He decides he quite likes her in floral prints, the day she walks in wearing a tan jacket and the shirt in question. Her jeans are the exact amount of tight, her boots completing the picture, and he really quite likes the shirt. It’s something vaguely reminiscient of the bedspread from the room that used to be hers at her parents’ loft, but a little less whimsical and a lot more adult.
The second he gets a chance, he’s pressing the fabric between his fingers, feeling that texture of something new and unfamiliar, as she gives him that secret little smile. This close, he can also tell that it’s just the tiniest bit sheer, the dark color of her undergarment showing through.
He’s incredibly thankful for this realm and its textiles, especially when he slowly draws the shirt over her head later that night, letting it flutter to the floor without a sound as he bends to worship the newly exposed flesh. He’s thankful for the fabrics, and for the absolute momentary peace they’ve garnered in Storybrooke as he finally gets to experience these quiet moments with his true love.
Tag: CS fluff
Wee little bit for no other reason than because I can.
She has the loveliest singing voice, which makes it such a pity that she so very rarely uses it. Killian takes to standing just outside the bathroom door when she showers just to listen to her.
(Oh, yes, Emma Swan is absolutely a shower singer. Killian thought he was the only one who knew but the princess, who’d lived with Emma as both a roommate and a mother, quickly disabused him of that notion. “Not a word to Emma, though,” she warned him. “She’ll stop if she knows she’s loud enough for other people to hear.”)
She sings to her brother when she thinks no one can hear her. She doesn’t know any traditional lullabies but that doesn’t seem to bother the young prince. Plus, his sister can make a lullaby out of anything.
Killian doesn’t know any of the songs she sings. The rhythms of this world’s
music are not anything he’s used to. None of it matters, though. He
listens to her every chance he gets.And then one day he gets caught. Normally she stops singing when she turns off the water but she’s carried on her concert today. Killian remains transfixed right up until she whips the bathroom door open. White wisps of steam swirl into the hallway as both Killian and Emma jump when they see each other.
Emma pulls the zipper on her bathrobe up further to ward against the relative chill of the hallway, and they stare at each other for a beat.
“If you wanted to join me,” she says, breaking the silence, “you just missed it.”
Killian chuckles. “Perhaps you could be persuaded into taking a second shower.”
“Maybe. If you tell me why you stand out here while I’m in the shower.”
“You know?”
She arches an eyebrow. “True Love perk. Or you’re not always as stealthy as you think you are. One of the two.”
Oops. Well, then, he thinks, scratching at his ear. Though he really doesn’t want to put an end to the shower concerts, he can’t tell her a fib now. “I like listening to you sing. And I think it’s a shame you don’t sing more because you’ve the loveliest voice I’ve ever heard.”
The challenge on her face is replaced with a look of pure adoration. “Come on then, pirate,” she says, tugging on his lapel as she steps back into the bathroom. “You’re going to get a private concert.”
With a grin, he follows and closes the door behind them.
I wonder how Killian would feel if one of his children told him that they wanted a hook for a hand so that they could be like him? Or said they wanted to be a pirate because dad is/was a pirate.
I imagine his heart would melt into a little puddle but he’d still tell his little prince or princess that he or she should aspire to more.
And Emma would speak up right up and assure the kid, “Wanting to be just like your dad is aspiring to more.” Which would make Killian’s heart melt the rest of the way. 😉
OMG DANIELLE
Wee little bit, for no other reason than because I can.
His thumb traces soft lines on her upper arm as they sit on the bed in the captain’s quarters, backs against the wall. His arm is around her and her head is on his shoulder. The Jolly Roger, sitting at anchor, rocks gently in the waves and adds to the lulling effect. Emma’s eyes drift closed as she snuggles impossibly closer to her pirate. “You’re going to put me to sleep if you don’t stop that,” she mumbles, lazily lifting a hand to indicate his thumb.
“If you’re tired, you should rest,” Killian replies. She can hear the tender, indulgent smile in his voice.
