Emma sits on the porch with a glass of lemonade in her hands and a smile on her face. Her husband has taken it upon himself to wash the Bug and this time, he has a very special apprentice.
Hope reaches her little hand into the bucket and withdraws a soapy sponge. She giggles lightly at the foamy mess as Killian shows her how to wring out the excess water. They wash the car together, Killian running his own sponge over the roof and the windows and four-year-old Hope focusing on the doors and wheel wells, which are as high as she can reach.
A morning like this is something that for a long time, Emma never thought possible even in her wildest dreams. But now, as she watches her husband and her daughter soap up her car while also “accidentally” flinging foam at each other, she’s struck by how real it is.
How perfect it is.
And how, in just one moment, she can make it even more perfect.
Setting the glass of lemonade down on the wicker table, Emma slowly descends the stairs and tiptoes up to her husband and daughter. Killian has tossed the garden hose aside while performing soaping duties, a fact which Emma uses to her advantage. She picks up the hose, aims the nozzle at Killian, and squeezes the trigger.
The spray takes both him and Hope by surprise. “Bloody hell!” Killian shouts, shivering from the blast of cold water. Hope looks from her shocked father to her grinning mother and shrieks with laughter. “Do me now, Mama! Do me!”
Emma happily turns the hose on her daughter, spraying her with a gentle mist that has the girl giggling in the sun. So focused is she on spraying Hope that Killian easily snatches it and turns the spray on her.
Hope’s laughter echoes through the morning as her mother and father chase each other through the yard, spraying each other and her in succession.
In no time at all, they’re soaked. “White flag,” Emma cries, waving her hands in the air.
Killian smirks and looks down at their daughter. “What say you, little love? Shall we offer the enemy amnesty?”
Hope pretends to think, her blonde pigtails dripping. “Aye, captain.”
“Very well, then,” KIllian grins and turns to Emma. “We accept your surrender, on one condition.”
Happy belated Birthday Emily aka @swan-road!!!! Domestic CS! (why are there grocery’s yet to be put away? I’m going with someone wanted to take of their shoes and coats and then got distracted!) (also lets cross our fingers now we get some domestic CS this season!!)
Special thanks to the wonderful @seethelovelyintheworld for dealing with me and helping me with critiques!
Here is my extremely late gift to @cshappybeginning (okay, it’s not letting me tag you?! Wtf is that?!) for Captain Swan Secret Santa. Once again, I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get your gift to you!! I really enjoyed chatting with you this past holiday season, and was really excited to work on a nice fluffy Christmas fic for you. I hope it lives up to your expectations, and I hope anybody else reading enjoys it too!
Special thanks to @joneskillian for doing a quick beta on this for me!
So without any further ado (god, I’m horrible for taking so long to post this), here’s some Captain Swan and little CS baby Christmas fluff (and some Captain Charming on the side because I couldn’t help myself!)…
—–
Killian stood against the wall near the stairs, sipping occasionally from the mug of rum-laced hot cocoa as he observed his wife’s frazzled grumbling from their living room floor. Her lap was awash in harsh, colorful lights, a jumbled spiderweb of cords creating a haphazard circle around her.
“You sure you don’t need a hand, love?” He questioned in an amused tone. It earned him a green-eyed glare, though the pout on her face made the menace of it practically non-existent. He took another sip from his warm drink.
“You’re not funny.”
Swallowing, Killian licked at his lips and pushed off the wall. “I’m quite the comedian, actually.” He nodded as he slowly stepped in her direction. “It’s not my fault,” He tiptoed over strands of mismatched lights, coming to a crouch at her side. “Your sense of humor isn’t exactly present at the moment.” At her continued glare, he held out his mug towards her. “Maybe this will help, hmm?”
Aaaah, omg thank you so much for this! I enjoyed talking to you as well during the holidays, and thank you so much for my gift! I’m off to read it right now ❤
Flufflet #6 for @lifeinahole27 as a reward for writing her CSBB!
Continuation of flufflets #3 and #5.
Artwork at the end is by @clockadile, who is amazinggggggggggg
There were almost too many resources, Killian thought, as he typed in another phrase to look up. There were the doctors and nurses at the clinic Swan insisted on going to; it was out of town, since she refused to permit Whale to, as she put it so eloquently, “go anywhere near my goddamn vagina.”
