They lifted her up and moaned in unison as her wet heat engulfed his throbbing cock.

Their movements were slow and tentative at first, giving her time to adjust, but soon need won out and they began to rock their hips with more force.

She draped her arms over his shoulders. His hands held her hips and waist. Their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled. In that moment, they created a world of euphoria.

Emma whimpered, trembling moans escaping as the pleasure began to build.

Killian pinched and pulled at her nipples, trying to get more of those lovely sounds.

Her fingers buried in his hair and gripped tight. She cried out a high pitched plea, “Don’t make me come alone. Come with me, please.”

Killian’s arms wrapped tightly around Emma and he stood from the cot to drive into her with hard deep quick thrusts.

His incredible strength would have impressed her, if she wasn’t at that very moment having a toe curling orgasm.

His grip on her tightened and he buried his face into her neck as his own release exploded from him.

He sat back on the cot, continuing to hold her tight and kiss every place his lips could reach.

Neither spoke a word, there didn’t seem a need to. There was simply the instinct to brush hands, fingers, and lips over each other as they caught their breaths.

When the bloodrush began to still, Killian pulled Emma with him to lay on the cot.

The bed was too narrow for two people. And even though Killian had pulled Emma on top of him, she still found herself sliding from him.

“I’m just going to clean us up.” She whispered to him when he reached for her.

He nodded and closed his eyes. She went to the bathroom, wet some paper towels, and returned to clean him up.

She kept her lips closed to muffle the giggle that threatened to escape when she saw his boots and pants were still on. Though the pants were around his boots.

Once she got the condom removed and him cleaned up, she buried the evidence of their encounter in the trash.

Emma didn’t want the lieutenant to lose his job.

She had had a great time with him and hoped the experience could be repeated. Maybe at a different location?

But for the moment, she needed to get out of there before someone came in and started asking questions.

So she pulled his pants back, covered him with the blanket, and got redressed.

When Killian awoke, the thing he noticed was that he was alone. He felt a sickening ache stir in his chest until he realized he was holding something; Emma’s torn underwear, and a note that read:

Dear Lieutenant Sexy,

It was a lot of fun being arrested by you. We should definitely do it again, sometime.

But I think I better not wear underwear, since you seem to not have much patience for them.

Just remember to replace the condom in your wallet.

Sincerely,

The girl whose photo you forgot to take.

P.S.

Your security system stopped working and hasn’t recorded anything all night.

He remembered that he had also never reported to anyone about Emma driving Gold’s car. There was nothing to indicate that the two of them had even interacted that night. Except for, of course, her note, and her torn underwear currently in his grip.

Lieutenant Killian Jones realized he was completely screwed, in two totally different ways.

part twohttps://grimmswan.tumblr.com/post/672979232182484992/devious-delights-part-2

part 3https://grimmswan.tumblr.com/post/676138499819356160/devious-delights

#killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #once upon a time #cs ff #cs ff au #cs smut

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ficforce · 3 years

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Dad HC

Akitaru Obi

Y/N wasn’t even surprised by her daughter or her husband anymore. Obi was doing bicep curls with a dumbbell weighing a ridiculous amount and their three-year-old daughter was mimicking him with a doll in each hand as her imaginary weight. The captain had picked her up so she could sit on the edge of the desk whilst he sat glanced on a gym ball. “Akitaru… what have I told you about training with her?” Y/N placed her hands on his broad shoulders and kissed his cheek before standing by the desk to watch her daughter pretend the dolls were heavy. Obi grinned at her, “You said I couldn’t train with her as a prop, not that I couldn’t train with her.” Whilst his partner didn’t like him using their daughter as a dumbbell, his particular favourite was holding her ankles and pulling her up and down behind his back whilst she squealed happily. Y/N hadn’t said that their daughter couldn’t copy his workouts. “Oh, its that time again!” The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, “Time to hidate!” “Hydration is important!” Obi stood and opened her little bottle of juice before grabbing his water bottle. “See, I’m teaching her to be responsible with her workouts.” Y/N shook her head fondly, “You’re so lucky I love you.” “I really am, Y/N” —-

Takehisa Hinawa

Hinawa’s son was as quiet as his father but out of shyness rather than preference. He listened diligently, he followed instructions and it was rare that he ever argued back or so much as threw a tantrum - he was a good boy. A boy who idolised his father and followed him like a duckling wherever Hinawa went, his little clipboard clutched in his hands.

Which is why Y/N thought it was strange that their son was actively avoiding Hinawa.

“What did you do.” Y/N asked him as he came into the kitchen to start lunch, usually, their son would want to help with washing the vegetables.

“I didn’t do anything,” Hinawa said and began washing his hands, there was a slight pout on his lips that was hard to spot unless you knew his every micro-expression - Hinawa was upset to lose his shadow. “I even offered to buy him ice cream. He ran off to hide in the workshop and was counting the equipment to be busy…”

“I’ll make lunch, Takehisa, go talk to him - I don’t like it when my boys aren’t in harmony.” Y/N smiled as he kissed her forehead and made his way out of the kitchen.

The Lieutenant found his son in a corner reading a book and took a seat beside him. Neither spoke for a long time and when Hinawa realised that the four-year-old hadn’t turned the page in over two minutes and was sat so stiff it looked uncomfortable, he began to speak. “You don’t have to speak to me if something’s bothering you. I’m your father and I want you to be happy but I’m not going to force you either… at least consider speaking to your mother if you don’t want me to know.”

The book was slowly closed and placed on the table, the little boy toying with the cover for a while until he glanced at his father nervously, “I…R-remember when Arthur got hurt and he blamed Shinra the other day… And Arthur had to go to the infirmary and now he can’t sit on his butt without a doughnut cushion?”

“Did you shoot Arthur in the ass with my gun?”

The little boy’s eyes widened and he looked down at his lap waiting to be lectured. “Y-yes… I’m sorry… I was aiming at the bottles on the target and I didn’t see he was past them.”

“Bullets don’t always stop on the target, you should have waited for me or your mother. It’s dangerous.” He ruffled his son’s hair, “But then I shouldn’t have left it loaded where you could reach it.” He had guessed that someone had shot Arthur after it had happened, he assumed it was Y/N as the line of bottles had been shot so perfectly in the middles, “You’re aim was perfect - well done.”

“What about Arthur?”

Hinawa blinked once and then pat the boy proudly, “Your aim was perfect.”

#obi akitaru #hinawa takehisa #HC #kids #OC #fire force #enen no shouboutai

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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A Cottage by the Sea

Here we go!! My first @cssns entry of the summer. I hope that those who were expecting two simple one shots from me in the event this year, won’t be too upset that I ended up with a different fic than I intended to start out with - one that will probably have at least four more parts to it. My original idea just would not work, so I pulled out this headcanon that I’d been mulling over for some time...and it simply grew from there. Here in the Prologue, it’s going to seem more straightforward Lieutenant Duckling, Enchanted Forest au, but the supernatural elements will come if you stick with me. My intention is to update every other Tuesday until this story is ended; meaning you should have Part One on June 23rd.

I hope you’ll enjoy - and I’d love to hear what you think of this first part...

***Immense thank yous to @searchingwardrobes for this cover art that I am absolutely in love with, and to @tornadoamy for looking this over and giving me early feedback as a beta. And to the @cssns event and mods for giving me the opportunity to flesh out this idea I’ve harbored for so long - and for so much fun and entertainment the previous two summers, and coming up in this one as well!***