He does not still his thumb.
She forces her eyes open and lifts her head. “I don’t want to rest. I want to enjoy the peace and quiet while we have it.”
As a thank you for babysitting her little brother for him and Snow, David is manning the station for Emma. He’s also promised to hold all calls to the savior hotline so she can take a few hours for herself. She intends to savor every single moment she has off.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“Well, yeah, but my point was, I can’t exactly enjoy the peace and quiet if I sleep through it.”
His blue eyes shimmer in the daylight filtering in through the windows. (Portholes? She’s still learning the proper names for all things nautical.) “Well, then, what did you have in mind?”
She fingers the blanket at her side and grins up at her pirate. “I believe I once promised you a, what did you call it? Oh, right. A nightcap …”
Killian arches an eyebrow, then grins.
Well, it’s not totally bbs but it’s damn cute so enjoy the feels!!
reverse psychology
At first it was cute. Then it got cold.
His Swan has always had a penchant for leather—it was one of the first things he noticed about her. One of the first things he loved.
He loves her jackets. The maroon one she wore on their beanstalk journey, the red one she wore when their love was weighed.
As it turns out, she loves his jackets too. The long pirate coat he’s long traded out is sometimes found on the couch, occasionally with Emma wrapped up underneath it. He finds it cute, especially when she tips her jaw up and wrinkles her nose and mumbles she couldn’t find a blanket and would you stop looking so smug.
And then she gets her hands on his new jacket. The one he’d spent hours looking for in preparation for their first date. The one he lived and died in. The one that represents his new life, his new loves.
And it’s cute, really, when he finds her wearing it around the house. It’s still cute when it disappears for errands with her. It’s still cute when it starts to gather the falling snow on her shoulders as they walk to the station.
He realizes it’s not as cute on his walk home. She’d tried to give it back before he left, neither realizing it’d been about to snow, but it’d be even colder and darker when she needed to go home and he insisted she should keep it.
It’s cute, but he’s cold.
–
So he buys a new jacket. It’s a deep matte black, and the label says it’s for “motorcycles,” which he thinks are the two wheeled death traps he’s seen the wooden man-child riding around on.
It also happens to be a woman’s jacket, but the shoulders are oversized and that suits his plan all the better.
So he strolls home in it, greets his Swan in it, cooks her dinner in it.
And then he hangs it up, carefully, pretending she’s not watching.
It’s missing the next morning when he goes to dress, but his favorite, shiny little jacket remains on the hanger. So he slips into it, and goes downstairs, where he finds Emma sipping her coffee in the new jacket.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she says quickly when she sees him. “I just—”
He waves her off and sets about getting his own cup of coffee. “Think nothing of it, love. It looks good on you,” he says happily, unable to keep the smirk from his lips, thinking how well his plan has gone.
And—he should’ve known better, because an open book goes both ways, but he knows the jig is up the second her eyes narrow. “You tricked me!”
He sips his coffee to hide his smile. “Sorry love, I did need my jacket back at some point, and I was beginning to worry I’d have to start wearing the pirate coat again. I’d hate to start mixing eras, you know how I like to stay with what’s in vogue.”
She frowns. “You could’ve said. I have plenty of my own jackets.”
“Aye,” he agrees, “but now you have one more.”
Emma laughs and rises from her seat, swaggering towards him. He loves the way the jacket cuts at her curves, the way it sways with her. “And you like that we match, admit it.”
He admits it. It’s cute.
Among other things.
Now that CaptainSwan won a TeenChoiceAwards we can have them doing surf right??? 😋🏄
Let’s Take A Long While To Chat About….
nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable:
The Ninth Time It Happened!!
Here’s a long one for ya guys. It took me way too long to write but it’s one of my favourite times it happened. If you missed any of the first 8 times Killian woke up in the middle of the night to snuggle his daughter Leia, here are some links for you:
As always, tagging just a few of the lovely people who give me the good vibes I need to write each chapter of this fluffball story:
@mayquita @galadriel26 @thegladelf @captainswan710 @naiariddle @flslp87 @vigilantewives @iswearonouat @onceuponiwishmytime @raggedyclaraa @captainswanslay
Enjoy!!!
