A voracious reader who loves fanfiction, and sometimes writes it

A very quick glimpse into Emma and Killian’s life with Henry.

A/N: This is it my dudes!! I’ve wanted to write a sort of wrap up to this series since I started it almost 2 years ago and I finally did it!! Thank you endlessly to my best friends @donteattheappleshook and @the-darkdragonfly for continuing to try to drag me kicking and screaming back into writing fic, and to Maddie for mentioning how much she loves an “Accidental non-bio daddy” who says “oh the woman I like is having a baby. guess I’m a dad now” because hello that’s Killian in this story. 

Anyway, this series is now complete! Also yes I do keep saying that this is my very last idea and yet here I still am. Let’s not talk about it…

Rated M for a lil smut in the beginning 

2979 words

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Nearly two years together doesn’t seem like a long time in the grand scheme of things, especially considering the fact that Emma is dating someone who’s apparently been alive for almost one hundred times that long. But still, she feels like she’s known Killian Jones for her entire life. Sometimes she wonders whether she has. She usually tries not to dwell on the fact that he’d met her parents before she was even born– the magical aspects of her life are still pretty new to her despite how long it’s been since she found out about her origins. Either way, though, she often finds herself thinking of the two of them as kindred spirits. He had called them that once, and it’s always stuck with her. 

She feels she knows everything about him. She’s used to him to the point that she can’t imagine going through life without him. He’s become a beacon of hope, strength, and stability for not only herself, but for her son, too. Having Killian in their lives is as simple and natural as breathing, something she’s grown accustomed to in every aspect of her life. 

Well, almost every aspect of her life. 

If there’s one thing she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to, it’s waking up to the feeling of his lips pressing softly to her neck, his tongue dipping out to trace over the line of her pulse. There was a time not too long ago when she would have attempted to cause bodily harm to anyone who dared to wake her, but things have changed over the few years since she met Killian, and now, this is her favorite way to wake up. 

She can feel him smirk against her skin and she knows that she’s given herself away. He always tells her that he can tell when she wakes up even if she tries to hide it, citing that her breathing changes and her pulse quickens, and that must be true if the way he slowly drags himself lower along her body is any indication. 

“Morning,” he practically growls, his voice deep and gravely with sleep in a way that has her guessing that he didn’t wake up all that long ago himself. 

“It is,” she breathes. A sigh escapes her parting lips when he dips his head beneath the t-shirt she wore to bed last night, his tongue warm and gentle against her nipple and leaving a cool tingle in its wake when he slides it along her skin to her other breast.

“Good morning, then,” he chuckles deeply against her heart, the greeting going in one ear and out the other. 

Two months later, here is the conclusion to my CS Gift Exchange story, written for @nachocheese-itsmycheese​. I didn’t anticipate it being five chapters when I started writing it, but as you can see, that’s exactly what happened! This chapter is not nearly as long as the last one, but it includes everything I thought was necessary to wrap everything up for this version of Emma and Killian. I hope you enjoy it, along with the art that is meant to show their progression through their relationship. 

Many thanks to my friend and beta, @hookedmom​, and to @motherkatereloyshipper​, who provided information about how certain things mentioned in the chapter work in the UK.

Story Summary: As children in the same foster home, Emma Swan and Killian Jones became best friends. After being separated, they lost touch for 14 years and thought they would never see each other again. A chance meeting in London changes everything. 

Rating: M (for smut - which is separated by double asterisks in chapters 4 & 5)

Words (chapter 5): 5140

Words (total): app. 37,730

Find the entire story on Tumblr: Ch1  Ch2  Ch3  Ch4

Also on Ao3 and ffn

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The fifth time Emma Nolan shared a bed with Killian Jones was on the eve before they left for London to begin their new life together. They had much to celebrate and didn’t fall asleep until almost midnight. When the alarm on Killian’s phone went off at three AM, he grumbled a curse and tugged his arm out from under Emma to grab the annoying device off of the nightstand.

“Swan,” he rasped, “time to wake up.” Turning on the lamp, he squinted at the sudden brightness.

