Tag: CS fluff

Soft and Warm and Comfortable

nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable:

For @mossandmushroom.  Here’s your fluff, I told you the sweater would survive!  I’ll be here, just waiting for my socks…

word count: ~1,000

ao3

“Where is it?” Emma
called out in exasperation from deep inside the closet, her voice small and
muffled, trapped by the hanging clothes around her.

“Where’s what, love?”
 Killian peeked his head inside the small room, but she barely glanced up
as she continued her search.

“That sweater, the black
one with the light pattern on the front,” she muttered, pulling open drawers
and rummaging on shelves.  “You know, the one said you really
liked?”  She already had on the black shirt that went so well under the
cardigan, she really wasn’t in the mood to change out of it.  And that
sweater was so soft and warm and comfortable…

“I like all the clothes
you wear,” he smirked, a wicked grin on his face, “but I love the ones you don’t
more…”

Keep reading

It Runs in the Family

mahstatins:

A little bit for @fangirlforlife2448 who wanted Henry walking in on CS like Emma and Henry walked in on Snowing in season 2.

Crack-ish, semi-smutty fluff with a tiny dose of naval-gazing (literal and figurative) coming up, Hayley! I hope you like it!

1.8k, Rated M for nipple.

She burrows her nose into Killian’s chest, watching the gauzy white curtains flutter over their perfect view of the sunrise, curls her toes into the cool cotton of their bed sheets, and wonders when she got so lucky.

His arm is warm against her bare back and the beat of his heart is solid and steady under her ear and this is her life now. This is her life.

Killian wraps a disheveled curl around his finger, watching the play of light through the golden strands.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking.”

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justanotherwannabeclassic:

Happy Independence Day! Here’s a fluffy baby bit of CS watching fireworks

[AO3]

They are curled on the deck of the Jolly Roger, a thick wool blanket beneath them as they look upwards to the bursts of color in the night sky. Emma is tempted to get up and move to the railing to watch the reflections of the fireworks dance across the dark water of Storybrooke harbor, but Killian tightens his hold on her, and she knows there is nowhere else she’d rather be than here.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” Emma begins, a fact from long-ago history classes playing in the back of her mind. “Here we are on a ship in a harbor, and the whole American Revolution began with the patriots dumping tea off a ship and into a harbor.”

Killian hums in agreement, but says nothing more. Henry’s spent the better part of the past two weeks educating Killian on the history of America and its revolution. Her pirate finds it to be strange that the town, memories intact, still celebrates the holiday, as they seemingly have no real devotion to the United States, and Emma is inclined to agree. She doesn’t question it though, content to celebrate the most-American of holidays and the joyous explosions of fireworks.

“I could see you doing it, you know,” she says, conjuring up a fantasy in her head. “If you had been here during the Revolution, you would have been tossing tea into the harbor, doing the whole freedom fighter thing.”

“You probably aren’t too far off the mark,” Killian replies into her hair as one of the fireworks explodes into the shape of a star.

“Well, yeah, I can’t exactly see you being a Loyalist.”

“I could be,” he says, his voice far too serious for the conversation they’re holding. It makes her laugh, because Killian – Captain Hook – fighting in the name of any kingdom sounds absurd, even if he did it once before.

“You, a pirate, fighting for the crown?”

“I would if it you were the one wearing it,” he tells her, and her heart stutters in her chest. He twines their fingers, continuing, “I would pledge my allegiance to you.”

More often than not, Emma forgets that she is royalty. It’s silly, really, because she objectively knows her parents are a prince and princess. But it’s pretty easy to forget, especially since she’s only been in her kingdom a scant few times, and has lived in the United States most of her life. She’s pretty sure she’s voted for the president more times than she’s visited a castle.

Emma rolls to her side to meet his eyes, only to see Killian staring back in the way that once scared her, so serious and devoted and sure. With each explosion, his pale skin is painted over with flashes of reds and blues. He’s beautiful, ethereal even, when he lays his heart open to her like this, and she wants to kiss him.

So she does.

She’s never been one with words, so Emma does her best to pour everything she’s feeling into the movement of her lips against his. It’s no small gesture for a pirate to swear fealty to royalty – especially for him, especially after everything she knows a king tore from him. It’s no small thing to have someone swear utter devotion to you either, something Emma’s experienced far too little of in her life, and she wants him to know she appreciates that, as well.

“I love you, Killian,” she tells him as they break apart, and the smile he gives her in return is brighter than all of the fireworks in the sky.