***********************
The ninth time it happens, everyone gets involved. Leia is 6 months old now, and no one can believe how fast she’s growing.
When Killian wakes, he’s greeted with the sight of flashing zeroes on his digital alarm clock. He rubs at his eyes, reasoning that the power must’ve flickered. He then notices that another consequence of the power flicker is that the baby monitor isn’t on. He sits up quickly, panicked at how long it’s been off for. For the past day and a half Leia’s been quite unhappy, tummy aching from what Emma called “gas pains.” He hates to think that she may be crying, unbeknownst to he and Emma, thanks to the power flicker. He throws off the covers, so anxious to check on her that he doesn’t pay any mind to Emma, who is laying on her stomach, having migrated toward the middle of the bed, closer to him.
As he makes his way down the hall, he’s comforted that all seems quiet. He’s close enough now that if Leia was crying, he would be able to hear. Regardless, he continues down the path to her room, intent on checking on her, just in case.
When he enters her room, he doesn’t even make it to the crib before his heart stops. It’s quiet. It’s too quiet.
He rushes to Leia’s bed, and his worst fear is confirmed: the crib is empty. EMPTY.
Before he can help it, tears spring to his eyes and he’s crying. He spins around, looking for signs of forced entry, and he finds none. That can only mean one thing: magic. There were no demons they knew of currently waging war on them. Who would take his daughter? Where was she?! He needed to find her. NOW.
He sucks in a deep breath, preparing to scream Emma’s name at the top of his lungs. He’s sweating profusely, and his legs feel weak. His lungs are filled to capacity, but just as he’s about to shriek, he hears the microwave downstairs turn on.
Powered by sheer adrenaline, Killian flies down the stairs, fully intent on strangling whichever villain is microwaving his child.
When he gets to the kitchen he’s headed for the knife block when the sight before him makes him stop in his tracks.
Henry is standing in front of the microwave in his pyjamas, bundle of tiny girl tucked safely in the crook of his right arm.
Killian exhales powerfully in relief, swiping his hand across his forehead. The exhale is so audible that it earns him both his children’s attention. Henry’s brow furrows in confusion at his relieved face and laboured breathing, and Leia’s eyes light up, her little arms wiggling in her father’s direction.
“What’s up with you?” Henry asks incredulously, probably wondering if Killian has descended into a psychosis.
“Sorry lad,” Killian huffs out, shaking his head at himself, “It’s just, when I found the little princess’s bed empty…it gave me a fright.”
Understanding finally colours Henry’s features. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, holding Leia out toward Killian.
Killian reaches for her gratefully, holding her tiny body against his chest with his stumped arm and cradling her soft little head in his hand. He inhales her familiar scent, serving to help his heart rate descend back to normal levels.
“Hello my sweet duckling,” he says animatedly, looking down at her face. “Are you alright? Is your big brother looking after you? Hmmm? You’re so lucky, my precious little love.”
The microwave beeps, and Henry takes out the tummy pad he heated for Leia. It’s a little too warm, so he passes it back and forth between his palms to cool it. “I heard her crying,” Henry explains. “After about 10 minutes I realized what must’ve happened with the power. So I went and got her, and tried just rocking her, but she still seemed not comfy. So we came down here.”
Killian is frowning down at his little love, upset that she’d been crying without his knowledge. “I’m so sorry, Leia,” he coos at her, before turning to Henry. “Thank you so much, Henry. I’m sorry she woke you. Would you like me to take that so you can get back to sleep? I know you’ve school tomorrow and wouldn’t want you to be unrested.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Henry insists, holding out his arms, “I wanna be her knight in shining armour for once. I’ll just take a nap in Grandma’s class at lunch.”