She stirred a little, but didn’t answer. He kissed her forehead, then pushed lightly at her shoulder. “Wake up, Love. We have to get ready to go to the airport.”

Groaning loudly, she flipped over onto her back, throwing an arm over her face. Killian dragged the covers off of her, taking in her body, clad only in purple panties and a white tank top. He bent to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, teasing the soft skin with the tip of his tongue.

“Ugh, don’t kiss me. I need a shower,” she complained, trying to scoot away from him.

Chapter 9: A Field of Roses

*blinks in shock* Oh My... Hey!! I wrote things! I am probably more shocked than you are... probably... Coming soon....

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I guess I didn’t really think this through- she had giggled into the towel he’d handed her as she stood before him, pink and warm, skin steaming from the water he had helped her out of as the snow swirled wildly outside the window. 

He’d bitten down a smirk, though she had noticed it regardless, eyes shining with mirth as she watched him in the light of the candles she’d obsessively lit before pouring the last bucket of near scalding water into the tub. 

“It smells so good though!” Her grin widened, as he picked yet another soggy petal from his chest, nodding and trying desperately not to laugh. 

“Aye,” he deposited the small pink hitchhiker on the edge of the tub, a rogue petal from Emma’s attempt at something she had called bath salts.

It had been a series of amusing trial and error attempts before she’d decided to add the rose petals Fiona had helped her tie in the few last days of autumn, the various herbs and spices Emma had crushed into the heaps of hand-crushed salt; pungent and mostly terrible.  She’d gagged, holding a hand in front of her face as he dutifully disposed of batch after batch, early pregnancy hormones preventing her from finding any part of the ordeal humorous. 

“They didn’t really stick to me,” she turned in an attempt to inspect her backside- probably because I’m not hairy like you are- which had remained petal-free, unlike his own. 

He had found her, the tiredness he’d dragged with him throughout his day lifting from his soul as watched her bent over her work, his fingers ink-stained from the ledgers at the warehouse as he itched to touch her, to pull her attention away from her task for even only a moment. His ears had echoed Alec’s annoyed mutterings most of the day until the merchant ship they had been waiting on all morning finally appeared on the horizon clearing from his heart. She had collected small bowls, scattered around her like soldiers awaiting her orders, and was busy measuring something into them as she tilted her head to the door- you’re just in time!- sweat from the fire gathering at the base of her neck. 

He’d braided her hair before he’d left that morning while her hands soaked into the wash basin, the swirl of silk under the warm water like the call of the sea, and she’d leaned back into his chest, pressing a kiss into her hair. 

The scent of roses had stayed on her skin, impossible as it was through the travel of portals and time and realms, the faint drift of the blooms he had brought her over the years. 

She’d bought a small bag of salts- this is the real deal, babe!- from a trip into Boston before Liam was born, pouring a small handful of the soft scented grains into the bathtub as he helped her over the edge, her pregnant stomach making the movement awkward- don’t you dare laugh, Jones, this is entirely, mostly, partly your fault- his hand on her elbow as he lowered her into the water. 

There hadn’t been any room for him that day, the tub in their Storybrooke home smaller than the large porcelain one which sat in the corner of their bedroom at the cottage by the sea, and he had knelt on the floor, the bathmat wet under his knees, and spoke softly to her and their child. 

The memory hung around him like fog on a cool sea, thick and quiet, until a sharp clang of metal on stone echoed frantically through his blood as his head cleared like the sun burning it all away.  

♥️♥️♥️

Catch up here.

Read my other stuff here.

Tagging:

Emma joins Killian’s crew disguised as a man. Killian doesn’t figure it out. The poor dummies fall in love. 

(Also affectionately refered to as “bi!Killian fic” and “I-don’t-know-what-Killian-Jones’-sexuality-is-but-it’s-definitely-not-straight fic”) 

***

“Please don’t.”

Killian turned his smile from the flirtatious barmaid to Robin’s exasperated grimace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

“We’re setting sail at dawn, mate. Last time you looked at someone like that we didn’t leave until sundown.” 

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I? What about Camelot?” 