Peace Bloody Peace (While It Lasts)

curiousthingdarkness:

A/N: Post 5B, 1.6k, a quiet moment before Storybrooke is under siege once again. Some fluff, angst, Neverland mentions and a tiny bit of Daddy!Killian feels

Something is brewing once again in Storybrooke, Emma can
feel it. She’s grown accustomed to the atmosphere of tension and worry that
blankets the town with every new arrival of a villain or a character she knows
from her childhood that turns out to be real. She’s not even really sure what
or who the problem is this time, but both the sheriff and savior parts of her
tingle with the knowledge that something is coming and the anticipation is hard
to shake off.

The Jolly Roger proves to be an effective recluse though.
It’s like a separate world aboard the ship, a little bubble that offers her
comfort and peace and the chance to enjoy Killian’s company without being
interrupted. For a little while, anyway.

‘Your thoughts are rather loud, love.’ Killian murmurs,
lazily brushing his fingers through her hair as they lie close together on the
small bed. It’s only a fraction of the size of their bed at home but it’s
comfortable nonetheless, offering no excuse but to cuddle in the small space.

‘I can’t help it.’ Emma sighs, wiggling against him
restlessly.

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some aloe for that burn

spartanguard:

image

to make a long story short, I got sunburned this weekend. and, consequently, this fic happened. so here’s a bit of T-rated (if that) massaging and teasing. and make sure you wear sunscreen this summer.

“Swaaaan.” The whine drifted upstairs, followed shortly by the familiar pop of a cork. Before either of those sounds escalated in one way or another, Emma quickly grabbed what she needed from the bathroom cabinet and headed back downstairs.

Killian was slumped on a kitchen chair, sitting perpendicular to the seatback, slowly sipping from his flask. Well, he had been slumped, until apparently that was too painful; he winced and sat straight back up, but the furrow of his brow told her that wasn’t all that pleasant, either.

Because Killian Jones—the dreaded Captain Hook, legendary pirate, who’d spent over a century at sea—was dreadfully, horribly, adorably sunburnt. From the tips of his elfin ears all the way down to the edge of his swim trunks, his skin was flushed a bright pink that was honestly painful to look at…but she couldn’t say she hadn’t warned him.

It had been a gorgeous summer afternoon, with a cool breeze from the ocean meeting the heat bearing down from the cloudless sky. A perfect beach day.

Killian had needed some convincing to borrow a pair of David’s swim trunks, commenting on the absurdity of this realm’s swimwear. However, any further protests died on his lips when Emma took off her cover up, revealing her little white bikini.

She smirked watching him swallow when she asked him to help put sunblock on her back, knowing full well the effect she had on him (and it wasn’t like those shorts, hanging low on his hips, did nothing to her, either).

“Okay, your turn,” she directed when he was done applying lotion to her back.

“Nonsense, Swan, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? That sun’s pretty intense.”

“Of course. I spent over a century wearing nought but my leather slacks on deck in the midday sun and not once got burned. I’ll be fine.”

She would have insisted, but suddenly found herself lost in thought with that mental image as he dashed off into the surf.

The sight in front of her now was anything but cocky; he looked downright defeated, a pained pout on his lips as he eyed her heading toward him.

“Don’t say it, Swan.”

She giggled; he knew all too well the lecture she was about to give. “Okay, but you’ll wear sunscreen next time?”

He glared and nodded.

“Damn right you will.” She moved behind him and put a liberal dollop of the aloe vera gel from the bathroom in her hand. “Brace yourself; this might be cold.”

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Fic: The Lucky One (1/1)

dani-ellie03:

Author’s Note: @find-emma-swan asked for a
story about either Emma or Killian waking from a nightmare following all
the Underworld stuff and the other comforting them. Somehow that prompt
evolved into what you see below. Title and lyrics used to head the
story come from the Vertical Horizon song of the same name. Feedback
makes every day like fanfic Christmas! Enjoy. 🙂

—–

At ff.net and below.

—–

I know I’m the lucky one,
‘Cause I’m here and you’re with me.

—–

Breaking free of the red-tinged dreamscape was a bit like breaking
the surface of an angry ocean. The nightmare tried its damnedest to hold
onto him and pull him back under but Killian Jones fought the pull with
everything he had. It was a dream, he knew it was a dream. Now he just
needed to wake up.

He kicked as hard as he could for the surface. His eyes snapped open, his breath escaping his lips in heaving gasps.