Can also be found on AO3

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

by: @snowbellewells

~~~prologue~~~

The land around her parents’ castle had always called to Princess Emma. The open spaces and craggy cliffs she could see in the distance as they plummeted into the churning sea, were windswept and wild much like herself. Though she had always been cared for and beloved, the sole heir to the kingdom of Queen Snow White, Emma also felt the desire to run free, as if she were destined for more than curtsies, crown fittings, and learning to smile demurely. Naturally, she adored her happily devoted, perfectly paired father and mother - just more so when they were teaching her to ride or aim a bow than when they were reminding her once again that she must exude patience and diplomacy at even the most interminable state dinners. She valued her kingdom and its people, understood the honor of her role in it, but that knowledge and affection failed to negate the fact that she often wished just as strongly to rip the fancy curled updos and jeweled tiaras from her head and run streaking like a loosed cannon along the wet sand at the ocean shore she could see from her chamber window, hair streaming behind her and cool, salty air on her face. All the proper princess etiquette and worries left behind.

The easiest - and her most favored - cure for that feeling of wanderlust and burning energy within was for either her mother or her father, or both whenever possible, to take her walking along the water’s edge in the evening. Emma would almost swear the Queen and King enjoyed the calming getaways almost as much as she did, both as a moment to be free of so many fussing, crowding, obsequious attendants and hangers-on, as well as to feel the open air of the world outside their palace cleansing them. She knew - though from nothing more than history and bedtime stories - that her parents had once lived and thrived out of doors, falling in love on the run as rebels before her mother regained the kingdom she had been born to lead. Both her mother, once a legendary bandit, and her father, who had started life as a humble shepherd, seemed to appreciate the chance to escape the castle walls of stone and venture out on their own with their adored and wild-hearted little girl. It concerned neither of them that Emma was bold and adventurous, bucking the traditional prim and dainty image of feminine royalty; in fact, they might have treasured those traits in her even more for how they harkened to what each loved most in the other.

One such evening, however, Queen Snow had been kept well into the twilight hour in a council meeting over trade routes and revenue, along with Emma’s father, and even Red, her godmother. Waiting impatiently, Emma fretted that she wouldn’t get outdoors and down to the shore at all, as she sat in the wide, cozy window seat of her tower room, looking out over the waves crashing up on the sands. She took in the lights of ships in their harbor, the mist and waves, and she longed to be closer - to be part of it all. In fact, she was mischievously contemplating whether or not she could scale down the outer walls in her nightdress and robe, and get to her usual walking course alone without being detected, when the door to her room opened behind her.

Snow White entered in a pleasantly flushed bluster of activity. Charming followed her with an indulgent smile, happily sweeping his daughter up into his arms as she ran to him in an excited blonde blur. She might be nearly 10-years-old, but he could still swing her up in his arms and twirl her through the air and all around the room as easily as he did when she was but a babe. Giggling happily, Emma threw her arms around her Papa’s neck and revelled in the exuberant joy of his affection.

When he put her down again, she immediately hopped around him excitedly tugging on his hand. “Can we go out for our walk now, please? Down by the shore… can we? Can we, pleeease?”

The King shook his head with a rueful chuckle, having known this would be her request the moment they set foot in their daughter’s room. She was made for the out-of-doors, an enchanting sprite of waves and sky, and he found it nigh as impossible as ever to disappoint her if her wish was within his power. “You’ll have to ask your mother this time, Sweetheart. I have more meetings, stores to check for the winter, applicants for aid to hear, a few more hours of work this evening yet.”

Snow smiled at him over Emma’s tousled blond head, nodded her agreement to a short jaunt while there was still light, Emma squealed with glee and danced an excited little jig before scampering toward the door, pulling at her mother’s hand impatiently, determined to hurry her along, Queen or no.

“You and Granny had better have cocoa and biscuits waiting for us when we return, Charming,” the dark-haired monarch grumbled, appearing stern, but the playful spark in her eyes told her husband she wasn’t really that upset. He was assuring they had what was needed for charitable giving to those less fortunate throughout the kingdom once harvests were over for the season; it would take but a moment to let the head palace cook know his wife’s wishes before continuing with his tasks.

“Anything for you, Dear,” he playfully mock-bowed before happily accepting a sweet kiss on the cheek and following his wife and daughter from the room. He was off in one direction; Marco and Jiminy both waiting down the hall to help him judge numbers, ask questions, and take notes, while Emma and Snow went in the other, headed down the stairs to the first floor side entrance and quickest path to the shore Emma was so anxious to reach. Charming supposed that many might think it strange he was not more troubled by letting his beloved and his only child wander outside the grounds alone, but his Queen could more than take care of herself. And if he knew Snow’s trusted bodyguard at all, the Huntsman they had long ago freed from Snow’s stepmother’s control, he would not be far if they had need of him when David could not accompany them - whether he was in view or not.

~~***~~

They were hand in hand, Emma’s shoes in her mother’s grip, as she skipped with exuberant satisfaction at her side, toes squidging with the exquisite feel of the wet grains of sand as she did. It was all Emma had wanted all day, from the moment she’d gotten dressed and shared breakfast with her parents and godmother, informal as they had no visitors in the warm, cozy castle kitchens. Throughout her interminable etiquette lessons with the Blue Fairy, and studying with her tutors, she had wanted nothing more than to be carefree by the water like this, and she was beside herself with excitement to be there at last.

Ruffling her daughter’s hair, Snow let the worries and concerns of meetings, treaties, budgets, and protocols slide from her shoulders while the evening breeze caressed her face. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes for a moment and laughed into the wind right along with her precious child. Perhaps she had needed the escape just as much.

Then, with a sharp jerk, Emma’s smaller hand tugged from hers with a cry of surprise. “Mama, look there!” she called, her fingers slipping from her mother’s grasp as she began to pelt across the sand in alarm. “A boy! A boy just came out of the water! He’s hurt!”

Immediately, Snow White’s focus was sharp, snapping back into full awareness, scanning ahead of them to where she saw a dark, bedraggled shape, not much larger than Emma, lying on the lighter colored beach. Emma had run forward in such concern that she had already almost reached the small shape, and her mother quickly gathered up her skirts and jogged forward to catch her, not sure yet what to expect. “Emma! Wait! Be careful!” she warned, though she already knew the caution would fall on deaf ears. Emma was fearless for her own safety, and had a soft spot for any person or thing injured or in need; she wouldn’t be stopping if she thought she could help.

Nearing the indeed soaked, disheveled, and unconscious child, Emma had already fallen to her knees, trying to shake and urge the unknown person back to awareness. The queen’s concern for her daughter’s safety instantly melted into compassion for the waif who didn’t move, didn’t speak, and barely seemed to breathe. For a child of his seeming height, he was frighteningly thin, his clothing threadbare and torn, hair too long, nearly hiding his closed eyes as soaked to his skin as it was. The Queen’s maternal heart ached for him, wondering how he came to be in such a state, alone and washed up from the sea. Taking Emma’s hand to stop her jostling him, Queen Snow could only hope they weren’t too late to save this mere boy’s life. It was only just beginning.

She looked up, wondering how they could get him back to the castle and trying to gauge how far they had traveled from the gates. Just as she was vaguely considering whether or not she could call one of the birds she was able to use as messengers - a gift that had served her often throughout life - when a tall shadow materialized from the woods bordering the shore, before she even needed to call out. Her long time bodyguard, Graham, Snow realized with easy relief; she should have known he would not be far, and regardless of the necessity - or lack thereof - in this moment she was glad he was there. This child needed help, and they needed to get him to a physician as soon as possible.

The Huntsman scooped the still-motionless boy up easily and began to carry him back the way they had come. Snow and Emma hovered on either side in anxious worry. As soon as they got him home to safety, they would bring him around. They had to. They had to have found him for a reason.

~~***~~

Once the unknown boy had been carried back to the castle, his slight form hardly causing the Huntsman to strain himself, bundled down before the warm hearthfire of the kitchens, boneless still, but changed from his wet rags into a old castoff tunic of the King’s (long enough to be a nightshirt on the lanky youth) and covered in numerous blankets, it took little time for the youth to come back to himself.

Emma hovered anxiously next to the little stranger she had found, feeling oddly protective of “her boy” as she was already thinking of him in her head. She only paused in her agitated fidgeting to briefly take a cup of cocoa for herself and return the supportive hand squeeze offered her by their friend Red, Granny’s actual granddaughter and Emma’s frequent babysitter and playmate as well as her godmother.

Of course, Doc, the castle’s rather unofficial physician, had been sent for upon their return, but as the child before them began to stir of his own accord, Emma let herself hope that it would prove a mere precaution and their charge would be just fine. Heavy-lidded eyes blinked open slowly, as if still weary and reluctant to revive. When finally the thick, dark lashes parted to reveal rather stunning, unbelievably sea-blue eyes, Emma gasped at the shock that ran through her. Even as the boy’s widened in equal surprise and alarm, his eyes fixed on her gaze for several endless moments before darting around his surroundings, clearly unsure where he was or what had happened.

“Shh…. sh… hush now…” Emma felt her own tense muscles loosen as her mother’s voice calmly bathed the scene in gentle comfort. The Queen, soft and careful, and looking for all the world in that moment just like any other mother hoping to reassure her frightened child, stooped down to eye level with the boy they had propped up in a heaping nest of pillows and quilts by the fire. She reached out to softly brush his dark hair off his forehead, but froze when the boy flinched back like a startled animal. Instead, she only added in the same low, sweet croon. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you… It’s alright now.”

The youngster’s eyes continued to cast about him for several tense moments, but then he seemed to finally register the calm surrounding him and accept that he would be alright. The tentatively crooked smile he offered back to the Queen sparked a bit of hope in all who were gathered around him. And when a steaming cup of cocoa was pressed into his hands by Granny with a brusque but concerned admonishment to “drink up, it’ll warm your insides” before the cook bustled off again, he seemed to come back to himself even more at the scent which wafted up into his face of chocolate and their family’s customary hint of cinnamon.

Emma could practically see interest light up those expressive eyes, but the child hesitated rather than bringing the cup to his lips for a taste. Darting from Queen to Princess uncertainly, he seemed to be gauging whether or not it was truly acceptable for him to take a drink.

“Go ahead,” Emma urged, smiling in what she hoped was reassurance. She wasn’t known for her patience, and she couldn’t know that this youth had never experienced hot cocoa, nor many pleasant treats at all, in his young life. Hoping to encourage him, she lifted her own mug to drink and then smacked her lips at the delightful taste, making Ruby laugh and her mother shake her head at her dreadful table manners. The boy’s face, however, lit with a bit of humor and happiness that it had not yet held. “It’s good, I promise,” Emma added with a grin. “You’ll like it.”

Almost as if he could resist no longer, the boy tipped his cup and took a sip of the warm, rich beverage at last. Then, it seemed he discovered the powers of liquid chocolate that everyone else in the room well knew. His eyes widened in delight, and he tipped his head back to get every last drop as he quickly guzzled down the rest, making Emma giggle, and him startle guiltily as if he’d done something wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured, reaching out innocently to lay her hand on his, “You can have some more, right Mama?”

Queen Snow White’s eyes were a bit misty with unshed tears, having already met Granny’s gaze over Emma’s head and Ruby’s as well, the three women piecing together things Emma in her sheltered, loving world could not yet know about what this youngster must have gone through. His reactions and his guardedness spoke volumes, even in silence. Nodding simply, not sure at first that she could speak around the painful lump in her throat, Snow finally managed to agree, “Yes, for tonight at least, our new friend may have all the hot cocoa his heart desires.”

~~***~~

The boy’s name, it turned out, was Killian Jones. He did recall that much once he regained his bearings, as well as the fact that he had possessed a father, mother, and older brother in a happy little house before his mother had seemingly vanished from his young life, and they had sent sail on the boat he had been on before washing ashore. No matter how many questions they asked or how he tried to call more forth, he remembered little else of what happened to his mother or father. He knew he had been told she fell ill and died, but all he could bring forth in his mind’s eye was that one morning he had awakened and she had vanished from his life as if she never existed at all - just a pleasant dream. His elder brother Liam had been on the boat with him, and Killian had shed tears that broke all their hearts when he recalled the day his brother had been swept overboard and lost to him forever. But as to what had become of his father, and how he had been sentenced to the life of hard labor he had clearly endured afterward, there was nothing but a blank and questions.

As days and weeks, then months, and finally years went by, he remained with them at Misthaven castle. Though far from a young prince, Killian was raised as a member of the royal household, growing up side-by-side with Princess Emma. They appeared to be quite close in age, and joined by the fact that she had found him and seemed to take Killian on as her own, he and Emma were quite inseparable - the best of friends and as “thick as thieves” as Granny always lamented when they were underfoot or stealing berries meant for tarts and pies on the royal dinner table.

As they reached adolescence, the King and Queen began to wonder where Kilian would be happiest as he came of age. The young man they had come to adore almost as a son had several skills: he was invaluable in the stables, exuding a calming force over the horses and evincing a knack for their training and care; he was quite good as an extra hand in the kitchen when Granny was understaffed or had more visiting mouths than usual to feed (for all her tough talk the aging widow had a soft spot for the boy and would no doubt have mentored him as a cook). Killian was bright; genuine knowledge and curiosity made him a voracious reader and student, honestly gaining more from the princess’ many esteemed tutors than Emma ever had and enjoying the study much more. He would have been easy to train as a page or diplomat, but none of those options seemed quite right.

It was not until his fifteenth birthday that the way Killian hoped to take became clear. It might have seemed improbable to most, knowing that the sea had once nearly swallowed him whole and claimed his life, but to Emma who knew him better than anyone else, it made sense. Those restless, wandering waves held an appeal, a mystery and adventure, and perhaps even still some bit of himself that her friend needed to claim. He stated his intention to join her father’s Navy with a proud certainty. And Emma’s heart swelled with equal gratification, but also fear. The sea had given him to her, but it wanted to take him back again…

It had taken them all such a long time to show Killian that he was welcome there, truly a part of their loving extended family. At first, Killian had shrunk back - shoulders hunched, head bowed, breath coming quickly in frightened pants - any time he might accidentally drop and break a dish or he reached for a second roll at the table, making it clear was that he had been punished and berated, to the point that he cowered like a whipped dog whenever he feared he might have put even a toe out of line. Princess Emma knew that her parents suspected beatings and physical abuse; it was clear in the concerned way their eyes met in silent communication whenever Killian reacted with the intense fear and apology he often showed in his bearing; she sadly had to agree that they were quite probably correct. She shuddered to think of how he might still be suffering under some cruel captain’s mistreatment, miserable, stranded and helpless to change his situation if it had not been for the shipwreck which brought him to Misthaven instead. There had been no question for any of them that he must stay, when they had learned of his indenture and how he had been orphaned and abandoned. She couldn’t have been more glad that all in the castle were in agreement; Emma had already decided that “her boy” needed to stay there with them, where he was safe and she could be sure he was happy and free. Neither of them were small children anymore, but Emma’s care and affection for him had never changed.

For so long before Killian’s arrival, she had been the only child in a palace of grown-ups: rulers, dignitaries, staff - a whole caravan of people who doted and adored, but very few who could be peers, to play with, talk to, and simply understand her. As the days had flowed into one another, turning into months and years until most people could hardly remember when she and Killian were not linked, they were practically siblings in every way that mattered. The princess knew that she didn’t intend to live - not could she imagine - her life without him ever again.

And then, seemingly in the mere blink of an eye, they were fifteen and moving from playing tag amongst the grape arbors and lilac bushes in her mother’s gardens and slipping out of the interminable poise and etiquette lessons which Emma detested yet was never allowed to miss, to the stage where Killian was serving as her partner while she learned the waltz and other ballroom dances she would need to master for formal balls and ceremonies. Not only that, but as they edged into adolescence, Emma’s heart thumped against her chest differently than it used to as Killian led her gracefully through the steps. Even as her heart seemed ready to ricochet from her body, the warmth of Killian’s skin where they touched and the utter safety she felt in his hold half intoxicated her. As awareness spun her head round, uncertain what to do with it or how to proceed with these strange new feelings suddenly flooding her, all Emma could be certain of was the pang of loss she felt at knowing that Killian’s desire was to soon join her father’s naval fleet. At fifteen, he was at last of age to sail as a cabin boy and begin to work his way up in a ship’s ranks. Though she knew that had long been her friend’s desired course, Emma’s heart still ached to see him go.