There was a begrudging pause, then a sigh. “Very well.”

“Thank you.”

“But that poor woman’s disappointment is on your conscience,” he warns. 

“She’ll survive.”

“You’re in a mood,” Killian pointed out. 

“I just want to get home on time - I’m not sure I can protect you from Marian if you’re the cause of our delay once again.” 

Robin’s wife had been forced to stop traveling with them a few months ago, when her morning sickness had begun to manifest as sea sickness and the two of them had agreed that she would wait until the baby was born to return to the crew. 

Robin hadn’t been any fun since. 

“And you will,” Killian promises. “As soon as Smee is done signing on this new batch of recruits we can -” 

He stopped, having turned towards the little table by the front where Smee was stationed, just in time to see a man slip inside, keeping to the shadows as he tried to edge across the tavern unseen. But the dim glow of the lamplights couldn’t hide him from Hook’s gaze, not his ashy hair that fell to his shoulders from under a wide-brimmed hat, nor the handsome face, shadowed by a day’s growth, the wide, bright eyes under dark brows and a determined strength in his expression that belied his lean frame. He was striking, there was no doubt about that, but it was that countenance - determined and defiant, like he was ready and waiting to face down any opponent - that drew Killian’s attention. 

Robin, who had followed his gaze, let out a pained sound, but Killian couldn’t tear his eyes from the stranger. “Please. I’m begging you. Last time you looked at someone like that, we couldn’t find you for three days…”

“Ah, but what a three days it was,” Killian beamed whistfully. He felt for his friend, truly. But there was something intangible but undeniably captivating about the man. He drew his lip between his teeth and Killian followed the movement, drawn to the curve of his mouth, to the thought of what it might feel like against him, skin burning hot at the images the simple action stirred. There was no helping it now - he had to know him.

“Killian, I beg you. Think of my wife, my unborn child…”

But he was already on his feet. “Tell Mariane I’ll make it up to her.”

***

He’s allergic to rum.

It’s the pettiest thing yet about this weird alternate-reality-mess that Gold has set up, and Emma has to fight back her anger as she watches Killian fumble his way through their conversation. This isn’t just about Gold getting his happy ending. It’s about depriving everyone else of theirs, too. Down to the last detail.

Killian is flustered again, blushing a little and smiling too much, clearly desperate not to say the wrong thing but equally desperate not to lapse into total silence.

She’s desperate, too: desperate to reach for him, to embrace him, to really talk to him again after all the time she spent in limbo, endlessly waiting, trying to hold onto hope even as it crumbled inside her. It’s disorienting to stand here and look at him, knowing that it’s Killian, but not really.

She has never appreciated until just now how difficult it must have been for him in New York, faced with the complete lack of recognition from her.

And he hasn’t kneed her in the crotch or handcuffed her to a park bench.

In fact, his reaction to her is the one thing that doesn’t seem to have changed much, and now that they’re out of immediate danger, Emma can’t ignore it any more. She barrelled into him, a complete stranger to him, and he’d looked at her with wonder on his face and words caught in his throat. He’s still looking at her that way, like he can’t believe she’s actually here and talking to him. It’s a little bit adorable.

It’s mostly heartbreaking.

“My schedule’s pretty clear,” he tells her when she tries to postpone the question of why she trusts him—of course she trusts him—and it’s so Killian that she has to take a breath. Hesitant and even shy he may be, in this topsy-turvey reality, but he’s still not letting her off the (there’s nothing for it) hook.

Thanks to the @cssns for hosting the event once more. Thanks to the Mods.

Thanks to @ultraluckycatnd for being my beta

Art was done by me.

AO3

FFN

“The plague started because the human race crushed itself beneath the weight of its negative emotions until it released a dark force that changed the humans so that everyone could see their evil.” 

This story is the second in a new series on ARCHIVE called Stories from Storybrooke. It tells of the lives of Killian and Emma as they enjoy their married life together in Storybrooke. I have played with the timeline a little, to instead of season 7 being, well, season 7, Henry has his adventures in further education instead.