There were the books, both the old ones in the library and the newer ones that Emma purchased through the post. He read all of them, although he did think Emma had the right idea with the newer ones; perhaps after the baby was born, they could donate the books to the library.
And then, of course, there was the Google. It was a double-edged sword if he’d ever seen one, with more information than he’d ever thought could possibly exist. But it seemed nigh impossible to determine just which information was accurate, and all of the personal testimonials made everything even murkier.
“What are you looking up?” Swan asked from the couch.
“When the baby can hear,” he said. “I’m getting too many different answers.”
“Yeah?”
“Some Google tells me–”
“Some websites, Killian.”
“Well, some tell me that it could be as early as eighteen weeks, and some say as late as twenty-four.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know which is correct?”
“No. Why, though?”
“Well … just that if she can hear us, then maybe we should take advantage of that.”
He loved that he could say that: she. It was only a week ago that they’d gone to the clinic, and the doctor had told them that they were having a daughter. It was nearly mind-boggling that the technology of the realm made it possible to know so much about an unborn child.
Hell, it was incredible just how much there was to know about a pregnancy in general. In the Enchanted Forest, a single missed monthly cycle was troubling but not necessarily an indication of pregnancy; it was typically only a second skipped cycle that tipped a woman off. But here? Here, Emma simply waited until her cycle was a day or two late, and then she (he still felt uncomfortable about this) urinated on a strange stick, and it informed them both that she was with child.
And he’d seen their child. The near-magic of the ultrasound machine meant that they both had been able to watch their daughter grow from a tiny little bean-shaped smudge into something resembling an actual human. And now, they knew they were having a beautiful baby girl.
His daughter. He was going to have a daughter.
“Killian, did you hear anything I just said, or are you not at 18 weeks yet?”
“Sorry, what?” He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he’d missed whatever Swan had said.
“Do you want to sing to her?”
“Would you be all right with that?”
She laughed. “Um, very. Besides, isn’t that the exact reason I’m pregnant?”
“Well, I’d like to think it would have happened anyway, regardless. But fair enough.”
“C’mere.”
He stood from the computer desk and headed to the couch; Swan had been lying down with her feet up, but she swung them around and sat up a bit. “All right, go for it, Daddy.” She patted the space next to her.
He sat beside her and then leaned forward. She wasn’t showing very much, but enough that the townsfolk were catching on. Emma had always been extremely slim, and so the way her stomach was beginning to protrude was an easy giveaway that she was either pregnant, or she was overindulging significantly and gaining weight in very strangely specific places.
His favorite thing about her stomach, what she called her “baby bump,” was that this was their child. Right here, taking up space, growing and becoming a child.
“Go for it,” Emma encouraged.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, my love. This is your papa.” Bloody hell, he was going to be a father. Neither Bae nor Henry could have ever prepared him for this. “Your momma asked me to sing to you.” He looked up at said momma. “Are you sure about this?”
“She’s gotta learn about revenge sometime,” she joked.
Perhaps. But he balked at the idea that the first song he would sing to his daughter would be one of anger and sadness. He had a better idea.
“Tomorrow is uncertain,” he sang. “Who knows what it will bring?”
He looked up to find Emma staring down at him in wonder, and although he knew her emotions were a bit out of control (he’d done a lot of reading about hormones), he was still surprised to see that she had tears in her eyes.
“But one thing is for sure, love,” she continued. “With you, I have everything.”
He grinned and turned back to her stomach, and they sang together.
“And happily ever after is the way these stories go …”
This has been a work in progress for quite some time. It started as a response to the fact that OUAT seemingly cannot have a normal pregnancy on this show without it being traumatic or otherwise very sad. This is the result. This series will be following the arc of Emma’s totally normal, only lightly angsty pregnancy that will end 100% happy. That is my guarantee. No prophecies. No speeding up. A super normal pregnancy.
As for the timing of posting this…well, we could all use some fluff, and I’m not letting reality get me down. So, presenting, “The Happiest Pregnancy Ever”
Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom. -Rumi
Emma tapped her fingers on the table, her nails clack-clack-clacking on the wood with each downward press. She listened to the steady tick-tock of the clock, understanding with sudden clarity why Barrie had one haunt his interpretation of her husband.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Her husband wasn’t home. He was at store working his way down the list of things she’d hastily scribbled before he walked out the door. The list was long, and she didn’t really need half the things she sent him to buy, but she needed him gone, not anywhere near her while she processed the impending changes to their life. He would be home soon, which meant that she had to decide just what course of action to take.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The house was quiet. Whenever Henry stayed with Regina, there was a certain stillness to their home. Even when he was there, he opted to listen to music via headphones. He was teenager, meaning he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. She liked the quiet, sometimes. Other times, not so much. It reminded Emma of her time as the Dark One – the house barren, dead.