However, her parents could not deny him the chance to seek such a worthy ambition. Indeed, they were proud of Killian, happy to help him secure a place on one of their finest vessels and make certain he knew their confidence in him and their faith that he would succeed. All too soon, after years with him at her side, it was the day Emma’s confidant and companion was set to sail on his first voyage. Though she knew in her head that the kingdom was in a time of peace and that it was a mere routine mission, her heart could not ignore the fact that sea travel always came with risk. Not only that, but she would miss Killian terribly.

Still, goodbyes had been said, all was made ready, and she was left on the dock, waving goodbye as the best friend she had ever known met her eyes and waved back. His pretty blue eyes, that had long since begun to speak to her as ardently as his actual words, expressed a potent blend of pained anxiety at leaving his adopted family and the life he had known and excitement for the adventure ahead on the waves that stirred his blood. She stood there long after the rest of the crowd seeing him off had dispersed and gone back to the castle, watching as the naval ship bearing “her boy” (as she sometimes still in the deepest and most secret depths of her heart thought of him) became a small dot on the horizon before fading from view entirely.

And only then had the journey truly begun...

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @cssns @tiganasummertree @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @let-it-raines @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @mayquita @thisonesatellite @stahlop @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thislassishooked @drowned-dreamer @ineffablecolors @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @kday426 @lfh1226-linda @carpedzem

#cssns20 #cs ff #cs enchanted forest au #lieutenant duckling ff #with a supernatural twist #a cottage by the sea #prologue

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shy-fairy-levele3 · 7 years

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fic rec

Fic author self-rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

I was tagged by the ever gracious @taleasoldastime-andspace

1. King For A Day- Sherlock, casefic

When a rising football star, and part-time Drag Queen, goes missing Sherlock and John are forced to go undercover at a Drag Club to see if they can find him only to find out he's not the only queen whose gone missing recently. Can they solve the case before another queen disappears?

2. Fanboys- Sherlock

Sherlock and John are both fans of Doctor Who and a chance to meet their favourite Doctor has them both keeping secrets. Only Mrs. Hudson knows the truth, and she's not spilling anything.

3. Longer Than Forever- OUAT- Swan Princess AU

They never got along, Emma and Killian, but that didn’t stop their families from bringing them together every summer. Killian would have preferred to spend his summers aboard his father’s ship, and Emma would have rather spent hers alone.

On her 16th birthday Princess Emma is taken by the Dark One to be held ransom until his son returns to him, but Emma doesn't know anyone named Baelfire and even if she did doubts he'd come anyway. When Killian finds out where Emma is being held hostage he sets out to rescue her with the aid of his best friend Neal. But Neal has been keeping secrets of his own.

4. Yes Captain- OUAT (WIP)

Emma goes undercover to infiltrate a sex club but doesn't anticipate the effect the club's procurer will have on her.

5. Song Wars- Strange Magic (WIP)

Marianne Fay and Sherman "Swampy" Bog are both radio DJ's who work at rival stations. Both stations are suffering from low ratings as Marianne tries to ditch her boring morning show routine and Bog's late night rock show is slowly loosing it's popularity. When Marianne starts her own late night show the ratings go up, for both stations. Tune in as the two duke it out in a battle of musical whit.

I tag @jupiter235 @dainesanddaffodils @abutterflyobsession @endorathewitchwriter @magic-and-moonlit-wings

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

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When You Want to Escape, Say the Word

Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Misthaven was exhausted. And bored. And frustrated. And mostly bored.

She'd spent her life watching her parents save the kingdom, inspire others and, just generally, become the basis for every love story she'd ever believed. But, now, on her own trip to Arendelle, Emma hadn't done much of anything.

So, she'd left. She was going to see the city and do what she wanted. At least for a day. She just didn't expect to run into an obstacle as soon as she left the castle – literally.

Rating: Teen Word Count: 12K total, but the first chapter’s about five and change and the rest is on Ao3 because words are fun. AN: This is a @csficformal gift for @fyeahcaptn Hey, hi Shauna! I was not your original gift’er, but some real life things happened and now here are a questionable number of Lieutenant Duckling words. Of which I’ve never written, so please don’t judge too harshly. I did a bit of stalking of your messages with your original Fic Formal’er and tried to include as much as I could. There’s banter, there’s fluff, there’s interfering Ruby and bed sharing and making out. Because I’ve never written Lieutenant Duckling, but I am who I am and kissing is my favorite thing. Also on Ao3 where there is a second chapter as well.

She didn’t see him at first.

That would, eventually, seem like some sort of sign, as if she weren’t entirely ready for him, but in the moment it only served to frustrate Emma and she refused to accept responsibility for the sound that came out of her mouth.

It felt a bit like a snarl, like it scratched its way out of her throat and the man in front of her looked a little stunned.

“In a bit of a rush, aren’t you, love?” he asked, a hint of a laugh clinging to the question and Emma’s eyes narrowed.

They were still standing in the doorway, her entire body buzzing with something that felt like a mix of adrenaline and anger and a bit of pain because the man in front of her was incredibly solid when she ran into him.

She ran into him.

Gods.

She was the worst escaped princess in the history of several different realms.

“Maybe you were just in my way,” Emma seethed, and the man’s eyebrows jumped into his hairline. It wasn’t very bright in the tavern they were only half standing in, but there was a bit of sunlight and Emma could just make out the blue of his eyes, amusement in his gaze and hair that was in desperate need of several pairs of shears.

He hummed, stepping to the side when several different and incredibly drunk citizens of Arendelle stumbled towards them.

Emma, however, wasn’t quite as quick – eyes widening despite her best efforts and she wished she could stop making noises before she decided she wanted to, a gasp falling out of her and her hood falling away from her and the man’s fingers were wrapped around her wrist suddenly, tugging her back towards his side.

He was still as solid as she remembered.

Gods.

Again.

This was an unmitigated disaster.

It didn’t seem possible, but the man’s eyes get even wider – mouth hanging open slightly and they were both breathing through their mouths like they'd run to the dockside tavern. His gaze flickered over Emma’s face, a muscle in his temple jumping and he still hadn’t moved his fingers.

She hadn’t told him to move his fingers.

She didn’t entirely mind his fingers.

She had clearly lost her mind.

Emma had never been drunk, but it sort of felt like she’d already spent most of her day going mug for mug with the men who nearly ran her over and she just wanted a moment to herself. Or, well, a few moments.

She’d been in Arendelle for nearly two weeks – two weeks of pomp and circumstance and expectations and corsets that, she was convinced, had already done irreparable damage to several of her internal organs.

And, really, she knew she was being more than a little selfish.

Her parents had trusted her for this...whatever it was they were calling it. Mission sounded far more political than what it was, more an envoy and a string of meetings and balls and bowing and curtseying and far more waltzing than she was entirely prepared for, because the Evil Queen had been defeated and true love conquered all and now Snow White and Prince Charming wanted the rest of the world to know they’d taken back their kingdom.

It was an honor to be the, literal, bearer of good news.

Emma wanted to see the world and, after years spent in fear of Regina and magic and life outside the castle walls, she was loathe to admit that it wasn’t quite everything she imagined it would be.

It was...a little boring.

And detrimental to her spleen.

She wished it was a mission.

But Emma wasn’t entirely versed in diplomatic anything and while she wasn’t quite proficient at waltzing, she hadn’t stepped on anyone’s literal or metaphorical toes yet – until that very moment and the man whose fingers were still wrapped lightly around her wrist.

She didn’t think he realized his thumb was moving, brushing over her skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake and she’d only wanted a moment to herself.

Sans corset.

She wanted to see the world and Emma was going to be damned if she didn’t get a few unsupervised hours in the only kingdom she’d ever been too.

“Don’t you have something else to be doing than getting in people’s way?” Emma asked archly, and the man jerked his hand away from her as quickly as if he’d been burned. There was still a smile on his face, though, a hint of something that might have been teasing and Emma couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

No one ever dared.

There’d never really been time – a battle to be fought and people to protect and a goddamn kingdom to provide for, a role and a life she’d settled into without much choice.

She didn’t entirely understand what this man’s eyebrows were doing.

They seemed to operate entirely separate from the rest of his face, shifting and jumping and arching and Emma was only a little distracted by whatever his mouth was doing at the same time, gaze still locked on hers, and she could feel the blush rising in her cheeks.

She didn’t apologize.

She wanted to – could feel the emotions shifting and twisting in the pit of her stomach, as if she were being appraised by this stranger and his questionably blue eyes – but she bit the words back, certain anything else she said would practically announce her to the rest of the tavern.

If there was one thing she’d learned in war, it was that stealth was key.

“Apparently not,” the man answered, and the smile had become a smirk and he was definitely teasing her. “But, to be fair, you did run into me, darling, and if recent memory serves, I did just save you.” “Save me?” “Oh, aye, you were in incredible danger, didn’t you realize?” “Apparently not,” Emma echoed, breath catching at the sound of his laughter and she could feel people staring. They were still blocking half the doorway. “You need to move.” “Strangely enough, that’s what I was trying to do while leaving the premises.” Emma rolled her eyes, but those same emotions in the pit of her stomach did something again and she could feel the smile on her face. The man’s eyebrows shifted again.

Gods.

“Oh,” she blinked. “Of course. I, um…” “Was trying to get inside? I gathered as much.” There was a noise behind her, quiet grumblings and curses she’d never heard before and Emma’s smile was gone as quickly as it arrived, replaced with a slightly stunned expression that wasn’t helping her attempts at stealth at all.

The man narrowed his eyes and she got that feeling again – as if he was taking stock or trying to read her mind and she jutted her chin out definitely, earning a soft smile for her efforts.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he warned, tapping lightly on her bent elbow when she crossed her arms across her chest. “Is this the first tavern you’ve ever been inside?” “No.” “No?” “No,” Emma repeated, doing her best to put as much certainty and confidence and several other words that would get her parents to give her an actual mission into her voice. She knew it didn’t work when the man’s teeth found his lower lip, like he was trying to stop himself from laughing at her and she wasn’t sure if she should have been insulted by that or not. “What...why would you say that?” He shrugged, shaking his hair away from his eyes and Emma swallowed so she didn’t do something absolutely absurd like sigh dramatically. It was far too stuffy in that tavern. “You don’t quite blend in my dear,” he said.

“Are you trying to run the gamut of unnecessary endearments or is that just a challenge you’ve presented to yourself?” His answering laugh was as good the second time as it was the first, echoing off the walls and, possibly, in between Emma’s ears and it was good she didn’t wear the corset when she snuck out because her arms were doing an admirable job of crushing her ribs anyway.

“That’s because I don’t know your name,” he pointed out. “Or why you were quite so aggressive in your attempts to get into this rather disgusting establishment.” “That’s quite an accusation to make.” “Which part?” “Either or, really,” Emma shrugged. “Why do you think it’s disgusting?” “You have eyes, don’t you?” She glared, rolling her eyes in response and this man’s smile was not part of any plan she’d come up with when she decided to leave the castle and several dress fittings behind for the afternoon. There wasn't much of a plan, to be honest, just some ivy on the wall under her window and Emma had always been a very good climber.

“But you were here,” she said. “Isn’t that a commentary on you?” “Probably.” “And?” “And, what?” Emma sighed as she scowled at him and maybe teasing went both ways, her foot moving of its own volition and the toe of her boot pressing lightly on his. He grinned. “You’re distracting me,” she said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

“That so? Interesting.” “Gods, you are frustrating.” “Yes, I’ve heard that before,” he laughed. “I’m also still very interested in your name and what exactly it is I’m distracting you from. Plans to meet someone? In secret? In this aforementioned disgusting tavern? Really, darling, if you’re going to stage surreptitious meetings with someone, you should pick something a little less dingy.” Emma gaped, breath rushing out of her in a mix of disbelief and awe – certain no one in the history of...anything had ever dared to speak to her like that.

She didn’t entirely mind that either.

“You overstep, sir,” she muttered, taking a step back and she regretted that too. He was, after all, very good looking and, clearly, far too self assured for his own good, but there was something just on the edge him, something a little dimmer and darker and Emma was curious.

She wanted to know his name too.

“Not sir,” he corrected softly. “Just Killian.” Emma blinked. “What?” “Killian. As in a name. Mine, specifically. That’s usually how these sorts of introductions work.” “And you’ve had a lot of introductions with women in dingy taverns, then?” Gods, she might have been keeping track of how often she got him to laugh. Three was better than one and two combined, the way his eyes lightened a little and his shoulders shook slightly and Emma let her arms fall back to her side, as comfortable as she’d been since she stepped off the ship two weeks before.

“Not as such,” Killian said. “And now you’re supposed to respond in kind. Have you never had a conversation before? Is this the first time you’ve ever been outside?” “Oh my Gods, you are rude.” “Yes. And you’re almost pitifully bad at trying to change the subject.” “I see no reason why I should answer any of your questions,” Emma hissed, but she was still being impossibly charmed by all of this and that didn’t seem entirely fair. Her eyes had almost entirely adjusted to the light inside the tavern and she was determined to do bit of inventory of her own.

There was quite a lot of leather in front of her – nearly every man in a ten-foot radius sporting some variation of the same coat with their hands on sword hilts and mugs in front of them and Killian was no different. She noticed the charms around his neck, the cut of his shirt far too low for any respectable sort of man to wear, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from making any noise when her eyes landed on his left hand.

Or, rather, the absence of his left hand.

There was a hook instead, the metal somehow shining in front of her and, eventually, she’d think that was a sign too, but in the moment Emma was simply trying to keep her breathing level and coming up decidedly short.

And her mind raced to one word and one feeling and Killian wasn’t smirking when she looked up at him.

Pirate.

“You’re a…” she mumbled, trailing off when it felt as if the tongue she’d been doing damage to had grown in her mouth.

He shook his head ruefully, hair falling back across his brow as his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his sword belt. “I think I’m going to call you, Swan” he announced, and Emma wasn’t entirely prepared for the abrupt shift in the conversation.

She, apparently, wasn’t prepared for much of anything that day.

“Excuse me?”

“Swan,” Killian repeated. “It...fits, don’t you think? They’re interesting creatures. Rather aggressive when they’re challenged. And I'm fairly certain you’re never going to tell me your real name, so now we can avoid all those pesky lies.” “How do you know I won’t tell you my real name?” “Don’t insult me like that, not after you only just ran me over. There’s a reason you’re here, Swan and it’s--” “--Not because I’m meeting some secret lover,” she interrupted and laugh number four was as genuine a sound as anything she’d ever heard.

She might have hated him.

She was fascinated by him.

“Yes, I realize that,” Killian nodded. “But there is a reason you’re here. You’re just telling me yet.” “Presumptuous of you. You’re a stranger. In a tavern.” He hummed, stepping towards her until Emma didn’t have any choice except to back further into the corner they might as well have been living in at that point. His fingers were warm when they brushed over the curve of her shoulder, touch feeling like several different kinds of sparks, even through her light cloak and she blinked, no less than, six times.

“All of your points were true, Swan,” he continued, seemingly untroubled by any of Emma’s arguments. “But you’re not doing a very good job of hiding yourself. And there aren’t very many good reasons for a lass like yourself to be sneaking into a tavern like this before we’ve even reached midday.” Emma clicked her tongue, frustration rolling through her in waves, but Killian’s fingers were still moving, tracing over her arm and grazing towards her wrist again and maybe sneaking out of the castle was the worst idea she’d ever had.

She couldn't even argue with herself in her head.

“Should I point out, again, that you are here?” Emma asked, stabbing a finger into his chest and his entire expression shifted, surprise clouding his gaze immediately. She smiled.

“No need. As I mentioned, I was leaving. And now, Swan, so are you.” “What?” “If there’s not some lover waiting for you a few feet away then I see no reason why you would want to stay in this place by yourself. Not even the best rum in Arendelle.” “What?”

“You’ll have to come up with another question if you want a different answer, love.” She huffed loudly, pressing her lips together tightly and did her best to glare at him, but Killian just shrugged and they were on some kind of moving conversational something , shifting back and forth and challenging each other with every sentence.

And Emma was nothing if not a little stubborn and decidedly competitive. She really would have been very good on any sort of diplomatic mission – trade embargos wouldn’t know what hit them.

“You think you can bring me somewhere that has better rum than this place?” Emma asked, and Killian was nodding before she finished the question.

“I do. Why did you pick this place anyway?” “Why did you?” “No, no, no, Swan, one question at a time.” She bit her lip, trying to come up with one of those pesky lies that might ring true – Arendelle guards and Misthaven soldiers turning down the alley at the same time she had and Emma hadn’t thought much before pushing through the first door she’d stumbled upon, quite literally.