Killian smiles, unable to argue. The list of people he trusts to care for Leia is short, but Henry is certainly on it. He hands her back to him, and they head to the couch together, sitting at opposite ends. Killian watches Henry get Leia situated with the warm belly pad, satisfied at the way she slumps in his arms, clearly relaxed. Henry gives her his fingers to play with.
They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, both just watching Leia. She seems to be quite awake, staring up at Henry’s face, sticking her tongue out. A new, endearing habit of hers. Killian can’t seem to stop watching her.
After a few minutes, Henry breaks the silence. “So…” he begins, and Killian shifts his attention toward him. “Violet’s birthday is coming up.”
Killian can’t help but waggle his eyebrows, as he always does whenever Henry brings up his fair maiden. “Is that right?” Killian says. “And what might you have planned, my lad?”
“Well…that’s kind of why I’m bringing it up,” Henry mumbles, and Killian nods in understanding. “I was hoping you could give me some advice. You’re just so good at charming mom, and I thought…”
Killian smiles proudly at this grand compliment. “Say no more,” he says warmly. “I’d love to help.”
***
As the boys talk strategy downstairs, Emma tosses and turns in her bed, sweat beading on her forehead as a nightmare wracks her soul.
It’s eerily quiet, except for the crying. She darts her head around, trying to find the source of the strangled noise. She feels the panic overtaking her. Is it Leia? It can’t be. The crying is too loud and pained and guttural to be coming from her tiny daughter. The hallways she creeps down are pitch dark, a consequence of the lack of doors or windows. Periodically the loud crying turns to coughing and gagging, before switching straight back to overwhelming sobs.
“Where are you?” Emma yells, her voice dry and desperate as she tries her best to locate the owner of the cries. “I want to help you, but I just can’t find you!”
The crying turns to coughing again, and she hears the distinct sound of someone vomiting. It’s louder than the rest of the sounds she’s heard, which means she must be close. She rounds three more corners, and finally, she sighs in relief when she finds herself at the entrance of a dimly lit room, wherein a tiny little girl sits on the floor, clearly in agony.
Emma rushes in, quickly kneeling next to the child, who appears to be about 5. She’s got defined cheekbones and blonde hair, and tears are flooding her bright green eyes. It can’t be Leia, but the way Emma’s heart clenches makes her feel like it could be. Or, if not Leia, perhaps a future child of her and Killian’s? She feels a strong connection to this poor little soul, who is sobbing and coughing and is clearly ill. Vomit coats the front of her ripped plaid shirt and her whole face is red, as though she’s running a fever. Emma has an overwhelming desire to help this little girl, and she knows that if Killian were here, so would he.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asks, in a tone usually reserved only for Leia. The little girl looks up toward her, but her little green-eyed stare seems to go through her. She doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry you’re so sick, honey. I’m going to clean you up and take care of you, okay? Here, come here,” she says softly, extending her arms.
What shocks her is instead of coming to coil around the child, Emma’s outstretched arms hit an invisible barrier, her palms coming in contact with a cold panel of glass. The little girl starts to throw up again, and Emma bangs on the glass, desperate to rid of it. The little girl’s coughing doubles in volume, and suddenly Emma realizes that she herself is coughing also. With a start she realizes that her own clothes are covered in vomit, and that her palms against the glass — no, the mirror — are too small to be her own…aren’t they?
Emma wakes up then, gasping and sweating, sitting up in bed. The strong emotions she’d felt during the nightmare are still there, and she feels hot tears slip down her cheeks. She spies the flashing clock and whimpers, groping desperately toward where Killian should be. She feels more tears well in her eyes when she realizes that his side of the bed is empty. Again.
***
“I could help you,” Killian muses, and Henry quirks an eyebrow. “Use my hook to help you carve something. Ladies love that sort of—“
Suddenly, Emma’s hurried footsteps fall into earshot, and both boys turn their heads toward the stairs. She’s moving so fast that all they see of her descent is a brief flash of golden blur. Killian stands instinctively, grateful that Henry has Leia at the moment and his hands are therefore free. He rounds the couch with barely enough time left to open his arms before Emma practically crashes into him, her own arms wrapping tightly around his torso.