The
heavy blackness of the darkened bedroom was heaven. No red sky, no
underground caverns. The soft mattress beneath him was far more
comfortable than the hard, unforgiving rock of the Underworld. The
tortured screams that had served as the soundtrack to his nightmare –
the same tortured screams that had permeated every inch of Hades’
underground torture chamber – no longer echoed in his ears. Even the
sulfur-y smell of Hades’ realm was gone, replaced with the soft,
comforting scent of the lavender spray Emma had taken to spritzing on
their pillows at night in a last ditch effort to avoid … well, this.

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On This Lovely Sunday Night, Can We Kick Up Our Feet and Talk About…

canwetalkaboutcaptainswan:

The Fifth Time It Happened?

Hey! This is part 5/? of the story of how Captain Killian-can’t-get-enough-of-his-daughter Jones can’t stop waking up in the middle of the night because he’s just too stinkin in love with his little girl. Leia is still 3 months old. Warning: this part is nothing but hilariousness. 😉 

If you missed the other 4 times it happened:

I. 
II.
III.
IV.

Thank you to @thegladelf​ @raggedyclaraa​ @vigilantewives​ @naiariddle​ @iswearonouat​ @that-one–book-nerd​ @mayquita​ @onceuponiwishmytime​ and all others who left kind words! 

Enjoy way-too-ambitious Killian, shipmates 😉 

***********

The fifth time it happens, Emma beats Killian to the punch. This time, it’s Killian who rolls over to find the other half of the bed vacant. He sits up, rubbing his eyes before swinging his legs to the floor. He assumes Emma is feeding Leia and just didn’t wake him up, but when he nears Leia’s room he finds that he can hear Emma talking. He pauses for a second, eavesdropping.

“How come you’re not sleepy, little love? Is the world just too exciting for you to miss out? Or do you just like hanging out with Mumma? Mumma loves you so much, sweet girl. Yes, Mumma does.”

Killian smiles to himself, and eagerly rounds the corner into the room, eyes easily finding the rocking chair. What surprises him, is that he finds it empty. At first he is terribly confused, until his gaze lands on Leia’s crib, and he discovers that tonight it has two occupants.

The room is fairly dark, but Killian can vaguely make out Emma’s small frame, curled up next to Leia. She’s using one arm as a pillow and the other is wrapped around Leia, and he watches for a second as her fingers rub circles over the baby’s tummy. He stands in the doorway for a beat longer watching his two loves before quietly padding over to the crib himself.

“What’s going on in here?” he asks playfully, leaning against the edge of the crib and peering down into it. Emma turns her head, looking up at him with one of her signature tight-lipped smiles. “Is Mummy snuggling with you, little lass? Oh my goodness. You’re such a lucky girl, princess Leia.”

Emma does a theatrical gasp, nudging Leia so that she turns her head toward Killian. “Uh-oh. Who’s that, Leiabear? I think your Daddy is spying on us, duckling.”

Both parents chuckle as Leia’s arms and legs start flailing, a huge smile spreading across her face when she realizes her father has arrived. Emma shakes her head. Such a daddy’s girl. Killian mirrors her smile and lowers his hand to stroke her cheek with his knuckle. Leia immediately grabs hold of his fingers, her bright green eyes staring up at him in happy wonderment. It melts him.

“Did she nurse, love? Was everything alright?” he asks Emma, who has begun to run her fingers over Leia’s velvety dark hair.

“Mhm. She finished about 10 minutes ago. And now clearly has no interest in sleeping.”

“Why didn’t you wake me, darling?” he asks curiously, flipping his gaze from Leia to Emma. He can’t get enough of how beautiful she looks, sleepy and happy and motherly and tender. Her golden hair is sprawled over her arm, and it seems to span the whole length of the crib. Her cheeks are flushed a rosy pink and her eyes sparkle, just like Leia’s.

“Because you were up with her all night last night, babe,” she reminds him, recalling with pleasure how he’d catered to all of Leia’s needs so that she could get a decent night’s sleep. “You’re not a machine, Killian. You need sleep, too.”

He absorbs her words, appreciating them. Despite the fact that his life is nothing short of perfect, it can’t be denied that he is indeed in need of sleep. “Aye. I just bristle at the thought of missing out on these precious little moments. There’s nothing in the world I enjoy more than this,” he explains, gesturing toward the two of them.  

Emma smiles, secretly amused by the tiny hint of jealously in his tone. “Yeah, well. Sometimes we just need some time for girl talk, don’t we Leia?”

Leia gurgles, and they both laugh. The baby’s eyes are still absolutely stuck on Killian, and Emma can’t help but notice.

“Look at her looking at you,” she says, propping herself up on her elbow, “You love that Daddy, don’t you, duckling? Yes, Mumma knows you do. But don’t you worry. He loves you right back.”