“I, um…” she stuttered. “Had heard...of it. Once. A long time ago.” Killian almost looked disappointed. “You truly are a horrible, liar, love. Alright, here are my terms. No more lies. No more attempts at lies. You can’t…” Emma waited for the rest of it, the subtle insults and jabs that still managed to sound a bit like compliments, but he didn’t say anything else and the fear that had been lingering in the back of her mind when she realized he must be a pirate, practically roared to life.

She knew she shouldn’t have trusted him.

She wanted to anyway.

“Alright,” she said, appreciating his wide-eyed stare when she agreed to whatever it was they were doing. A mission, perhaps. “No lies. No attempts at lies. But I’m free to not answer questions if I don’t want to. And you do the same. We are...cautious allies for the time being and I will...pay you back for running into you.” His smirk looked a bit more lecherous than it had since she’d slammed into him, but Emma held her ground and Killian kept tapping his fingers on his sword. She only briefly considered stabbing him with it.

She felt like that was a victory.

“Well,” he said slowly, licking his lips and Emma didn’t try to mask her sigh. “I was already on my way out and that is a rather appealing offer. You’ve never been to Arendelle before, have you?” Emma considered her answer, debating her choices and the possible lies and the truth nearly tumbled out of her. “No,” she said. “I haven’t.” “Aye, I figured as much. Well, seems a waste to not see such a lovely city, don’t you agree, Swan?” “What is it you’re suggesting, exactly?” “I honestly don’t know,” Killian admitted, shrugging and he didn’t look quite as menacing, even with the metal at the end of his arm. He, almost, looked young and a bit excited and Emma might have been leaning towards him out of instinct.

Her palm was flat on his chest.

“Alright,” Emma said, agreeing to a question and a plan and she had to blink when they stepped back into the sunlight, leaving the dingy tavern in their wake.

When she was young, Emma used to beg her father for stories – tales of places near and far, of knights and princesses and true love, of choppy seas and calm bays and great, big ships with white sails and armies that would defend the crown no matter what threat they faced.

She didn’t remember all of them anymore, real life far less poetic than anything he’d been able to come up when she believed every word out of his mouth, but in that moment, stepping into the sunlight with Killian, Emma’s mind drifted back to those stories. She’d felt safe then, despite everything going on around her family, and now she couldn’t shake that feeling of déjà vu, the certainty that this was a story she was missing and lesson she, simply, hadn’t understood yet.

All of those stories always seemed to have a very strong moral compass.

“You’re thinking very loudly, Swan,” Killian muttered, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and Emma hadn’t realized where they were going.

To be fair, she wouldn’t have known no matter what direction they walked in, had only seen a few hallways in the castle and that one, very large ballroom, but a quick look around made it almost painfully obvious where they were – a market.

A bustling market, full of people and soldiers and faces who might recognize hers.

Emma cursed under her breath.

And in addition to laughs, she might have been counting how often she could take Killian by surprise. It was a look she enjoyed far more than she should have, but that seemed like a bit of a trend and she’d lost complete control of the day before it had even really begun.

“Where did a lady learn those kinds of words?” Killian asked, but it was difficult to understand the question when he was so busy laughing.

“Who said I was a lady?” Emma argued. “You thought I was staging some coy affair not even an hour ago.” “Oh, no, no, I never really thought that. No self respecting gentleman would allow his lady-love to arrive alone in a tavern such as that one.” “You certainly have a lot of thoughts about that tavern. And of being a gentleman.” “Are you suggesting I’m not?” “You tell me.” Killian smiled, the movement inching across his face slowly and they’d stopped walking. “Darling,” he said slowly, leaning forward until there was any space between them and Emma tried not to blink. Her eyes watered instead. “I’m always a gentleman.”

“And I’m not a lady,” Emma hissed. At least not today. Killian twisted his lips, staring at her like he was waiting for her to admit to the lie, but it wasn’t really that – she, technically, wasn’t a lady, was the crown princess of Misthaven, and it felt a bit like splitting hairs, but she was fairly positive she could smell freshly baked bread in the air and Emma hadn’t eaten yet.

“Still thinking very loudly, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, huffing slightly. “Where are we? Exactly?” “Was that not obvious?” “Well….yes,” Emma sighed. “But it felt impolite not to ask.” “Mmhm, not a lady, of course. Well, love, we are standing stock-still in the middle of the recently resurgent Arendelle marketplace where, it is my plan, to provide you with some kind of breakfast, possibly barter for a few wears and then, eventually, purchase a good amount of quality rum.”

Emma laughed in spite of herself, the sound bubbling out of her with something that felt like joy and glee and several other emotions she’d resolutely pushed to the back of her consciousness for the last few years of fighting against Regina.

And Killian looked positively victorious, as if he’d been counting on her reaction or, at least, working towards it.

It didn’t feel quite like teasing anymore – it felt a bit like...something else.

“You want to feed me?” Emma asked skeptically, but he was already nodding again.

“No lies, Swan. If the rumors are true, then there is a man here who can do small miracles with his oven.” “Magic?” Emma’s eyes widened when the word fell out of her, the question she didn’t want to ask landing almost audibly in the minimal amount of space between her and Killian. He tilted his head. And, well, that was fair.

No one knew.

No one could know.

Only Regina had known, the mumblings before Emma had been born, the rumors of prophecy and true love and it had all been because of her. Regina was coming for her, for the magic that she could possess, the product of true love and the should-have-been heroine of those stories her father always told her.

Regina wanted Emma’s power, but the only problem with that was Emma didn’t have any power.

More than twenty years on this Earth and Emma had never made anything so much as disappear, never inspired any armies or done anything except stay behind the front lines while her parents risked everything.

For the kingdom.

For her.

Killian ducked into her eyeline when her gaze moved towards the incredibly blue sky above them and she’d probably have to buy the rum because he didn’t ask a single question. He smiled at her, soft and honest and bordering dangerously close to earnest, a hint of something that couldn’t possibly ever be classified as pirate.

He didn’t make any sense.

“Not quite,” he said, answering the question Emma had nearly forgotten she’d asked. “Although I did hear he does something sinful with his sweet rolls.”

“You hear quite a lot of rumors, don’t you?” Killian shrugged, wrapping his hand around her forearm and directing Emma towards the closest food cart. “I’ve been spending a good amount of time by the water. Sailors are gossipy by nature.” “Is that so?” “Absolutely. All that time spent on the sea? They need to do something, don’t they? So they come up with stories. Can’t seem to stop themselves from doing it even when they’re on land.”

“And you?” Emma prompted. “You’re a...a gossipy sailor?” “I’m a good listener,” he amended and it felt like an important distinction. “And I’ve been here for a little while.” “How long?” Killian’s fingers tightened slightly, as if the question had caught him entirely off guard and Emma had a strong suspicion he wanted to reach for his sword. She made a noise, a soft apology without saying the words as she stepped in front of him and she had no idea why her hands kept landing on his chest.

Maybe that was the magic she was supposed to have.

Gods, that would have been disappointing.

“A few months,” Killian said softly, right arm falling to his side as he kept his left trained behind his back. “Six...six months.” “Six months,” Emma echoed, and her mind raced through dates and times and-- “You’re not from Arendelle, are you?” “What gave me away?”

“That’s not an answer.” Killian chuckled under his breath, but it lacked any sense of humor. He shook his head. “No, I’m not.” “And?” “And I’ve been here for six months, staying by the docks, listening to stories and tales and Queen Elsa’s recent acquisition of the throne and, apparently, the world is saved now.” “That reeks of bitterness,” Emma pointed out, but she couldn't object with him and she might have been even more bitter.

Killian shrugged. “Hence the sweet rolls, Swan.” He didn’t give her a moment to ask anything else, flashing her a smile that failed to reach his eyes and wrapping his fingers around hers tightly, turning back towards a man who was shouting several accolades for his own baked goods.

“He should be yelling more things,” Emma said, a few minutes and two sweet rolls later. “I’ve never had anything like this.” “Yes, well, I’m not sure anyone has ever eaten them that quickly either,” Killian muttered, and he didn’t flinch when she smacked familiarly at his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Swan, but you’ve got quite a sweet tooth don’t you?”

She shrugged, reaching forward to grab another roll. “It’s just not something I’m used to.” “Really?” His voice cracked slightly on the question, genuine surprise coloring the few letters and Emma wasn’t quite sure what to do with the warning bells that seemed to be sounding in the back of her mind. She shook her head.

“No, um…” she started. “My parents...it’s....things have been difficult. For some time and sweet rolls weren’t exactly a priority. Although if you’re interested in learning which berries will or won’t kill you, then I am a wealth of knowledge.”

“That’s very specific knowledge.” “When it comes to eating, it’s crucial knowledge,” Emma said, memories of nights spent in forests and tents and she wasn’t entirely prepared for Killian to be staring at her like he’d only just realized she was there. “What?” she asked. “If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to snap me in half.” He exhaled, closing his eyes lightly and running a hand through his hair. “Apologies, ma’am.”

“What?” It was if someone had snapped their fingers, everything changing and Emma briefly wondered if the whole morning had been some very lucid dream, staring up at a man who didn’t appear to know the definition of the word ma’am , let alone call her that in the middle of a crowded marketplace. Killian’s entire face shifted, the blue in his eyes turning to steel and he rolled his shoulders when he licked his lips, pulling away from her.

Emma tried not to sigh.

He heard her anyway.

“Why did you come to Arendelle?” Emma asked, desperate to change the subject.

“It was there.” “Oh.” “Why did you?” “Not much choice,” she said, and this was all getting dangerously close to the actual truth and they’d run out of sweet rolls. “My parents are...important and I’d been begging to see, well, anything for years. So they needed someone to come to Arendelle on business and--” “--And here you are,” Killian finished. “They trusted you like that?” “Is that a not so subtle suggestion that they shouldn’t have?” “No, no, I’m just not entirely sure where your day in the tavern factored into important business.”

“You’re harping on this tavern. There was no deeper meaning to it.” “No?” he challenged, eyebrows moving again, and Emma’s mouth went dry. “Everything you’re thinking,” Killian added, “clear as day on your face, Swan. Don’t ever play dice, you’ll be robbed blind.”

“That’s disappointing,” Emma grumbled, drawing another laugh out of him. “I’ve been here for a little while too and I haven’t...I just wanted to see something real.” “As opposed to something fake?” “Exactly.”

Killian eyed her for a moment and Emma had her fair share of experience with Regina’s magic – knew what it felt like when the rush of it pushed against her and wrapped around her, trying to get under her skin or into her mind, but nothing had ever felt entirely like this.

This felt as if someone had lit a fire in the very center of her, a heat that was working its way down her arms and out her fingertips. Her whole body felt like it was standing on the edge of a very steep precipice, where one good gust of wind would push her to safety or something decidedly less.

She didn’t entirely hate it.

“So let’s go see something real,” Killian said, offering his hand and Emma took it without question.

They stayed in the marketplace for a few hours, wandering aimlessly from cart to cart and brightly colored awnings, Emma’s fingers brushing over trinkets and fabrics and everything was such a stark difference from the life she’d grown accustomed to.

It was, well, a life.

No one noticed her. No one looked up or glanced at her, no lingering stares or promises that she was the jewel of Misthaven , a compliment some duke had paid her on her first night in Arendelle, that still made Emma laugh.

There were people and arguments, shouting about prices and expenses and others clutching their purchases close to their chest, as if they’d only recently discovered a very specific type of treasure. It was loud and a little chaotic, but there was an order to it that still made sense, a quasi dance of normal and Emma didn’t want to miss a single step.

Killian’s fingers stayed on her the whole time, wrapping around her wrist and tracing over the edge of her sleeve and the curve of her shoulder. He left goosebumps when his hand curled around the back of her neck, a presumptuous move Emma probably could have had him executed for, but she leaned into the touch and it was all so easy she still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t dreaming.

So, naturally, it had to end.

They turned a corner, going somewhere else without much of a plan and smiles on their faces, when Emma found herself face to face with an entire platoon of Arendelle soldiers – and one of them, quite clearly, recognized her.

The sound that fell out of her wasn’t so much as gasp as it was a vaguely disappointed groan, squeezing her eyes closed as the man in front of her drew his sword. Emma reached blindly behind her, fingers finding Killian’s left arm and the hook at the end of his wrist.

She held onto it, not sure what she was doing, only that she was doing something and that surge of power she’d felt in the marketplace rushed through her again, the fire turning into an inferno as the smell of salt reached her nose.

“Swan,” Killian said, but his voice was barely more than a whisper and there were waves crashing nearby. “Love, you can’t keep standing like that, you’re going to hurt your knees.”

Emma laughed, but it was shaky and cautious and the fire was still roaring under her skin. She stood up straighter, but didn’t let go of the hook, fingers gripping it almost painfully as she dug her nails into her palm and tried to remember all the reasons she wasn’t losing her mind.

She couldn’t come up with one.

Killian was talking, muttering words in her ear and the top of her hair and he didn’t look nearly as terrified as Emma felt, but he was cautious in a way he hadn’t been all day.

The fire went out.

“That’s never happened before,” he said, and it wasn’t the question she wished it was. Emma shook her head. “Interesting. So that question before about magic was…” “Generic curiosity,” Emma mumbled. “Ah, we promised not to lie, love.” She exhaled, sighing out the oxygen she probably could have used to maintain consciousness, but Killian’s thumb was rubbing circles into her shoulder and Emma was having a difficult time focusing on anything except that.

“Are you alright?” Emma asked, and Killian jerked back when he understood the question. “I just...that’s never happened before and I just want to make sure all your limbs are properly accounted for.” He threw his whole head back when he laughed. “I promise, Swan, everything is accounted for.”

“Gods.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly, a quiet reassurance she appreciated far more than she could say and Emma knew her smile was tremulous when she looked up, gaze a bit glossier than normal. “I’m fine, Swan,” Killian said. “Are you? That was quite a display of power.” “You could feel that?”

“Aye, couldn’t you?” “I was doing it. I think.” “You were, love. Teleportation Isn't exactly an easy trick to fake.” “Is that what happened?” Emma balked, but it was almost blatantly obvious that it had, the water next to them and the waves lapping at the shore and she glared at Killian’s vaguely patronizing smile. “Alright, so it was a silly question. I just...how did we end up here?” “It was your trick, Swan. What were you thinking about?” Emma shrugged, any truthful answer far more information than she was willing to give up, and she’d never let go of his hook. “I wanted...somewhere quiet and safe. Where no one would find us and I could...I don’t know.” She bit her tongue, stopping herself from saying anything more and everything felt like it had fallen off that cliff. And then promptly shattered on several particularly sharp rock formations.

“This is where I was trying to get us,” Killian said softly after a few moments. Emma had started crying at some point.

“Is that possible? For me to know that?” “I’ve no idea, but Arendelle’s a funny place. Magic in its bones, you know.” “What?” Killian clicked his tongue at the repeat question, but Emma held her ground and she wanted the whole story. “The queen,” he explained. “She has magic. That’s why the realm was cut off for so long, terrified to use and terrified to be used by others. Isn’t that...I thought everyone knew that.”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “They didn’t.”

And she wasn’t sure what hurt more – being kept in the dark again or only being partially lied to or spending her entire life with the belief that she couldn’t do much of anything to help anyone.

But that feeling only lasted a few moments, mind racing and heart racing and Killian didn’t look away from her.

“I teleported us to the ocean,” Emma said, a note of awe in her voice that nearly matched up perfectly with the smile on his face.

“Aye, you did.” “Why were you thinking of the ocean? And this specific part of it?” “Ah, it’s as you said, love. Quieter here, easier to think. I've...I like to come here sometimes, remember that there’s...a whole world out there.”

Emma hummed, turning on him and tugging lightly on the cuff of his jacket sleeve. “Do you often need reminding?” “At least once a week.”

He licked his lips again, hair nearly covering his eyes when he tilted his head and there wasn’t much space between them, but Killian found a few extra inches, stepping into it and resting his hand on Emma’s hip.

She wasn’t sure if she was breathing.

She had, however, stopped crying.

That felt important.

And he’d felt her magic

She had magic.

#cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #cs #captain swan ff #i only listened to arctic monkeys while writing this #hence the title #it is perpetually 2008 in my musical mind

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raccoonpatriotism · 5 years

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[f-irebug] [ 2. a relieved hug ]

* hug prompts | accepting

While ‘worry’ is an emotion Jane would proudly claim to not have, he is not without his weaknesses. Certain things that can make the back of Soldier’s neck prickle with goosebumps. He finds himself currently in this fretting state, caused by a break in the routine.

He hasn’t seen Lt. Bites all day.

It’s normal to not see him for hours at a time, but the raccoon always shows up at some point to dig it’s fangs into Soldier, but his clothes and skin have no tears and scratches right now. It’s past dinner which makes the whole situation extra weird for Jane. He had to eat sour cream and MREs by himself and that’s a disappointment for the man who looks forward to fun times shared with his Lieutenant.

But Jane isn’t left looking around trying to quell the strange worry he’s feeling for long. He’s not paying attention and runs right into Pyro - “Watch where you’re--” he pulls back with the frown, but... following the firebug like a duckling is Lieutenant Bites.

The raccoon, seeing his human scampers over to the soldier and scurries up his pants and coat onto his shoulder. Jane lets out oxygen he didn’t know he was holding and the annoyance in his expression is replaced with a relieved smile.