It won’t be like that much longer.
Emma fingered the stick in front of her. It read “pregnant” in small letters. She sprung for the test that said pregnant or not pregnant. She didn’t want to take any chances with lines or ink. It was clear as day that way. No mistakes.
A/N: Because I have a lot of feelings. And Emma Swan is sometimes my spirit animal.
Summary: Emma finds a secret tucked up inside a chest and Henry stumbles in on her trying to decide what to do.
Words: 1000 | Rating: G (fluff and swan believer snarkiness ahead). Contains spoilers for 6×13, so proceed accordingly. | ao3 link to come
+++
It’s shiny.
She laughs and though she’s still sitting cross-legged in
the center of their bed, she starts bouncing on the back of her heels.
It’s really, really shiny.
Emma spins it so it catches the light from the ceiling
fixture and throws tiny flecks of light on the walls around her. She angles it
again and watches the light scatter and bounce as she does. She can feel a
giggle slid up the back of her throat and quirk at the corner of her mouth but
does her best to tamp it down.
She tells him she’s never really been one for roses, so he
buys her tulips instead. Yellow ones that match the way her hair shines in the
early light of morning, tangled against the pillow and between his fingers. Daisies
that he puts in glasses all over their kitchen, watching the way her face
lights up when she walks in from a long day at the station. How her cheeks pink
and her smile softens into something secret when she tucks her hair behind her
ears and bends close to brush her nose against the petals. He buys her orchids
and lilies. Daffodils and peonies. Carnations that make her bark out a laugh
with how truly terrible they are.
She tells him she wouldn’t even know how to cut a damn fancy
steak, so he brings her grilled cheese instead. The grease seeping through the
bottom of the bag, just the way she likes, with enough onion rings to feed a
small army. He finds the nice plates she keeps stacked in the highest cabinet
and candles below the sink – sets it out on the table with the carnations
proudly in the middle. He watches the way the flickering light dances along her
skin – along her cheekbones and down her neck. The jut of her collarbones
beneath her thin sweater.
She tells him she doesn’t know how to dance, so he helps
her. Takes her hand in his and smoothes his thumb along her knuckles. Guides
her steps around their living room with music playing from his phone box, her
eyebrow arched and a quip from her lips about him being a most adept modern man. He shushes her and tucks her
close until she relaxes, sweeping her about the room and spinning her around and
around until she laughs. Tugs her closer as they fall into something slower,
simpler, delighting in the way she brushes her lips against his jaw and
breathes out his name on a sigh.
She tells him she doesn’t like the holiday, but he persists
anyway. They go to the docks early, gray light creeping over the weathered wood
of his ship, her yawn wide and loud as she curls up against the mast with a
blanket pulled tight. He watches her doze as he guides them to their
destination, far enough away from the town that no one or nothing could
possibly bother them. He wakes her with his lips against her forehead, his arms
about her waist. They spend the day snacking on breads and cheeses – a bottle
of wine (or two) he slipped into his bag. He spins fantastical stories of his
days on the high seas and she reciprocates with tales of her bail bondswoman
days. Stories of might and bravery, color high in her cheeks and her smiles
easy.
He makes love to her beneath the stars as they come to life,
her noises soft and delicate as he moves above her. She watches him with heavy
eyes, a smile curling the corners of her lips, her fingers tracing patterns
along his back. It’s soft and easy, the way he moves against her, much like the
tide pulling them gently back to shore. She locks her ankles at the small of
his back and he loses himself in her. In the way she chases his hips with hers,
a dirty grind that has him gritting his teeth. In the way she whimpers out his
name on a choked groan as he drives her further towards madness.
She tells him she’s never felt this way before, with him,
and he agrees quietly. A whispered return in the dark stillness of night, her
body curled around his in their bed, her toes cold and pressed between his. He
tells her he never thought – never in his most wild imaginings – he never
entertained the possibility that he could have –
“Yeah,” she whispers, soft and sure, her fingers pressed
tight over his heart. “Me, too.”
a bit of canon fluff for you, love, with a little nod to Killian’s dialogue on the horizon being calming. I hope you like it ❤
93. “You have the most amazing eyes.”