Killian is more than alarmed as he grabs hold of her, keeping her steady. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs worriedly, reciprocating the tightness of the hold she has on him, “Emma, darling, what’s happened?” He feels her shake against him, letting out a soft hiccuping noise. “Emma, are you crying? Are you alright? Come here, love.”
Killian walks backwards into the kitchen, dragging her along with him. He’s nearly paralyzed with worry, but he fights against it. He pulls back from Emma and tries to set her down on a kitchen chair so he can look her over for injuries, but she shakes her head wildly, clinging to him tighter. “I just need you to hold me for a minute,” she begs, her voice cracking. “Hold me, Killian. Please. I just need you.”
Killian’s mind is racing, but he obliges her instantly. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart. I can do that,” he soothes her, leaning down to scoop her properly into his arms. Keeping a tight hold on her, he gently rests her on top of the kitchen table, which aligns her torso with his own perfectly. She wraps her legs around his waist, coiling her arms around his neck. “I’m right here, Emma. Just try to calm down, love. I’m holding you, it’s alright. I’m right here.”
Emma nuzzles her face against his cheek, pressing her body into his, and one of her hands is clutching his hair so tightly he fears she’ll yank most of it out. He grasps her firmly with both arms, making sure she can tell he’s got her. He looks over Emma’s shoulder and exchanges a worried glance with Henry, who is just as perplexed as he is.
Killian threads his fingers through Emma’s hair, rubbing her head with slow, gentle fingers. He can feel her sweeping her nose back and forth against his stubble, and he’s desperate to get something out of her but at the same time, doesn’t want to push her before she’s ready to talk. From the couch, Leia makes a contented little sound, and hearing it seems to calm Emma down a little.
After a few more minutes of silence, Emma takes a deep breath, and utters words that make everyone even more confused.
“I’m just so happy,” she puffs out against his neck, and Killian’s brow furrows twice as deeply as it already has.
“….happy?” he asks incredulously, nudging her with his cheek so she looks up into his eyes. “Then why on earth are you crying, darling?”
She looks up at him sadly. “Because I went my whole life without a family. I just had this awful dream about this tiny little girl, and she was all alone and she was crying and throwing up and I just wanted to hold her and give her a warm bath, but there was a wall between us…and then I figured out it that it wasn’t a wall, it was a mirror. It was me. Not one person ever cared if I was sick. I remember one time, I got locked in the bathroom with puke all over my clothes and the only thing I could think to do was take them off and lie down on the freezing cold tile floor. I was five.”
Killian is listening intently, completely horrified by this tale. He shakes his head in horror, stroking her wet cheek gently with his knuckles. He tries to prevent his mind from wandering, but he can’t; and suddenly all he can see in his mind is a five-year-old Leia, having to try and cope with something like that all by herself…it nearly knocks the wind out of him.
“Oh, Emma,” he whispers, tightening his hold, hugging her against his chest. “I can’t even imagine, darling. I’m so, truly sorry. It horrifies me every day that there was once a time you felt you weren’t loved.”
She’s still staring up at him. “I know,” she agrees, but he can tell she’s gaining some composure, her tone strengthening. "But now I do have a family. And even more importantly, Leia has one. She’ll never feel unwanted or alone like we did. She has a mother and a father and an amazing big brother who all make sure she knows how loved she is. She will never, ever get locked in a bathroom with puke all over her clothes. And that just makes me so, so happy.”
Killian smiles at her, despite the large lump present in his throat. He attempts to speak around it, his fingers scratching lightly at her back. “She’s a very lucky little lass,” he agrees, tilting his chin toward her and Henry. “And she’s got a big brother with better ears than we have.”