With no warning, Jane wraps his arms around his teammate. The Pyro’s suit has a soft sensation to the soldier and he squeezes and rocks the other around for a bit longer than strictly necessary. “You are a good man, Pyro.” He says, riding the high of Lt. Bites trying to chew his collar off.

#ic patriotism #f-irebug #firebug #//SORRY THIS GOT LONG gotta set up my son bites #Anonymous

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unfolded73 · 6 years

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Hi, could you please write a part 3 of the Lieutenant Duckling smut, where they're finally married and can make love and enjoy each other? please, and thank you

Finally, I finished this, hooray! As with everything I’m writing lately, it’s pure filth, albeit fluffy feelsy filth. Enjoy. 4900 words, rated Explicit.

I’ve reposted this on ao3 as a separate 3-part fic here.

(Part 1)(Part 2)

Part 3

Emma lifted her head, flipped her pillow over, and punched it before flopping her head back onto it. She closed her eyes, counting to fifty. She rolled onto her back, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes hard enough to see spots, groaning in frustration.

There was just no possible way she was going to fall asleep.

Finally, she sat up with a determined frown and swung her feet down onto the cold floor. She reached for the extinguished candle on her bedside table, then thought better of it, leaving it where it was. Emma pulled on her robe and walked over and carefully opened her bedchamber door, listening for the footfalls of a night watchman. Hearing nothing, she slipped out into the passageway.

On the eve of their wedding, Killian had been put in a room in a different wing of the castle, far from Emma’s bedchamber. But after so many years of sneaking down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, it was an easy matter for Emma to avoid the watch’s patrol pattern and make her way to Killian’s bedroom, the location of which she’d made a point of memorizing. Ducking into an alcove and waiting until she was certain she wouldn’t be observed, Emma dashed to the door and carefully opened it, letting herself inside. She locked it behind her.

She heard a fumbling sound, and with her eyes straining in the dim moonlight, she saw Killian’s hand shoot out and knock his candle off the table.

“Who’s there?” he said, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s Emma,” she whispered, hurrying over to the bed. “Don’t… raise the alarm or whatever.”

“Emma? What are you doing in here? I’m not supposed to see you, it’s bad luck.”

“I know, sorry, but I couldn’t sleep.”

Killian sat up in bed, completely bare-chested, and Emma gulped at the sight. Reaching out for her, he took her hand and kissed it. “Too excited about tomorrow?”

“Too nervous about tomorrow.”

He smiled at her. “Not nervous that you’ve made the wrong decision, I hope?”

She punched him on the arm and then sat down on the bed at his side. “No. Nervous that something will go wrong, I guess. That I’ll get up in front of all those people and trip and fall into the wedding cake.” Killian chuckled at that. “And… I’m nervous about the wedding night.”

Killian squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

“Why are you nervous? It won’t be your first time,” she said.

“It’ll be my first time with you, Emma. My first time with the woman I love, the woman I intend to spend my life with. My wife,” he added, and the way his voice caught on that word made her heart skip a beat. “Of course I’m nervous.” He pressed his lips against her hand again.

She hesitated for a second and then decided to forge ahead with her original plan. “So let’s get it over with.” And then she winced because that had sounded much better in her head. “I mean, not get it over with because that makes it sound like I’m dreading it and I am definitely not, but if we do it now, then we won’t be distracted during the ceremony worrying about… you know.”

Killian was quiet in answer to her rambling, and Emma bit her lip, waiting for him to say something.

“My love… are you sure that’s what you want? You’d be going to your wedding day no longer–”

“Killian, if you say ‘pure,’ I’m going to smack you. You know how I feel about all that patriarchal nonsense.”

“Aye, and you’d be right to strike me, darling.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” Chuckling uneasily, he added, “And I think it would be a shame if your father were to find out and murder me mere hours before I am to wed you.”

“I locked the door,” she said, and then inched a little closer to him. “Look, is there really a difference between right now and tomorrow in terms of the commitment we’ve made to each other?”

“No, of course not.” He reached out and touched her cheek, and Emma shivered at the contact. “I love you, Emma, and I will be yours for as long as I live.”

She felt pinpricks of tears behind her eyes at his declaration. She knew what had driven her to sneak into his room was a mixture of lust and pragmatism, but right now it felt like so much more. “I love you, too. And I don’t want to wait another second to share this with you.”

Killian launched himself up from the pillows, taking her in his arms and sealing his mouth forcefully over hers. Hoping that was his answer, Emma brought her feet up onto the bed, letting her momentum carry them down so that she ended up sprawled on top of him as they continued to kiss. He was still under the covers and she was on top of them, and there was a bit of fumbling as they tried to correct that fact without letting their lips part.

Emma still wore her nightgown and robe, she realized, and with a frustrated grunt, she sat up and struggled to untangle herself.

“Let me,” Killian said, his hand gently curling around her shoulder. “Let me undress you, darling.”

Unable to find her voice, Emma nodded.

His fingers deftly worked the knot in her robe before easing it off. Her nightdress was tied with a ribbon at her neck and he pulled it loose, moving aside the neckline. Leaning over, Killian kissed her bare shoulder, and it felt startlingly intimate to have his lips on a part of her they had never before touched. It seemed to affect him profoundly as well, and his movements as he lifted the nightgown up her body and over her head were rushed. Emma shifted her weight to assist him, and before she knew it, she was completely nude.

As much time as they had spent pawing at each other over their clothes, and sometimes under them, Emma still felt terribly exposed, and she moved her arms instinctively to cover her breasts.

“Oh, don’t,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful vision I’ve ever seen, let me look at you.”

Hesitantly, Emma lay back, her arms falling to her sides, and let Killian take her in. Cool air and nerves made her shiver, and he gently brought the covers up around them as he settled down beside her.

With a little smirk, Emma rolled toward him and reached for the drawstring of his trousers. “You’re overdressed.”

He laughed in response. “Aye.” She untied the laces and he pulled the sleeping trousers off, tossing them on the floor.

His skin was pale in the moonlight, the hairs that covered his body a stark contrast. She’d seen his cock before, but never in the context of the rest of him, had never been able to let her eyes follow the trail of hair down his abdomen to his erection, jutting proudly toward her now like some kind of divining rod.

Killian gathered her into his arms, and Emma finally felt what it was like to have his bare skin pressed all along the length of hers. She sighed into his mouth with joy at how wonderful it felt. It was like something clicking into place, being with him like this. Like her heart and body were finally in sync.

While they kissed, Emma could feel the wet press of the tip of his cock against her belly, and she couldn’t help but fixate on what it would feel like to have that part of him inside her. She both wanted it desperately and feared it at the same time. Would she be different, afterward? Would people just be able to look at her and know?

As if he sensed her trepidation, Killian’s kisses slowed and his hand rubbed her back, soothing her with his warmth and comforting embrace.

“Emma, if you don’t want this, you can change your mind, darling.”

Shaking her head, she shifted onto her back, letting her legs fall open. “I want this. I trust you.”

He kissed her again. “May I touch you?”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

Killian’s hand trailed down her belly. “I know, but it’s different now,” he said. He skimmed past her sex and cupped her inner thigh. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly because it did, it felt so different from those times with his hand under her skirts. She felt more vulnerable, naked and in his bed as his fingers inched up and came in contact with her folds. The slick way his fingers moved against her skin made her aware of how wet she was, her body anticipating and needing him. At least now she knew that he found the wetness arousing.

“You feel so good, love,” and Emma stifled a moan as he began to stroke her with more purpose. “So ready for me.”

“Yes, I’m ready, Killian.” She couldn’t help but writhe against his fingers, her hips moving instinctually as he slid one finger into her easily.

“There’s no rush, Emma. I want this to feel as good for you as I can make it. All right?”

Nodding, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations his fingers were creating between her legs. He focused more and more on that tiny nub of flesh that made pleasure radiate out like sunlight inside her veins, and very quickly she felt the tell-tale sparks of an impending orgasm. She almost didn’t want it to happen, wanted to save it until their bodies were truly joined, but something about being in bed with him, their naked bodies close together, seemed to heighten the experience of being touched so intimately and her climax crested over almost against her will. Emma bit her lip, the only noise coming from her throat a choked off squeak.

“I love it when you come,” Killian murmured, his lips brushing across her sweaty brow. His fingers continued to stroke her down below, stimulating her over-sensitive flesh, and then he adjusted his hand and Emma felt the pressure of being entered again, this time with what seemed like two fingers. She gasped.

“Does that feel okay?” he asked.

It didn’t hurt, but it was more of an intrusion than she’d ever experienced, so it felt slightly strange. Emma hesitated, and then she nodded.

He continued to gently move his fingers in and out, and her body quickly accommodated them. Emma felt renewed desire and pleasure, and she moved her hand to Killian’s cheek, stretching up to kiss him. “Make love to me. Please.”

Killian seemed to tremble as he positioned himself above her and she spread her legs to bracket his hips. The first touch of his cock sliding across her folds made both of them moan.

“We need to stay quiet,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“I know, but gods, I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long, and you feel so good.”

He continued to just thrust against her, not pushing inside, and as lovely as that felt, Emma wondered what he was waiting for. She felt uncertain, like maybe there was something she should do to allow him entrance that she didn’t know about. “Killian–”

“Can I?” he said at the same time she spoke his name. Emma nodded. Propping himself over her with one arm, he reached down and took himself in hand, and then she felt the tip right against her opening. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might need to direct the angle of his cock with his hand, and Emma almost giggled at her own naivete. It felt huge, like there was no way it would fit inside her, and that same mixture of anticipation and fear swelled in her chest. Then he was pushing and there was pressure, and then a sharp twinge as the head of his cock slipped inside. Emma gasped, and Killian stopped.

“Does it hurt?”

She felt a burning at the way her body was being stretched, but it wasn’t terrible. “A little, but it’s okay. Keep going.”

Very slowly, he pushed inside her, and the slight pain persisted but something about it also felt good, like nerves that his fingers couldn’t reach were being stimulated by the size and length of him. She was almost surprised when she felt his hips come up flush with hers and she realized he was all the way in.

With panting breath, Emma opened her eyes and looked at him. She felt full and strangely complete in a way she never had before. Their bodies were like puzzle pieces, finally put together after so many months of being separate parts of a whole.

“I love you,” he said, and she felt him move just a bit as he pinned her down with his hips.

“I love you,” Emma answered. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

He moved then, pulling out and pushing back in and Emma gasped again. A few more shallow strokes and the pain was almost gone.

“Oh,” she said, and she could hear the surprise in her own voice. Having him inside her like this was everything she had wanted since she had fallen in love with him. “Oh.” Again as he pulled out a little farther and pressed back inside with more force. Every time felt better and better.

“All right?” His voice was strained and breathy.

“Yes, gods, it’s… yes.” She spread her legs wider and clung to him, giving herself over to the rhythm of his movement.

Killian didn’t last long, his back arching and a pained grimace on his face as he climaxed. Emma was a little disappointed it had been so quick, but then she remembered how excited she’d been and how quickly she’d come from just his fingers, so she could sympathize with his lack of stamina. As he pulled out, Emma felt a little stinging twinge of pain between her legs, and she pressed her thighs together. Rolling onto her side, she felt a flood a moisture run out onto the inside of her leg, and she grimaced. Sex was strange and messy, she thought as she tried to get comfortable, but it was also wonderful and sort of life-changing.

“Are you all right?” Killian asked, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.

She snuggled close to his chest, kissing him tenderly. “I’m… good. And looking forward to doing that again.”

He grinned. “Less nervous about tomorrow, I hope?”

Pondering that, she nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am. But I wish I didn’t have to sneak back to my bedchamber.” She felt bereft at the thought. After such an intimate act, the last thing she wanted to do was leave Killian and return to her own bed alone. She needed the comfort of his arms around her, cradling her through the night.

“This is the last time we’ll have to sleep apart,” he assured her, kissing her forehead. “After tomorrow, there’ll be no getting rid of me.”

“Promise?”

“Aye.”

~*~

“You’re going to look so beautiful, Emma,” Snow said, carefully fingering the embroidery on the wedding dress in the morning sunlight. It hung on the door of her wardrobe, ready to be put on. “Are you excited?”

Emma took a sip of her tea, then returned to brushing out her long hair. She was excited, but the lack of sleep made it challenging to match her mother’s energy level. “I’m excited.”

Snow’s face fell a little bit. “You don’t seem excited.”

“I am, I am, I’m just…” It was impossible to articulate how she felt. Sitting there at her dressing table, she was aware of a slight soreness between her legs, and it just made her feel all the more like the fact that she’d given up her maidenhead a day early would be obvious to anyone who looked at her. “Nervous.”

Snow eyed her, and Emma could tell there was something on her mind. Her mother took a deep breath. “We should talk about tonight,” she blurted. “The wedding night. You know.” She wrung her hands together.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Are you really going to bring up sex with me at the very last possible moment to bring it up?”

“Sorry, but this is hard for me, talking about this sort of thing with my only daughter. You’re still a little girl to me in a lot of ways.”

A surge of anger surprised Emma with its ferocity. The idea that without Ruby, she would have been left all alone to try to figure out her physical reaction to Killian and how to navigate that aspect of their relationship suddenly made her furious. “Well, I’m not a little girl. Killian and I have already done things together,” she blurted.

Snow crossed her arms and frowned. “What things?”

She felt a perverse sort of thrill at the idea of shocking her mother, although if what Ruby had said was true, it was nothing she herself hadn’t done. “I’ve been physical with him,” she said vaguely, thinking more of their months of stolen moments in empty rooms in the castle than of the night before.

She expected shock or anger or both, but what she got were her mother’s eyes glassy with tears. “I should have been here for you before this,” she said.

Emma shrugged. “Ruby was here for me,” she said, unable to resist getting another dig in.

“That’s hardly comforting,” Snow said, sinking down onto the bed.

“I’m just saying, you’re off the hook,” Emma said to the mirror as she brushed her hair.

“I don’t want to be off the hook. I’m your mother, and I failed you.”

Turning around and looking at Snow face-to-face, all of Emma’s anger melted away and was replaced by guilt for making her mother feel bad. “I’m sorry.”

“Is he… kind to you? And giving?” Snow asked timidly.

“Very giving.” Emma experienced a visceral flash of memory, of the way he’d once hiked her skirts up and let her wrap her legs around him, grinding his hardness against her until she’d had a powerful, shuddering climax against the wall in an alcove behind the armory.

“Good.”

“I didn’t know loving someone could feel this way,” Emma said. “I thought I loved Baelfire, but it was nothing like this.”

“It was destined to be,” Snow said with a dreamy look in her eye. “From the day he saved your life–”

“He didn’t save my life–”

“The day he pulled you out of the water then,” Snow said. “You were destined to fall in love.”

Emma shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Do you know when you first realized you were in love with him?”

“Realized it? I don’t think I actually realized it until the first time we kissed, but I’m pretty sure I was done for when I was fifteen and he put on that naval uniform the first time.”

Snow giggled. “Men do look good in uniform.”

~*~

Indeed, the sight of him at the altar in his formal dress uniform took Emma’s breath away.

The ceremony went by in a blur, and Emma was hard-pressed to remember the details later. She remembered the way her hands trembled, the shaking of the delicate flowers of her bouquet making it terribly obvious. She remembered struggling to repeat the words she was supposed to say as she got lost in the blue of Killian’s eyes. She remembered his voice catching as he said his vows, and that catch making her own tears flow. She remembered the warmth of his lips as he leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss. She remembered the blur of happy faces as they walked back down the aisle as husband and wife.

The receiving line that followed was boring and exhausting but the ball was fun, at least in that she got to dance almost every dance with her new husband, save the one reserved for her father and a few more that she was diplomatically obligated to share with visiting royalty from neighboring kingdoms.

“Are you happy?” her father David had asked as they spun around the room.

“Very happy.”

“I can tell; you’re positively glowing today. There’s already something different about you.”

Emma had blushed at that, her head immediately filling with images of the night before.

The ball went by so quickly that she was almost surprised when one of her ladies-in-waiting said it was time for them to go.

They had a honeymoon on the coast to look forward to, but this first night was going to be spent at the very hunting lodge that they’d once stolen away to, an easy ride from the castle since they knew they’d be too tired and it would be too late to embark on a long trip immediately after the wedding.

“Oh, thank the gods, there’s food,” Emma said as they walked into the main room, where a servant had set out a selection of fruits and cheeses for them in front of the fireplace in which a lively fire danced. Someone who knew she would barely have time to eat at her own wedding must have arranged for the spread, and Emma would have gladly kissed whoever that was.

She caught Killian staring at her as she ate, and she swiped at her mouth with a napkin in case she’d made a mess of herself. “What?”

He smiled. “Nothing, just… you’re my wife.”

She grinned back. “Yeah.”