The story started when I heard the BBC radio 2 breakfast show talking about strange superstitions, and as soon as I heard the words, “You can’t take bananas on boats,” I had the first section of the story written before 8.20am. It was completely something Killian would say and do. So, here we are!

Thanks to @snowbellewells for reading through this story for me.

Tagging the usual crew.

@jrob64 @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @sailtoafarawayland @anothersworld @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @hookedonapirate @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @zaharadessert @batana54 @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @teamhook @motherkatereloyshipper @xsajx @winterbaby89 @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines​ @totheendoftheworldortime​

Story rated as M for language.

Story is also on ARCHIVE here

“You Can’t Take Bananas on a Boat" (aka: Killian and his Nautical Superstitions)

“Stop right there, thank you very much.”

Emma stood stock still at the foot of the Jolly, one foot raised about to board. “Is there a reason you’re quoting Spice Girl lyrics at me?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re going on about or why you’re talking about girls who sell spices. You can’t go any further with those bananas though.”

Henry had already boarded the vast vessel, so Emma put her foot back on the solid ground and slowly turned to her husband, a confused look on her face. She’d dealt with many of his oddities before - spending the night apart before their wedding she thought was the most extreme thing. It would seem now, however, that she was wrong. “What the fuck, Killian? Why the hell not?” she asked, far from impressed that her source of sustenance, and currently the only thing that was not making her puke, was being questioned. Again.

Without saying a word, Killian took the banana from her and put it in the car for safekeeping. Walking back, he knew he had some explaining to do when he saw his wife and son staring at him, both with their hands on their hips. Henry had come back to see what the problem was.

“I’ll explain soon,” he promised the two of them. “Let’s set sail first.”

The three climbed aboard in silence.

Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.

A/N:  My apologies for not updating last week. While I am determined to maintain a regular, weekly schedule, I’m afraid I’ve fallen behind on my wiring, and therefore I can’t guarantee there won’t be more skipped weeks. Now that my homeschool semester is over, I’m hoping to get more writing time so I can catch back up. I just ask that y'all be patient with me.

Thank you for all the lovely comments! I treasure them, and am so thrilled y'all seem to love this story as much as I do! Also, thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net /  buy me a coffee / add to tag list  

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five 

Snow swirled and the frigid air burned in Killian’s lungs. The scent of pine danced in his sinuses and tickled his tongue, the aroma of the season stirring those feelings of good tidings even though there had been no great joy in his days for the past few weeks.

Actually, that wasn’t completely true. Despite the rift between himself and his brother - a chasm that had only grown wider since his brother’s decree, forcing Killian from Swan’s presence and the pleasure of her company, while removing any comfort his might have given her - there had been moments of elation and gratitude to help lighten the otherwise gloomy December days.

Elsa had wasted no time in acquiring the services of a few masons and the blacksmith, converting the old offices along the upper level of the officer’s wing into a much larger cell for Swan and her swiftly approaching arrival. The men had offered their time and materials, free of charge, and word had spread regarding the prison’s forthcoming addition, spurring the townsfolk into actions of charity, not only for Miss Swan, but the entire prison as well.

The soft crunch of compacted snow, mixed with the shuffle of freshly fallen flakes echoed beneath Killian’s boots as he made his way up the long drive towards the prison. He stopped for a moment, adjusting the bulky item in his arms so he could tighten his scarf, a slight shiver traveling down his spine when the winter breeze whispered across the thin layer of perspiration dampening his skin from the exertion of carrying the object from town. A ring of faint laughter tinkled through the air, and Killian knew the carolers he’d passed in the village must be making their way to the prison.

He remembered lamenting many months ago about how they were to make it through the winter without the assistance of the convent. He never would have imagined the outpouring of care, kindness, and compassion they had received from the town’s residents, from necessities like foodstuffs and fuels, to the indulgence of new clothing for the prisoners and a collection for the officers’ uniforms, as well as decorations and community visits to help lift the population’s spirits. Killian could not remember a more festive or exhilarating Christmas season in all his years, and though Elsa had certainly had her hand in making it happen, Killian knew the true prompting that had brought the whole town together to rally around Misthaven Penitentiary was Emma.