Emma sniffles, straightening from where she’s slumped against Killian’s chest so that she can turn and look at her kids. Henry is staring down lovingly at Leia, rubbing his hand over the heating pad against her tummy in soothing circles. He’s doing a great job pretending he wasn’t just privy to his mother’s huge emotional outburst. “What happened?” she asks, suddenly curious as to how all three of them ended up down here.
“The power must’ve flickered because the monitor wasn’t on. I went to check on Leia, and when she wasn’t there, I—“
Emma cuts off his story with an unexpected laugh. “—came barrelling down the stairs and almost skewered Henry with your hook?” she jokes, knowing him too well.
“Basically!” Henry shouts from the living room, and Killian huffs, embarrassed.
“Actually, my hook was on the nightstand,” Killian mumbles, and Emma bites her lip with a smile at his serious tone. “I was just…. going to grab a knife.”
The three of them all laugh then, and Leia makes happy noises along with them. Emma’s glad to have her terrible nightmares chased away by her favourite people. She turns back to Killian, kissing him chastely. “I love you,” she whispers, giving him a tight hug before hopping down from the table and heading toward the couch. Killian follows her.
Leia waves at Emma happily when she notices her approach. Emma takes a deep breath, readying her animated voice. “What are you doing up, you stinky little duckling? Is Henry waiting on you? How come you so wide awake??? Oh, look at those pretty green eyes of yours.”
Leia giggles and Emma reaches to take her from Henry. Emma goes right for the baby’s cheeks, kissing them repeatedly. “Ohh, I love this munchkin!” Emma exclaims, tickling Leia’s neck with her lips. Leia laughs so hard she can barely get her breath, and when she sees Killian behind Emma, she whines and her arms go flailing toward him.
Emma keeps up her animated baby voice, despite being nuzzled against the baby’s neck. “Oh, do you want Daddy? Of course you want Daddy. You always want your daddy. Why do you always steal Daddy from me at night, Leia? Hmmm?? Okay, okay.”
Emma kisses her once more before she surrenders the biggest daddy’s girl in the world to Killian, who is still chuckling. Emma watches Leia nestle herself comfortably in what used to be her spot against his neck. She just shakes her head, smiling as she flops down on the couch next to Henry. They share a quiet look for a moment, an unspoken apology from Emma and an unspoken expression of love and support from Henry. She can’t resist the urge to hug her teenage son, so she pulls him against her side, even though he’s basically as big as she is. Killian sits down on Emma’s other side, Leia tucked snugly under his chin. Of course, she’s asleep already. It’s no secret to any of them that Leia feels safest in Killian’s arms.
Still with Henry pulled against her, Emma leans toward Killian, resting her cheek on his shoulder so that her mouth is level with Leia’s ear. “See, Princess Leia?” Emma whispers, well aware that her words won’t slip past Killian and Henry. “This is what it’s like to belong somewhere. Isn’t it so nice? This is your home, little love. This is your family.”
And that was the ninth time.
I’m going to have to go back and read all of these because this was so adorable, I’m just sitting here and grinning like a moron. Awww!
Key Change
A/N: So awhile back, @startswithhope had made a post about CS domesticity headcanons (
which I will link to as soon as I can, but can’t find it right now, dangit– aha, startswithhope found it for me!! Thanks!!), and we mutually bemoaned how neither of us had time to actually write fic for any of them….well. Oops. This little fic is inspired by that list, and all the talk of keys (I believe that @killians-dimples had the original key headcanons, though this one was my addition to the list). Hope you all enjoy!!
He was always losing his key.
At first, it had surprised Emma. Enough of the well-trained
Naval lieutenant still lurked within Killian to make him habitually neat –
shoes were always lined up near the front door as soon as they came off,
everything had its proper place in the kitchen, and sofa pillows were tilted
and set just so (when the two of them weren’t curled up among them, that is).
His shirts and vests hung in an orderly fashion in their closet, his socks and
underwear nestled in perfectly folded bundles in his designated dresser
drawers, and when not in use his few toiletries marched in a tidy row across
his half of the bathroom vanity.
cshappybeginning 