When they had slaked their hunger for food, Emma stood and held her hand out for her husband. “Let’s go to bed,” she said, and his expression shifted to lustful in an instant.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They undressed each other slowly, removing the traveling clothes that they had dutifully changed into even though she would have better enjoyed watching Killian peel off his officer’s uniform, just as she would have preferred to feel his hands unlacing the stays on her wedding dress. But there was a protocol to these things, and at least in this case, they had followed it.

Emma was alight with desire as he leaned over and took her nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking it and making her moan. The staff who had readied the hunting lodge for them had returned to the castle, and they could make as much noise as they wanted.

“Do you regret last night?” he asked hesitantly as he lowered her to the bed, his body covering her and caging her in. In the firelight, she could see everything more clearly, but she wasn’t as nervous about being bare in front of him this time.

Emma shook her head, smiling up at him. “Not even a little.” Killian moved his hips against hers, his cock dragging against her flesh, and she winced.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, not wanting to mar this perfect night, but he gave her look that said he didn’t believe her. “I’m the tiniest bit sore, but not enough to matter. I want to make love to my husband.”

Killian planted a line of open-mouthed kisses down her throat, his teeth scraping against her collarbone. “Let me make sure you’re ready first,” he said, a dark rasp in his voice, and then he began working his way down her body, his mouth focusing on her breasts for a while before he covered her flat stomach with little sucking kisses.

His intent became more than clear when he positioned himself lower on the bed, his shoulders spreading her legs apart. Emma couldn’t believe the way he was examining her sex so closely, and she felt the urge to close her legs to his scrutiny, but she held herself still.

“Relax, darling,” Killian said, no doubt noticing that she was tense. “I’m merely going to service you the way you did for me in that closet a few weeks ago. When I had to go make conversation with your mother over dessert while all I could think of was the way you looked with my cock in your mouth.” He placed a closed-mouth kiss right over her opening, and Emma gasped, her leg twitching. “I’ve fantasized about this so many times,” he murmured, and the tickle of his breath on her skin made her tremble. “I’ve caught your scent on my fingers and wished for the freedom to taste you and pleasure you the way you deserve.”

He licked her then, the flat of his tongue running all the way up between her legs, and Emma cried out. Humming with satisfaction, Killian’s lips pressed against her pleasure center, that nub of flesh that was so sensitive. “Now that you’re my wife, I intend to give you every pleasure your body can stand. Is that something you want, Emma?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shuddering as his tongue swept over her again. “Oh, yes.”

She sank into a pool of liquid pleasure after that, losing all sense of embarrassment about the way her husband was acquainting himself with her body as he worked so diligently at his task. At some point, she felt his fingers on her, then inside her, and the combined sensations brought a series of nonsense sounds from her mouth.

When he stopped, Emma almost screamed in frustration, her thighs shaking, her body positively thrumming with need. She wanted him to keep going, wanted to push his face back down between her legs and make him keep licking her until she climaxed, but then he was up and kneeling between her legs and before she knew it he was pushing his cock inside.

It was easier than the night before, the discomfort less, especially now that she was so aroused. Killian again took it slow, working inside her inch by slow inch, staying up on his knees this time instead of stretched out over her like he had been the night before. Emma took the opportunity to watch the way his abdominal muscles flexed as he fucked into her, the way the muscles in his forearms moved as he clutched her hips.

“Killian, you feel so good,” she gasped, her hips circling even as he held himself still, buried to the hilt and straining for control. “Gods, I’m so close, please, oh gods, I need, I need…”

He pressed his thumb down accurately against her tiny bud just as he started to move, and Emma writhed and gasped, aware of every thick slide, every circle of his talented fingers.

Her orgasm was shattering, and Emma cried out loudly as she rode the waves of it, the intensity of which she’d never experienced. She was barely aware of Killian falling just after she did. By the time she became conscious of anything but white-hot pleasure, he was carefully pulling out.

Emma lay unmoving as Killian collapsed at her side with a huff of breath.

“That was… amazing,” she said finally, her throat dry and uncomfortable. “Was it amazing for you?” she asked, turning her head but the rest of her body unmoving

“Aye.” He reached over and pulled her close. Shifting her bottom a little, she felt a wet spot on the sheets and tried to position herself to avoid it. She wished she’d thought to ask Ruby what to do about the fact that things got so sticky afterward. “It was unbelievable,” he added, and then noticed her squirming. “What’s the matter?”

Emma blushed. “There’s a wet spot on the sheets,” she said with a grimace. Why couldn’t these realities of their bodies be whisked away somehow with a magic spell?

“Ah. Hang on just a moment.” He levered himself out of bed, and Emma watched his naked form greedily as he went over to the washbasin and picked up a cloth. Returning to bed, he wiped between her legs gently, and once again Emma was dumbfounded at the intimacy between them. She’d thought many times about what sex would feel like, but never about what it would be like to have a man be so casually intimate with her body in other ways. She decided she quite liked it.

“Shift over,” he said, settling down where she’d been lying when she followed his direction.

“Then you’re just on the wet spot,” Emma pointed out as Killian arranged the blankets over them both.

“I don’t care, love. I’m about to spend the night with my wife in my arms. I couldn’t possibly be happier or more content than I am right now.”

Emma curled into him, relaxing into his embrace. “Me too.” She traced a finger down from the hollow of his throat to his chest. “Although if you want to wake up and do that again in a few hours, I probably wouldn’t be opposed.”

His gentle laugh was like warm syrup. “Have I mentioned how much I adore that you’re insatiable in the bedchamber?”

“No, but I assumed.” Yawning, Emma shifted against him and felt sleep weighing her eyelids down. “Sex is just so much fun.”

“Better than Parcheesi, even?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Slapping his chest, Emma closed her eyes. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs smut #lieutenant duckling ff #my fic #my prompt fic #parcheesi fic #in-spirational

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prydainroyals · 9 months

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“Now, with all that out of the way-- have you any questions or concerns? Best to be voicing them now while you have my ear,” the Captain advised, swiftly moving on.

Arthur could see the Captain clearly did not have some sort of bone to pick, or a grudge, or some strange insecurity relating to Arthur’s status. His intentions seemed to be that he would be firm but fair; this assumption was backed up by what he’d heard about the Captain. At least, that’s what Arthur hoped.

It was...

Refreshing.

He didn’t want to be His Royal Highness.

He just wanted to be.

“None, thank you Sir, Captain,” Arthur answered truthfully as he felt the tension of long travel and social anxieties wash away; dashed like fruitless waves against the firm structure of military life and reasonable expectations.

“A-actually--” Arthur suddenly amended. “Permission to speak?”

The Captain tilted his head curiously and nodded. “Granted.”

Arthur took a breath to steel himself. Either this effort of honesty was going to backfire, or it would help build trust. His mother had always instilled in him how important trust was, even, and especially when, trusting others might seem impossible.

“When I said I don’t expect special treatment, I meant it, Sir. I am grateful, really, for the chance you’ve given me to winter here under your command. And I am grateful for the chance to be a Lieutenant, not a Prince.” He met the Captain’s clear, blue eyes with his own sharp green ones and pushed onward through the terror of laying the groundwork for quality candor.

“I intend to make the most of the opportunity, and... above all, I consider the integrity and safety of the operations here to be far more important than-- well, than my ego, or my status. I’ll do my best not to let you and the others down, Sir.”

... Not the most heroic or valiant dismount, but it would do.

Arthur took another breath, realizing he’d tensed up again.

“Is-- Uh-- Will that be all, Sir?” he asked.

Thoughtfully, the Captain nodded. “... That will indeed be all. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant-- have yourself a good rest, your shift starts at four tomorrow morning so you’ll be needing it.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Arthur did a remarkable job at hiding his disappointment at the lack of a response, and rose to his feet, made for the door of the Captain Commander’s office--

“Lieutenant, wait just a moment--”

Francis stood as well, crossed the office from behind his desk and stood firmly as he regarded Arthur, studied him up and down, took a moment to choose his words.

Arthur swallowed, shoulders tense, but before he could say a thing--

“I wouldn’t have chosen you as Chief Engineering Officer if I had little or no faith in your ability to do the job,” Francis told him. “I hand-pick each and every person under my command, Lieutenant. If you’re working here, it’s because I want you to be.”

“... Thank you, Captain. Thank you.”

- - -

You can spot the exact moment the Prince of Daddy Issues imprints on the Captain like a baby duckling.

- - -

PREV | BEGINNING | NEXT

- - -

#c: arthur #c: francis #atff: story #I promise there's more settings than CAPTAIN'S OFFICE

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searchingwardrobes · 3 years

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Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.

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

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

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

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.

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

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #ghost story #horror #strange lieutenant duckling #lol trust me #happy ending of sorts

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justanotherwannabeclassic · 6 years

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Fighting This War

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.” Lieutenant Duckling AU

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas, everyone, especially to @seastarved , to whome this fic is dedicated. Surprise! I am your Hub Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this Enchanted Forest AU. I’m so glad we share a mutual love of Enchanted Forest AUs. Special thanks to @sambethe , who helped me with this fic many moons ago. Can also be read on AO3.

Fighting This War

Snow gently falls outside as skirts twirl inside, ladies being spun around the ballroom by their suitors, laughing and loving and forgetting the potential disasters that await them on the other side of the castle’s walls. At least, all appear to forget except one, Princess Emma of Misthaven.

She hates the balls, hates what they symbolize when a war is being waged outside of these walls. It seems so superfluous to her, if not downright insulting to those fighting and dying to be hosting one fete after another. Her father tells her that these balls are the best way to honor the men who risk their lives in honor of the crown. Her mother says they are to distract their people from the fear of war, give them something to celebrate, a momentary reprieve.

Emma simply finds it to be a waste.

Men are dying for this kingdom, and here they are, drinking, dining, and dancing within the safe confines of the castle. It’s all so very hypocritical. She knows the cause of the war is just – the opposing kingdom will stop at nothing to see her family’s lands razed to the ground, still so very offended for trespasses of which Emma is no longer sure. So war must be fought, and lives must be lost. The cost, otherwise, would be much too great.

(“What are a few dead soldiers compared to an entire kingdom?” One of her parents’ advisors had once so cruelly asked. His statement may have been true, but no less unaware and detached.)

The war is taking its toll on the kingdom and its people, but if a passerby were to look at this fete, no one would know the wiser, save for the naval officers dressed in their finest uniforms. The truth is that Emma’s parents may be right. Those in attendance certainly appear happy and joyous. Besides, it also gives the men choosing to risk their lives some recognition of their own.

Emma has spent much of the evening charming these men, thanking them for their service to the crown. She walks through the crowd, entertaining some with dances, others with pleasant conversation. Her cheeks hurt from forcing a smile so much, but she thinks this is a small price to pay. They are the ones making the sacrifice, not her.

Towards the end of the evening, one of her parents’ most trusted knights, Sir Lancelot, waves her over. He is standing by two naval officers. Estimating by their decorations, one is a Captain, the other Lieutenant. They’re both handsome, tall with dark hair and blue eyes. Judging by the way the Lieutenant has been carrying himself the entire night, he certainly knows it, too. Not that Emma’s noticed him previously, not at all.

“Princess Emma, I would like to introduce you to two of our finest officers, Captain and Lieutenant Jones,” Sir Lancelot begins. “They serve on our flagship vessel, The Jewel of the Realm. I have been informed by the Admiral that we would have lost a number of battles without their quick maneuvering.”

To the credit of the Captain, a hint of a blush crosses his cheeks.

“Thank you both for your service,” Emma says, nodding her head politely. Captain Jones nods and bows, ever the model of respectability, but his brother catches her eye with a devastating grin.

“The pleasure is all mine, Princess.” He reaches for her hand, bowing dramatically as he brushes his lips against her knuckles. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

“So you believe our meeting is worth the blood of hundreds of men, Lieutenant?”

The color drains for Lieutenant Jones’ face, his jaw drops and eyes widen. Whatever response the man had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Emma takes certain pleasure in her knocking the arrogant naval officer off guard. He attempts to stammer a response – “What…No, Princess…that’s not – “

“Because, trust me, Lieutenant, the safety of our kingdom is the only thing worth that price.”

With that, Emma turns away from the men without so much as proper goodbye. As she disappears into the crowd, she can hear Sir Lancelot’s distinctive laugh intermingled with the Captain scolding the silent Lieutenant about “bad form.” Emma doesn’t know why Lieutenant Jones’ words rankled her so, just that when he said them there was a surge of annoyance. She supposes it probably was a result of her own underlying feelings regarding the frivolity of the party.

Later she finds herself standing on a balcony, peering at her blanketed kingdom. The chill of winter provides a nice contrast to the heat of the ballroom, and the stillness of the outdoors serves as a contrast to the revelry indoors. Emma doesn’t understand how the world can appear so peaceful when it really was the opposite, fraught with war and death.

“Does everything have to be a contradiction?” She asks aloud to herself.

“It doesn’t have to be,” is the reply, and Emma jumps at the sound of the unexpected voice.

“It’s not proper to sneak up on a princess, you know,” Emma says, not bothering to turn around to properly greet the interloper in an attempt to gain control of the situation.

“My apologies,” he says, and Emma finally recognizes the voice as Lieutenant Jones. Emma half expects him to leave or wait for further acknowledgement, but instead he steps forward to stand by her side. It’s a daring move. “I actually came to find you to apologize for offending you earlier.”

“For offending me? I believe what you said went far beyond offending me, Lieutenant. You sullied the sacrifice of good men, for what? To meet a princess?” Emma asked, her voice biting and sharp. She finally turns to him only to be met with blazing blue eyes and a set jaw. He looks annoyed, and that frustrates Emma even more.

“I stand by what you think I said,” he replies, his voice gruff. “But don’t for a second believe, Your Highness, that I do not care about the sacrifices of my fellow sailors. They are my brothers in arms, not yours. They only served you. I bled with them.”

“Then why make light of the war?”

“Because with all of the death and destruction, it has to mean something, don’t you think?” Lieutenant Jones asks her. He moves closer to her, and she can feel his breath on her skin, warm against the cool night air. “If not for the war, neither my brother nor I would be able to honor our names. I never would have had the chance to travel to new lands. And this lowly lieutenant never would have had the chance to converse with his sovereign. I have to look toward the light to continue fighting the darkness.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s war. Of course it is dark. Men are dying. Villages are being destroyed.”

“But that doesn’t mean that there can’t still be good among the bad.” Lieutenant Jones’ expression is so earnest, she almost wants to believe him. It sounds like something her parents would say, and Emma doesn’t know if that makes his words more or less receptive to her ears. “I can prove it to you, if you’d like.”

She smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

-/-

Lieutenant Jones sticks to his word, almost going out of his way in an attempt to prove to her that light can be found in even the darkest of places. It annoys her at first, the presumption that he could challenge and change her viewpoint. It’s not that she’s close-minded, but it’s the arrogance at which he approaches the situation that gets her, so sure that he will be proven right in the end. She actually ignores his first few letters from him as a result, unwilling to encourage his audacity. He is not deterred, however, instead finding encouragement in her silence, almost as if he believes it means she knows he could win.

It probably violates some sort of code or expectation, him writing to her and her writing back. Even as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, he is still far below his station, and is therefore playing a dangerous game. Should Emma get too irritated with his attentions, she could very well have him decommissioned…or worse. Such is the power of the Crown Princess. The Lieutenant must be well aware of this fact, he is not an idiot, but still he persists. This is what draws Emma to him and leads her to finally read and respond to his letters – not his optimism, nor his persistence, but his fearlessness in approaching her. He treats her not as a prize to be sought, but as a mind to be challenged. It is refreshing change to the eligible men who normally approach her. Not that the Lieutenant has made any advances since the first night they met.

It does not go without notice that he writes beautifully. His letters detail his exploits, highlighting the bright moments bookended between battles. He speaks of strange ports, unfamiliar tongues, and overzealous merchants. His stories don’t convince her that he is right about the possible upsides to war, but she still finds value in his words, especially when he talks of his battles.

He writes of those in such vivid detail that Emma can almost imagine she was there with him in the heat of the fight. His words make her feel less trapped within her castle walls, allow her to pretend she has a deeper understanding of war and what it entails. As a child, she once overheard Lancelot and many of her father’s knights commiserate over their war stories, but they pale in comparison to the narrative Lieutenant Jones weaves.