A cloud of vapor briefly hung in the air from where Killian had exhaled heavily. Emma. His Swan. Not a day had gone by that he had not thought of her, and not simply because the work being done on her new cell was happening, quite literally, before his very eyes day after day. He’d timed his arrival during those first few shifts he’d reported for duty with when she’d usually be out on her walks, so he would at least have the opportunity to see her, perhaps even speak with her. However, his brother had accounted for such an action and had issued new orders regarding her yard time. Now that they were back to full staff, they no longer had to depend on the off-duty night shift to perform the task, so she was worked into the day rotation schedule, usually escorted from her cell when Killian was in the training room with one of the new recruits.

The sound of his boot falls interrupted the quiet once more as he trod up the path towards the prison gate. Two of the recruits were milling about in the yard, most likely awaiting the arrival of the carolers. They snapped to attention as soon as they spotted him, one moving quickly to open the door for their captain, whose arms were still laden with an object he hoped to deliver before the visitors’ arrival.

It was a yearly tradition, the carolers beginning their Christmas Eve serenade at the prison before moving through town and finishing at the church for the Silent Night Service. They would spend some time visiting with the prisoners first, encouraging them with conversation and perhaps a small, gifted token, like a piece of peppermint or some other candy, to commemorate the holiday, then sing a few carols before moving on. Killian had always enjoyed the Christmas Eve caroling and the festivities it brought with it, the guards finding ways to make their own merriment as those off-duty joined the on-duty shift for a celebratory toast after the carolers departed, but this year… The rift between him and Liam would most likely sour whatever toast their warden made, and the only person with whom he wished to share Christmas he was forbidden from seeing.

That hadn’t stopped him from bringing her a gift, though.

Everyone else reappeared where they were before the whole mess started.The moment the curse struck, they were taken, and the moment it was broken, they were put back. It’s why Emma was in the street, why Corrine was with Belle, why her parents were in the loft. Everyone was in the exact same place, only Killian wasn’t. He’s nowhere to be found, and Emma can’t accept what’s beginning to look like the truth; that what happened in the story book universe transferred over into their reality.

An Addition to my Walk With Me series

Rated M

~6900 words (this chapter)

Read on Ao3

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Complete! (Finally!)

A/N:And that’s it!

Thank you to everyone for your patience as this fic has grown. the start of this chapter is actually the first thing I wrote for this addition (just don’t look too closely at the timeline). I’m super excited to share a chaotic, hormonal, in-the-process-of-healing version of captain swan after all they’ve been through. At first, I thought this wouldn’t work, but I’m so happy to be able to share it now that i’ve worked it out. Anyway. The comments and love I’ve received from this fic are the reason it’s completed. so thank you. 

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Emma has always loved autumn. The crisp air contrasting the warm colors of the leaves gives her a sense of comfort that she could always count on growing up. And then, when Killian found her in New York in September, just as the leaves were starting to change, it was no wonder that her life also changed suddenly for the better. It’s only natural for them to have their official wedding ceremony in the fall. 

Maybe when she was a child, before she started having to worry about living under bridges and wondering where her next meal was coming from, she had dreamt of having a midsummer wedding. Maybe, decades ago, she had dreams of soft pink flowers and a warm sunny day on which to solidify her commitment to the person she loves. But that isn’t her anymore, and it certainly isn’t her and Killian. Autumn has always been theirs. 

It was autumn when they had that fateful meeting on the Jolly Roger. It was autumn when the love of their lives was conceived. It was autumn when he found her and gave her her life back. It was Autumn when she fell in love with him. And it was definitely not autumn when they got married the first time. So, their mid-September (actual) wedding has always been inevitable. 

The only problem is that it was early spring when they conceived baby-number-two. So now, come autumn, Emma Swan has already reached her third trimester. 

Translation: her dress doesn’t fit. 

A Rewrite in Progress (coming soon)

My muse has taken this and run away with it - so buckle up! This Rewrite drops next week, and we get to meet the wonder that is sassy pirate Will Scarlet - he officially owns my heart and soul ✨

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“Did you get her name?” 