“You have the most amazing eyes.”
The sentence drops unbidden from Emma’s lips, a soft string of words that breaks the comfortable silence between them and causes Killian to halt his caressing fingers.
He pulls back a little to look at her, equal parts confused and amused.
They’d been sitting pressed against each other at the balcony of their bedroom for what felt like hours. After the griffin attacked Storybrooke last week, she’d only finished with handling repairs and complaints late last night. Her dad had insisted (in what she assumed was his Royal Voice) that she stay at home for the next few days. Killian had agreed, texting David sporadically throughout the day to ensure him that she was, in fact, relaxing.
(She’ll never understand their relationship.)
Killian’s insistence is how they ended up cuddled together, watching the perfect view of the sea, with mugs of hot chocolate to keep the chill away. Emma doesn’t know when she stopped mapping the horizon and instead mapping the planes of Killian’s face, just that she didn’t really want to stop. And then the evening started approaching, and in the light of the golden hour, well, she just couldn’t help but make her judgment out loud.
“Have you only noticed them now, love? You sure know how to wound a man,” he chuckles, voice as quiet as hers was.
Emma smirks. “Please. I was just making an observation,” she taps once at his chest with her hand that’s resting there.
He hums, resumes running his fingers up and down her arm but doesn’t break eye contact. “I’d say it was more of an opinion, Swan. Which could only mean you’re trying to seduce me with your words, and although I am a man of honour, I do accept.”
He says it with such propriety that Emma can’t help but laugh. When he breaks out into a full grin, she knows that’s what he was going for.
Emma reaches up and runs a thumb under the curve of his eye. It makes his expression soften, his eyelashes flutter. (And yeah, he’s got amazing eyelashes, too.) He doesn’t wear as much kohl anymore, only a little, and sometimes he forgoes it completely. It used to make his eyes brighter, but she finds his eyes are already a colour she can’t quite describe. It’s as though someone mixed all the oceans together to create the most striking blue.
“Your brother’s were a different shade,” she muses, knitting her brows in concentration to make sure she’s remembering Liam correctly.
Killian nods, leaning into her palm. “I took after my mother in that regard, or so Liam told me.” He smiles, and she can’t help but mirror it. When she leans in to kiss him, he doesn’t hesitate to respond with a lingering kiss that she can feel down to her toes.
“If you keep staring at me, you’re going to miss the sunset,” he says with a smirk when he pulls back. He raises an eyebrow for good measure when she doesn’t look away from him.
“I think I like this view better,” she hums.
Killian looks down and then back at the water, an adorable rosy hue tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. She wonders just how long he had to go without someone offering him a genuine compliment based on a simple observation. She thumbs at his cheeks for a moment before dropping her hand back to his chest, the other playing with the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck.
She wants to tell him about all the amazing things he is, and she promises herself to do just that.
Killian presses her a little closer to him. They fall back into silence, and Emma watches his gentle expression as he watches the water, his eyes like the ocean calming her like no other thing can.
The Muse wants more baby Evelyn and she shall have it. Unedited and fluff filled.
Baby Mine, Part II
Rating – G
“How is she?” Emma calls over her shoulder, hands raised and magic sparking white along her fingertips. Killian stands behind her, baby girl in the crook of one arm, his hooked arm held at the ready.
“The lass is fast asleep,” he chuckles behind Emma and she rolls her eyes. She’d never been one to sleep through much as a child, always on the ready for any danger to her small self, but Evie, oh no…it’s like she’d inherited her grandparents sleeping curse – she can sleep through anything. Including giant trolls like the one currently harassing Storybrooke.
I don’t know what this is…I appear to have babies on the brain.
Baby Mine
Rating – G
Emma loves to sleep in, but ever since the baby was born, her days of being able to do so are few and far between. Killian is a tremendous help, but pre-dawn feedings are nothing he can really help with, at least not until she stops breastfeeding.
The first few months were easy. They kept a bassinet in their room for the little one and when she cried, Emma would pick the baby up and then settle in the large armchair they’d moved into their room, right next to the windows. Mother and daughter would welcome the sun together, Emma listening to the sounds of Killian’s soft snore from their bed while she held the warm bundle of her daughter close to her heart.
cshappybeginning 