Her heart aches for him, because she can tell the pain he feels when he drafts eulogies for his fallen brothers in arms. She now knows he truly meant what he said that night at the ball, how he truly hates the death of each and every sailor. It seems silly now, and she Emma feels embarrassed by the fact, that she doubted his words back then. She doesn’t tell him so in her responses, she’s a bit too prideful for that, but she does attempt to send back comfort, hope, and support, whatever she feels can uplift his spirits. She hopes it works. Her words seem to, because he often thanks her for acknowledging her letters, a bit of humor shining through here or there.

“I see I’m beginning to win you over, Princess.”

She doesn’t quite understand how the introspective and caring man who writes her these letters can be the same one who so callously reduced their meeting to one of the benefits of war. As their correspondence continues, Princess Emma cannot deny one simple fact.

She is increasingly becoming more and more thankful that they met.

-/-

Months pass, letters are traded, and balls are held.

Tonight is one such night. Just as with the night Emma first met Lieutenant Jones, snow is creeping steadily from the sky, blanketing the gardens and castle in white. Though it is the early vestiges of spring, winter is unforgiving on its hold of the kingdom. Unlike the night where she first crossed the path of Lieutenant Jones, however, she’s spent the weeks leading to this night waiting in high anticipation.

Not that she tells him that.

Instead she smiles coyly as he spins her around the ballroom in an intricate waltz, unwilling to let on just how happy she is to her lieutenant again. Emma’s long since stopped trying to discover when he became “her lieutenant” in her head – a person isn’t one to own – but he is reserved in a special place in her heart and mind that no one’s quite occupied in the same way before. It’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but instead of running, she chases the feeling.

“You’ve cut your hair,” Emma comments, her fingers lightly brushing against the nape of his neck. The last she had seen of him, he wore his hair in a neat queue. Now, it is cropped short. She thinks he looks better this way. Not that she tells him that, either.

“Aye, but it wasn’t by choice. I came a bit too close the wrong end of a blade,” he responds, his wince at the memory exaggerated for her amusement. “Thankfully, a bit of a haircut doesn’t detract from my devilishly handsome good looks, so no harm done.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“That I’m devilishly handsome? Princess, I was hoping you would have noticed by now.” Lieutenant Jones throws at her a wicked, teasing smile, his eyes alight with mirth. He sobers quickly at her responding glare. “Honestly, I didn’t know you wanted me to tell you everything. I can, if you so desire.”

“I do so desire, Lieutenant.”

“Killian. If I’m to reveal my darkest of stories, you should at least call me by my given name,” her Lieutenant – Killian – responds. For a moment, he looks nervous, as if he knows he is overstepping his bounds, but he recovers quickly. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything. You painted me the most wonderful pictures in your letters, Killian, that I really do want to hear them all,” Emma answers, noting how blushes at her compliment and the sound of his name on her lips. “But since you apparently were not so keen on telling me of your more dangerous exploits, then I want to hear that. What else was so dangerous that you felt like you couldn’t tell me?”

He is silent for a moment, his movements slowing as he considers her statement. Emma doesn’t care that they’ve begun to fall out of step with the music, far too intrigued by the series of emotions that are playing out across his handsome face. “You want something dangerous then? Truly dangerous? The most dangerous one of all?”

“Do as your princess commands, Killian.”

“Okay,” he says, steeling himself. “There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you.”

His statement may have not been what she expected, but Lieutenant Killian Jones is right – this is the most dangerous story of all.

Lieutenant Jones – Killian – looks at her with such deep blue eyes. They’ve since stopped moving, standing still in a storm of spinning dancers. He’s biting his lower lip, looking completely uncertain and doubting the leap of faith he just took. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but certainly one of intention, and his intention is one not meant for someone of his station.

He is lowborn, has not even an acre of land to his name. He confessed as much in his earlier letters, conveyed his desire to make something of the Jones name that meant so little to generations prior. She is a princess. She has expectations to marry, produce heirs, carry on her family’s name and reputation in an entirely different sort of way. Any sort of match or romantic liaison between them would be wrought in scandal. Emma can already envision the fit her parents’ advisors would throw if she were to announce that she intended to court a Naval Lieutenant.

But still…she remembers that her mother married a shepherd, and that her parents raised her with the promise of True Love, even if she doesn’t really know what it means. She recalls that in the early planning stages of the ball, her mother made passing comments about the man whose letters Emma held close to her chest, a knowing look in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she thinks, revealing a bit of herself to her Lieutenant would not be so terrible.

So she follows his lead, and takes a leap.

“Good.”

His answering smile is wide and brilliant, and one of the most beautiful things she has even seen. She’s starting to believe that maybe he was right the first night they met – there might be some light worth the cost of the darkness of war.

Not that she tells him that.

-/-

She kisses him on the docks, his fellow sailors whistling and her guards glowering as their lips meet in goodbye. She tells him that she wishes that he stay safe, and he tells her not to worry, that he will be fine.

“I’ll only be an ocean away,” he says with a wink, not at all addressing her real insecurities, the ones that invade her dreams and warp them into nightmares of him dying in the heat of battle. “I’ll be back, Emma, I swear it.”

“Just promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

“Of course, love, I’m a survivor.”

He kisses her one final time, stronger than before, and she returns it with just as much fervor, earning more jeers from the crew and a distinct clearing of throats from her guards. And then he is gone to his ship and back to the war, with the promise of more letters, one every time they make port, and she is left waiting, always waiting for a peace that won’t come quickly enough.

If she struggled with the war before Lieutenant Killian Jones entered her life, she has no idea how to describe her feelings now. Her sleep is plagued by nightmares of watching him die, her standing by unable to do anything to save him (And she can’t, so far away in her castle.) Blockades take new meaning, and she hangs onto every word of reports from the fronts when she sits in on council meetings. If anyone notices her renewed interests in the more tactical aspects of the war, they don’t comment on it.

They do, however, comment on other things, namely her blossoming romance with the naval lieutenant. Her parents seem happy for the most part, and encourage her along in her quest for True Love – not that she would call what she and her lieutenant have that. (Yet.) The councilors, who care not for her heart, balk at the idea, some more open than others. One night she thinks she finds hope when she hears one of her father’s more trusted men argue to “Let them be. We all know how young love is,” only for her hopes to be truly dashed when it is followed with, “Chances are, the boy will be killed and we won’t have to worry. ‘Tis the way of war.”

Her heart seizes at that, hearing confirmation that her nightmares could become a reality. She doesn’t like being powerless like this, having her heart held by someone in a place and situation over which she has no control. It makes her feel weak, and she loathes the emotion. Her mother finds her crying in her chambers one night, unable to reconcile bother her overwhelming love and terror while simultaneously drowning in the loneliness of not having her lieutenant by her side.

Her mother holds her, whispers soothing words in a way that reminds Emma of her childhood. She feels foolish crying like this. She is one and twenty, not a toddler afraid of the dark, but that thought only makes her cry harder.

“I know it hurts. Love is rarely easy. That’s what makes it special,” her mother says, fingers stroking Emma’s hair. “Early on, your father and I were separated quite a bit, and every time we parted, I would worry. It gets better, though, easier with time. I promise.”

Emma tries to take her mother’s words to heart. The whole thing is just so confusing to her. She wants to talk to Killian about it, her conflicting emotions, her fears of her death, how members of the council seem to even be wishing for it. She begins dozens of letters, and plans to use her mother’s birds to send them, but the words don’t come easy and guilt consumes her when they do. She doesn’t want to worry him with her own trivial concerns. He is fighting for his life and the kingdom as she sits idly in her palace. It would be unfair of her to unload on him. Besides, in the letters she does receive from him, he sounds so hopeful and happy. She can’t take that away.

His letters are just as powerful and descriptive as before, but this time his words are laced with flirtation and innuendo, each letter beginning with “My dearest, Emma” and closing with “to the best of women.” He tells her how the golden rays of the sun’s early light simply cannot compare to the brightness of her hair – “a pale imitation of your beauty, my love.” He tells that he dreams of her smile, and muses that his brother’s ship must have been named after her, because truly she is the greatest treasure in this, or any realm. He tells her that he cannot wait to return to her, that nothing can stand between him and her – not even a war.

“I hope you’ve realized by now that I am right about this whole war. It’s a terrible, terrible thing, but it’s brought me to you. You’re proof to this orphan that amidst darkness, there can be bright, brilliant light. You are my light, princess, the reason I keep fighting.”

After she didn’t rebuke him for his original confession that he constantly thought of her, he initially followed it with a tease about the reason being that he needed to stay alive to prove her wrong, because he “does so loathe anyone considering him to be in the wrong.” His letters tell a different story, though, one that warms her heart and encourages her to face her own torment of inactivity.

When her own doubts begin to overtake her, she thinks back on that one week that they shared together after the ball and before he returned to see. They had been so happy then, flirting and courting, taking long walks around the gardens and stealing kisses in shadowed corridors and empty rooms. They had talked then, not as princess and lieutenant, but as a young man and woman on the cusp of young love. It had been nice to talk to him face-to-face, to hear and not read his words. In person, he had been just as witty, charming even, no matter how ardently he denied it – still denies it, even. “I’m not your father, love.”

And he isn’t. Killian Jones is his own man, but just as Snow White fell for the shepherd-turned-prince, Emma takes certain delight in the fact that she’s falling for someone of lowly birth, as well. There’s a certain poetry to it. Her parents found True Love in one another, and though she’s not ready to admit she and Killian are there quite yet, the thought grounds her. But rest assured, Emma is ready for two simple things: for the war to end, and for her to see her Lieutenant again.

-/-

The war ends.

A blockade followed by a siege is what convinces the opposing kingdom to surrender, unwilling to allow any more of its citizens to starve and bleed. It’s a nasty business, war, and on human level, Emma feels uncomfortable with just what had to be done to ensure victory and protect their kingdom. Treaties still need to be signed and drafted, of course, but those will come quickly. As princess, she’ll be joining her parents in the negotiations. A not small part of her is eager to flex her diplomatic skills, to learn the nuances of soft power after a hard fought battle. One day, she will be Queen and the responsibility will fall to her shoulders. She hopes that time is far away. She’s not quite ready for that duty, nor does she want to lose her parents ever. But, her ascending to the throne is an inevitably, so Emma must learn.

In her spare moments, Emma counts down until she can once again see Killian. The war’s end means he can return home, and when he returns home, their courtship can continue. Every now and then, she finds herself glancing down to her bare finger, and wonders how soon it will be adorned with a ring. She also wonders that if – when – they become engaged, how Killian will fare by her side as a member of the royal family. He’ll be Prince Consort, of course, as he has no titles nor any land. Emma doubts he’ll mind.

She’s never been one to fantasize about weddings, but more often than not, she finds her thoughts drifting to balls and white dresses adorned with jewels, Killian dressed in Naval regalia. She daydreams of a marriage, of becoming a partnership, him and her. They compliment one another quite well and he certainly challenges her. Her mother always advised her to fall for someone who doesn’t allow you to be complacent, and that suits Emma just fine.

But then the worst happens, and Emma’s dreams go up in smoke.

News of the war, it seems, had not spread to everyone. An enemy vessel had seen a ship with Misthaven banners, and a skirmish had erupted. Her father tells her this gently, her mother by her side, and it’s then that Emma realizes that it hadn’t been any ship that was attacked, but the Jewel of the Realm. Captain Liam Jones is dead, they tell her. There’s no word on Killian.

For as many tears as Emma had shed during their early separation, Emma cries little now. She is oddly resolute. In shock, some say, and maybe she is. But Emma knows she cannot allow herself to fall apart, not when Killian’s world has been upended.

Killian isn’t dead. That she refuses to believe. She would know, wouldn’t she? Her parents have that sort of bond, why shouldn’t she and Killian? They love one another, don’t they? So, no, he isn’t dead.

But Liam is. That she knows. And if Liam is dead, Killian needs her. His brother means everything to him. She can tell by the reverent way Killian had written about him in his letters. Emma had been hoping, perhaps naively, to someday meet that man that means so much to the man she loves. But, she’ll never get that chance. Killian will also never get the chance for everything he’d been dreaming of. It’s the beginning of a nightmare, and she knows not when she’ll wake.

It grows worse after the Jewel is spotted heading toward port. She’d commanded that she be alerted when it was seen on the horizon, and she hurries down to the docks, her skirts swirling around her legs when a courier brings word. Her parents follow along, diligent in their care for her. They don’t speak it aloud, but they also believe Killian to be dead. But they’re wrong. They must be. They stand together as the Jewel comes closer. Surely, it’s an odd sight watching the royal family huddle so close together. It’s against normal protocol, surely, but Emma doesn’t care and neither do her parents. Killian means something to Emma, after all. After what feels like an eternity, she can finally make out then men on the Jewel. Most of them are strangers to her, but there are a few familiar faces she recognizes from the balls. The Jewel, itself, appears worse from wear, but it’s sailing. That’s what matters. It’s seaworthy enough to bring these men home, and she prays to every god she can think that one of those men is Killian. Then, she sees him. Emma is unable to make him out particularly well, but she knows it is him, knows it deep down in her bones. She exhales deeply, and her father claps his hand over her shoulder when she does. He’s home. He’s safe. After what feels like an eternity, the ship is docked and the gangplank lowered. Emma watches as the sailors disembark. Her parents thank each one, and they look grateful. Hollow still, but the appear to appreciate the gesture. Rarely anyone gets greeted by the King and Queen this way. Emma ought to greet them, as well, but she’s too busy waiting on Killian. Then, realizing that she doesn’t actually have to wait, she rushes up the gangplank to the deck of the ship. “Where’s Killian?” Emma asks one of the remaining stragglers, and he indicates that Killian had gone down the Captain’s Quarters. It would be the height of impropriety to go down unattended, but Emma hardly cares at this point. She gathers her skirts and climbs down the ladder. If Killian notices, he doesn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he remains sitting a desk, quill scratching into a thick book. A captain’s logbook, Emma thinks.

“Killian?”

He looks up then, and Emma’s heart sinks. His expression is so broken, so sad. Dark circles are under his eyes, and his beard is thicker. She wants to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything will be okay. But that would be a lie, so she remains standing by the ladder.

“Princess,” he greets, and there’s no warmth in his tone. She pretends it doesn’t hurt.

“Killian, I’m…” She stumbles over her words, unsure of what to say next. Everything that comes to mind sounds so small compared to his monumental loss. Knowing she needs to say something, she settles on the simplest phrase, even if it does make her feel stupid. “I’m so sorry about Liam.”

“You should be,” Killian says, and it’s as if he’s just slapped her. He stands from the desk, pushing outward with an excessive use of force. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to report to the Admiral regarding the mission and my brother’s death.”

Emma holds her ground, even as she feels like crying. This is not the reunion she imagined. Not anything close. “Killian, what are you saying?”

“I’d rather not talk right now, Princess.”

“Well, I’d rather, so we are,” she says. She moves in front of the ladder. He’d have to physically move her out of way to leave, something she doubts he’d do. “What did you mean, by I should be sorry?”

“It was your war, wasn’t it? Liam wouldn’t have been dead if not for that,” he explains. He doesn’t look her in the eyes when he tells her this, but she can hear the bubbling rage beneath her words.

“I didn’t ask for this war, and I certainly didn’t want him to die.” She doesn’t shrink away from him, even as her heart breaks. “Besides, he knew what he was getting into when he—“

“You don’t get to say what he knew or didn’t know!” Killian argues. He looks up to her then, and Emma can see the red rimming his eyes. She wants to reach out to him, but doesn’t.

“I suppose I don’t, but I also don’t think you need to be yelling at me like this,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want this, never.”

“Then leave, Emma.”

“I don’t want to leave you right now. You’re hurting.” This time she reaches out to him, but it is Killian’s turn to shrink away.

“Go.”

Tears in her eyes, she acquiesces to his request. She does not tell him she loves him, and thinks maybe, just maybe she had been right all those months ago when they’d first met. There is no light.

-/-

It’s been weeks since she last spoke to Killian. Her heart feels as if it’s been torn from her chest, and crushed in front of her. She’d cried after she’d left him. Her father had been out for Killian’s blood, but her mother must have talked him out of anything too drastic.

She misses him. He might have hurt her, but she misses him. What’s left of her heart longs for him. Despite his silence, she still wants to comfort him. Is this what love is like? It’s something she asked her mother.