“I dinna ask,” came the reply, muffled by a mouthful of bread. Killian bit down a retort, born of raising this boy, to not speak with his mouth full. Old habits, he thought as he hid a smile, schooling his face once more as he turned to watch the young man play with food that wasn’t meant for him. 

“Why ever not?” He growled, exasperated once more, as Will tossed a grape into the air and missed catching it, watching it roll under the table. 

“She wasn’t going to tell me,” the lad met his eyes, exuding a mocking patience which Killian admired for its boldness. “So there was no point in me askin’, was there?” 

Another grape rolled across the floor and a growl of annoyance broke from Killian’s throat- we are not getting a dog, boy, clean that up yourself- which Will pointedly ignored in favour of swallowing the last of Killian’s wine. “Besides,” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “if I asked, then I’m no better than you, am I?” 

“Mmmhmm,” he nodded, conceding to the strategy. He had been a bold little thing, scrawny and wild, following Killian around as he commanded the ship, learning letters and numbers and navigation and how to watch people without watching them, and learn what people wanted without asking. By the time he was old enough to hold a sword, William Scarlet was a formidable fighter, and the only member of his crew who would stand a chance at beating him in a fight. He had taught the lad all he knew, and would trust him with everything he had. 

Killian's chest swelled with pride, remembering the hardened look in the lad’s eyes as he carried the injured young lady to the safety of the cabin. 

“Where did you put her?” 

“In my room,” eyebrows dancing on his face. 

“Where are you sleeping then?” 

Will opened his mouth but Killian cut him off, “and don’t,” he stepped closer, pointing to the three fallen grapes under the table- clean those up, we don’t want rats- with a lift of his eyebrow, speaking with one sentence inside another as he often had when the lad was young, “you dare say your room.” 

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Coming Soon!

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A Trick of the Light - A Captain Swan Tale

Emma & Killian have found their way back to their own time, but finding their home again will prove to be another adventure entirely…The Tale of a reunited family, an inescapable destiny and the marvels of indoor plumbing. Thank you to the world’s best beta and most wonderful human ever @elizabeethan for dragging herself out of bed last night in order to beta this, because I have poor time management skills!

♥️♥️♥️

“At least,” she gasped, face contorted with effort. They had been at it for hours, a game of waiting to be administered an epidural, something Emma never actually had before but seemed to very much want. “You didn’t need to threaten anyone,” she sighed, contraction subsiding for the moment, and collapsed back against the pillows he dutifully arranged, “this time.” 

“Not yet,” he pressed a kiss against her neck, skin slicked with sweat, the taste of it like the spray of the sea on his tongue. She managed a laugh before the nurse nodded, smiling encouragingly- almost there, Emma- before leaving them once more. 

Emma leaned her head back, grousing that she had been at four centimeters forever, and surely that was big enough to get a baby through, and couldn’t she just have the damn needle already? Killian had held up his thumb and forefinger- that is about this big, love- to show her and she rolled her eyes- stupid metric system- before another contraction stole her attention away once more. 

She had told him, the last time they had been like this, of her first birth. Of Henry. She had laid in their bed, the window open while the fire raged, a talisman against the cold which threatened to take her from him, a desperate attempt of keeping her warm like he had promised he always would, and poured her soul out into his keeping. He had pressed a kiss into her hair, whispering a pledge that she would never be scared and alone again. 

She had cried out, hands shifting to hold her legs while her feet curled tightly in response to the pain which was ripping through her like a tempest. 

She had told him of how they chained her, like a dangerous animal, to a hospital bed. The nurses skittish and hurried around her, unable to administer pain drugs, they had kept their attention focused solely on the child she could not keep. 

I need to hold her. 

He would remember the desperation in his wife's voice until the day he died. It haunted him, the shadows of the past pain he could not erase from her heart. And when he had placed their daughter on her chest, something had settled behind Emma's eyes. Something that had called her back from the brink of death. 

Love. 

♥️♥️♥️

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