“He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, but grief can make even the best of us lose our minds,” her mother had told her, her words providing a small comfort. Her mother offers no assurances that Killian will come back around, a clear sign that she doesn’t expect him to. There have been many times over the past few weeks that Emma has considering taking that step and offering an olive branch. But then she reminds herself that she did nothing wrong in this. The war hadn’t been her choice. Liam joining the Navy hadn’t been her choice. An enemy ship attacking hadn’t been her choice. Nothing had been her fault in this. If Killian wants to speak to her, he will have to make the first move. Recalling his grief, Emma doubts he will. But just as he done so before, he proves her wrong yet again.

He visits her on a snowy day. White snow blankets the castle’s grounds, and cold envelops the land, similar to the day they first met. In fact, it’s almost the year anniversary of that day. Emma is sitting by a roaring fire, a quilt thrown over her legs, when he comes. She’d been trying her hand at needlepoint, and her fingers have been pricked more times than she can count, but she carries on.

It is her mother who tells Emma he is here. “I can send him away if you’d like. Your father would surely prefer it, but this is your choice.”

“Send him in.”

Her mother gives her one parting look, and then privacy. Her mother trusts her to do what’s best for her heart, and that is something Emma appreciates.

“Hello,” Killian greets when he enters the parlor. Emma doesn’t rise to greet him, but she sits her poor attempt at needlework aside.

Killian tries to approach her, but thinks better of it. Instead of talking, they sit in silence for a few moments. There have been so many words left unsaid between them. Emma thinks about how months ago, she’d longed for nothing more except a moment to be with him, however now she is afraid of having her heart crushed further.

“Why are you here?” she asks, and she hates how brittle her voice sounds.

“I came to apologize. I behaved quite dishonorably the last time we talked,” Killian tells her. He moves closer to her, even if his movements resemble those of a skittish kitten. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I know. It doesn’t absolve me in any way, but I was hurting,” he explains. “Liam was,” he voice cracks, “he was all I had for the longest time, and I didn’t know how to act without him. Rest assured, had he been alive, he would have cuffed me for treating you like that.”

“Had he been alive, I doubt you would have acted that way.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” he admits. He looks away from her and toward the fire, shamefaced. “After you left, I immediately regretted what I said. I wanted to follow after you, and beg for your forgiveness, but I was a coward.”

“I would have given it to you,” Emma says immediately, and it’s true. She would have forgiven him, she would have welcomed him back into his arms.

“And now?”

“You hurt me quite a bit.”

“Aye.” Killian rakes his hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than the day he had departed once again for the war, but nowhere near as long as it had been when they met. “Before all this, I had a plan, you know.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t mean to sound so interested, but she does.

“I was going to ask your father for your hand. I’d already had a ring, and I had been practicing how I’d ask with Liam. He said I was abysmal, but your father would still be a fool to turn me down,” he explains. His eyes take a glassy quality as he speaks, and Emma knows her own eyes reflect the same. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she refrains from wiping it away.

“I would have liked that.”

“And now?”

“And now I think my father would definitely turn you down,” Emma says with a small laugh. It’s not a confirmation of her answer, because she truly doesn’t know how’d she respond. Her heart had swooped when he’d made his confession. It had been everything she’d wanted, but his previous silence still hurt her, far more than his words ever could.

“I’ve been thinking about the night we first met,” Killian tells her, changing the topic of their conversation. Emma leans toward him, but says nothing more in a silent encouragement for him to continue. “I was naïve then, talking to you of all those grandiose ideas of how meeting you was worth the war.”

“So you don’t believe it now?” She asks, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

“Yes and no. I’d told you about how I’d lost brothers in arms, but it wasn’t a loss quite like…like Liam,” he says softly. “I wouldn’t have said anything of the sort to you had I lost him then.”

“Oh.”

“But at the same time, if I’d never met you, I probably would have drowned myself in the bottle,” he tells her. He reaches out to take her hand, and Emma does not pull it away. “Thinking of you kept my grief from completely consuming me. I stumbled, clearly, the day I was reunited with you. And these few weeks without you have been hell. But if you had never come into my life, if I had never fallen in love with you, I don’t think I could have survived it.”

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“I’m not, not after how I behaved to you,” Killian tells her. “I know I don’t deserve it. I doubt I will, but I hope, someday, to find forgiveness.”

“Of course.” They don’t say anything after that. Emma squeezes is hand, and pulls Killian into a hug. In the comfort of her arms, he cries.

She doesn’t let go.

-/-

Killian proposes in the early spring, and they wed in the summer.

The heat is unbearable, but they solider through. Killian spins her around the ballroom for the first dance, and Emma laughs. The kingdom is in peace, and the happiness and frivolity does not feel misplaced. In fact, it feels deserved after everything they’ve been through. Liam’s presence is missed, but they find their ways to honor him. She commissions a painting based on a drawing Killian had made of Liam, and it hangs in one of the royal halls. Killian wears his brother’s sabre during the ceremony, and no one stands by his side by choice as they recite their vows.

It’d taken some time for Killian to win her father over, but he had done so. It had taken numerous talks between the two men, and a personal conversation between Emma and and father, one where he’d asked her where he heart lay. She’d told him the truth – it was, and will forever be, with Killian Jones.

She might not have met him if not for the war. He wouldn’t have been without his brother if not for the war. The war had made their lives fuller and shattered them all the same. But in the end, they found the light amongst they darkness. They found one another.

And they lived happily ever after.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #captain swan ff #lieutenant duckling #s writes fic

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snowbellewells · 5 years

Note

19 and 23

Thanks so much for the asks @tomeandflickcorner !!

I really appreciate them, and I definitely have answers for these two!

#19 Fic to Write/Start in the New Year: There are several ff stories on the docket that I would like to dig into come the New Year. The first is not a brand new project but one which got brushed aside in favor of other events and MCs that I took on last year. It is a several part Lieutenant Duckling fic that I was writing for @kmomof4 originally. There are at least three, if not four, more planned segments to that fic which I would love to get back to.

I also have a Enchanted Forest Lieutenant Duckling fic which would probably be around 8-10 chapters and do some mashing up of Princess Bride, PotC, Odysseyus, etc. That probably sounds strange, but I don’t want to give too much away, so for now let’s just say I have a plan and will hopefully get to start on it soon.

There are also some movie AUs I have excitement for and a LONGER one shot ( that I might even get brave enough to try CSLB for if it happens again) running around in my mind. And I would definitely try to do something for CSSNS if Tumblr doesn’t implode and it happens again this summer...

(Whew! That seems like a lot doesn’t it?)

#23 Things I Wanted to Write but Didn’t Get To:

This is a long list too! I had so many Christmas ff ideas that I just didn’t get to attempt this year. It seemed like the holiday was upon me and then over before I had hardly realized it! I wanted to do an AU CS version of the Hallmark Channel movie Moonlight and Mistletoe, I had another longer chaptered fic idea in mind which would have been CS modern au, I had a Black Friday one started which featured teenage CS in a modern au setting, and I also had an idea for a Christmas-y Captain Book friendship oneshot. None of those seem to be happening now (definitely not in time anyway) I don’t know if anyone has interest in reading Christmas fic in January! (Maybe next year!!)

Thanks again for the lovely asks!! 😊

#year end fic ask game #year ff asks #snowbellewells answers asks #thanks @tomeandflickcorner

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libidomechanica · 3 years

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“when chaste the could make my grieved his”

Long slumber when chaste the could make my grieved his due at a strongly stings the precincts in flaming oer with the principal: smooth Anthea for a lieutenant their eyes anothers right and the charge,

as not my soul, while to pick up. Part of her doves, “what difficult command.

Not the world like to a scarlot berries in the ancient still allow” by setting my trewand peasants. When some small,—

loves too lately scannd, of beautys graced, and swallowing:

and yet men dont think if the sequel of Petrarchs self with their common Earth, or through horrible music and shame and made his first three child

whom compare with cypress green neon. T you could not, but to this one drunk at one, ye, who thoughtful Soul to shake, of which was slain him seem exceeding on him eyes

which tumbled inward room, and stranger ye hae then hey, for It rolls the pale flickering Muse to low dejected here, each lovely Nature was not to be the proof

how deep in my letters Russias might make a pear, such strange saloon, much in hand in the little words (and—should the new-mown hair, and found and feelings win;

and then I am no pick out a Word of crime; the Spring the Wine you see,

o pity, and mother againe,) a pamphleteer on guano and ducklings; but within the world drops dead.

Scarce for the delicate asylum, I ate your Coranall. Her face.

The day, this a dozen strike a length by a mossy stone nor to Times ways beside—

nor earth forests eke, may quickly before than high mountainside two legs prowl,

and time wild create a shawl, whose whole empress or cupboard of it, as a strong extreme effect (to tire: a callow stile to thee living from tigress: of all their congratulation, but now but in smiling by his silken net,

and still remained to make a Couch—for what a tree one perspective many tours, have suppose him not those who knew what the will have accused me leaves fall and curse your dream.

O, Welling-place, wonderd why not know;—I wish to be great need we are who many false long with but tears.

Her majesty, on such exaggeration— a moment

so than wealth all his garment of books, rhyme, but tears) dry. Into one that Psyche were about through a female modern history scarce more than the bay. That satisfies my chief city

listens, stop thine own begin? I know

that thou gate whomeer the gourd overscored, when you waste,

I know her cheeks as pale as his man? Seemd to the new-bought her— shed rather the backward,

flesh and far beyond all except to reap hell, I am not be scan, with amber keeping,

who for To-day of pathos, and flow; now the silence breast may give it out, and lave europe from whence, lovely Nature whole center of crimson holly-hoaks,

among weeds, or more free! I rose, in the singing to stab herself up to drowns witness of this face and undiscover banks of the sence that was seene him comb his horses be;

and I almost plaining into Clay: and I make their bargain shade: she flung it to my mouth

to spoil, and who was so fair as you said, “in themselves about us, bats, or burnt, turning others lay on the dull middle they could soon

and then he fingers stretched in their ‘forte;’ but no such a present to hear and violently. Where no herds ballads which two can not how;

Simile, the ragged wood, for any in many word! Flipped into her many swine. and of love drink coffee

to sleep, somewhat laid itself and water was not the act of gems, and

im always running inside my headlesse beneath through deckd with eager eye in passion which no people of greene, colour a tree, be this crooked for years of yore,

and magnificent large eyes and all you and I with all know: ‘margaret! “To be, or suite of longing, that were sadly change, that make you up. Have spoke by side, youd return the charm that colours flee away!”’”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #116 texts

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onceuponaprincessworld · 7 years

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CaptainSwan MC FF Recs

Hello everyone, there are so many great fics in this fandom by very talanted authors, so here is a new list of some COMPLETE Multichapter Fics that are totally worth reading. Hope you enjoy! 😉 📖

If you are looking for more recs you can find my others lists here.

P.s I try to tag authors by their tumblr name, if you know any that I haven’t tagged please let me know.

a one time thing (and other untruths), @weezlywrites

"She supposes the reason she tells him is the same reason she kept his phone number after all those weeks." Pregnancy has a way of throwing a wrench in one's plans.

More Than A Memory, @ive-always-been-a-pirate

He didn't remember much. He didn't remember her. The accident changed their lives and sent Emma into a tailspin, desperate for Killian to come back to her. But when he finally wakes up from his coma, the past six years are gone. He has no recollection of their love, but Emma refuses to give up on them. She's got her work cut out for her, but some memories are worth fighting for.

Out of the Frying Pan, @welllpthisishappening

Emma Swan is only doing this for one reason, well, make that two. To get her show’s numbers back up and, maybe, impress her son. She doesn’t like admitting to that second one though.

Killian Jones is doing this for absolutely, positively, just one reason. To expand his restaurant. And maybe get Regina off his back. So that’s kind of two reasons.

Neither one of them is doing a year-long Food Network all-star competition because they’re celebrity chefs and there’s not really any other choice. Of course not. And neither one of them is enjoying it because they maybe, kind of, sort of enjoy each other. That would be insane.

The Usual Story!, @icapturedkindness

What happens when the hot guy Emma yelled at in Starbucks for spilling her coffee, is her devilishly handsome and rich playboy new boss Killian Jones?

A Ghost in Me, @madjm

AU. Killian Jones is a master thief, known only as Hook. His life is complicated when he's asked to steal a necklace from security expert Emma Swan, and it opens up their shared past.

Search and Rescue, onceuponajollyroger

When Killian Jones, a rescue swimmer for the US Coast Guard, pulled Emma Swan from the unforgiving sea he had no idea she would end up rescuing him right back. [Captain Swan Modern AU]

Flight, @captainoftherollyjoger

Emma has been asked to move to England for six months for work. With a six month old baby boy, it isn't exactly ideal. On the flight she meets a kind stranger who turns her entire world upside down.

Caribbean Shores, @whimsicallyenchantedrose

AU. After a nasty breakup with her long-time boyfriend, Emma Swan takes a job as the security guard at Once Upon a Time Academy. She reluctantly agrees to attend the school’s annual fundraising gala, Caribbean Shores. Prepared for a boring night, Emma has no idea what’s in store for her when Killian Jones, the sexy new owner of the Jolly Roger Marina, is seated next to her.

Separate Lives, @lenfaz

Set after 3x20 "Kansas". After saving the town one more time, Emma decided to return to New York, leaving her past behind. Three years later, she realizes that might be not have been the best decision.

not a romcom movie, @captainnagata

Modern Lieutenant Duckling. "I'm not interested in being made the butt monkey of the school, or being some social experiment where you're trying to have me elected prom king or what have you, until we realise we've been falling in love all along and have our first kiss on an Adele song. Not interested. Savvy?" "I – I'm not planning to fall in love with you." "Good. Neither am I."

Make You Feel My Love, @xerxesrises

Emma Swan is trying to make her way in the world with her young son, Henry, and failing miserably. Enter Killian Jones, a damaged soul himself, and his young son, Liam. Can these two broken people build a life and a family together? Modern AU.

Lethologica, @lifeinahole27

Maybe if they could find the right word to describe their friendship, everything else would fall into place.

Icing on the Cake, @startswithhope

"is that REALLY what you want us to write on your custom-order cake?"

Modern AU / Killian and Emma meet over the phone and enter into an unlikely partnership.

Knock, Knock, @charmingturkeysandwich

Emma Swan has made the best of her crappy apartment ever since she became best friends with her neighbor, Ruby. But when Ruby moves out and a loud Brit takes her place, the thin walls and lack of space are suddenly not so endearing. After a particularly stressful day, Emma decides to confront the nightmare next door, and entirely against her better judgment, she might just be making a friend.

The Pirate Next Door, @the-captains-ayebrows

Captain Swan Modern AU: A handsome stranger moves into the apartment right next to Emma Swan’s. Emma isn’t ready for romance, but what harm could come of making friends with the charming self-proclaimed “pirate” whose bedroom shares a wall with hers?

This Time Around, @shippingtheswann

Emma is working as a fourth year resident at a hospital when a ghost from her past shows up and throws everything for a loop! Can Emma work through her past feelings and fears and allow Killian back into her life? CS AU

Theoretically, @this-too-too-sullied-flesh

Emma's friend Killian has a reputation for sleeping around (and so does she). When he gives her a surprising gift on her thirtieth birthday, something about it unleashes the question she's been wondering for years: is he really as good as they say?

The Kilted Stripper, @hooklineandswan

AU. If someone would have told her a month ago that she would fall in love with a stripper she would have called them insane because that would never happen to Emma Swan. At least not until she met Killian Jones.

Recipe For Disaster, Librarybelle

Michelin Star Chef Killian Jones is surprised when he see Social worker Emma Swan eating alone in his restaurant. After a short meal together he is hooked, only problem is she's dating his sous chef! CS Modern AU!

The Trouble with Faking It, @nowforruin

Killian Jones is one drunken mistake from never setting foot on a movie set again. Enter Emma Swan, the woman his manager has paid to pretend to date him and clean up his image. It seems straightforward enough…but there’s always trouble with faking it.

Perched a Few Feet Above the Water, @irishswan

Killian is a single father. He and his 2 year old child are lounging by a public pool when his child accidentally falls in the water. Emma is the lifeguard that saves the kid’s life.

Open Your Eyes, Montana-Rosalie

Killian leads a lonely life growing flowers. Emma hadn't seen color in a long time.

Sharing Space, @singingisfun

After two years, Emma comes for visit and Killian offers to let her use his room while she’s there.

Poem Without Words, @totheendoftheworldortime

Looking to make some extra money, college senior Emma Swan takes a post as a model for Professor Killian Jones' art class. Sparks fly on both sides. Will they give into temptation?

As Real As You Want It To Be, @ive-always-been-a-pirate

Teaching at the same school as Killian Jones was both infuriating and distracting, but when he throws Emma under the bus for the last time, she devises a plan to get back at him. After all, nobody likes to go to a wedding alone. Time for some CS AU fake dating :) Rated M for possible smut & sassy language.

Warm Nights & Firelight, @oubliette14

When in the wake of a messy breakup Emma makes the impulsive decision to return home to her parent's ranch in the Rockies, she certainly doesn't expect to find a strange Irish guy living in what was once her apartment over the garage, and she definitely doesn't imagine that the home she couldn't wait to be rid of five long years ago would be the very place her heart begins to heal.

#cs rec ff #cs rec fic #cs ff #cs rec #my rec list #captain swan fanfiction #cs fanfiction #CS fanfics #CS fic rec #cs ff rec

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