“That’s quite right, I do,” he coos, running his thumb over his daughter’s petite little lips, “Can I hold you, for a moment? Or does mean Mummy say no?”

Emma sighs, rolling her eyes. “Mean Mummy says it’s okay,” she says, undraping her arm from over Leia. “You’re both lucky that you’re cute.”

Killian chuckles with gleeful triumph as he leans down to expertly pick up his little girl. “She thinks we’re cute, little bird!” he tells Leia, hauling her up so that he can give her little kisses all over her face. The baby giggles infectiously, wriggling in her father’s grip. Killian begins to sway with her, looking at her in that special way, as though there isn’t anyone else in the world but her.

Emma takes that as her cue to shut her eyes. She doesn’t let herself fully fall asleep, just lets herself relax against the mattress, floating in that hazy place between consciousness and unconsciousness. After a few minutes though, Killian speaks to her, and man does he yank her back into consciousness.

“So, Emma. Darling. My love. My lovely, stunning wife…Are you ready yet to have another?”

Emma’s eyes fly open and her face contorts into the most incredulous expression. “Are you on crack?”

“I beg your pardon? What the bloody hell is crack?”

“Oh my god, Killian,” Emma has her palm against her face, and she’s on the brink of hysterical laughter. “Leia, tell Daddy he’s gone mad.”

“But the other day you said you wanted more children,” he whines, and Emma groans, throwing her index finger high into the air.

“One. One more. One,” she clarifies, wiggling the finger indignantly. “And I need minimum three years.”

“Three?!”

“Killian, that one just got here! How do you already want another one?”

“I just love this one so much,” he argues, kissing Leia’s forehead, “I can’t wait to love another. And besides, Swan. It’s devilishly cute, this little thing that we made.”

She can’t exactly disagree. “Yes, but my stomach is still flubbery and wrinkly and gross from baking that cute little thing for you,” she stresses. “I got a nice 15 year break between the last two. The oven is not ready for round three.”

Killian peers down at her, his face suddenly so serious. “Your stomach is not flubbery,” he insists, holding Leia with his left arm so that he can reach down with his right to stroke Emma’s stomach, “It’s wonderful. You are a marvel, Mummy. You’re stunning. You’ve the second most beautiful belly in all the realms.”

Emma swats his hand away, but threads her fingers through his. She can’t contain her laughter. “Man, Leia. Thanks to you, I always land in second place these days.”

Killian laughs along with her, before his serious gaze returns and he squeezes her hand. “But in all seriousness, my love,” he says, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of how expertly you carried her for us. You were amazing. I only wish I could’ve done more to help you, or done more to ease your pain there at the end,” he tells her sincerely, shuddering from the memory of Emma’s bloodcurdling screams of pain as she valiantly brought Leia into the world.

Emma smiles sheepishly, tilting her head up at him. Her pirate. Always so sweet.

“You did everything you possibly could’ve,” she assures him. “I definitely couldn’t’ve done it without you beside me. Thanks for sticking around.”

His eyes widen a little. “You never honestly thought I might leave you, did you?”

“No no no,” she clarifies, and he exhales in relief. “Still. Just because I knew you wouldn’t leave doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for staying.”

He beams at her, tightening his hold on their daughter before leaning toward her. She scrambles onto her knees so she can easily reach his approaching lips. She nestles her fingers in his hair as they kiss, an age-old habit of hers. He moves his hand to cup her cheek, using one finger to tickle her earlobe.

“I’ll tell you what,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air, “If you can find it in your heart to put your littlest love back in here, maybe we can go back to bed, and practice making duckling number two.”

Killian pulls back further from her, his gaze suddenly lustful and teasing as he turns to the side so Emma can see where Leia is leaning against his shoulder.

Emma’s expression turns to surprise when she sees Leia’s face, rolling her eyes as Killian gloats. “Well, since duckling number one has, as usual, fallen right to sleep in her Daddy’s arms, I see no reason not to let her snooze while we….practice.”

Emma sticks her tongue out at him as she climbs out of the crib. “Well then, put down your little daddy’s girl,” she says, and he can sense the tiniest hint of annoyance in her tone. (She’s just jealous because he’s always the one who gets Leia to sleep effortlessly.) “After all, practice makes perfect.”

They each kiss one of Leia’s cheeks before Killian sets her down. “You aren’t wrong, Swan,” he says quietly, picking her up bridal style before pausing so they can stare into the crib one final time. “But I do believe we already made perfect.”

And that was the fifth time. 

Koala Slippers

captain-emmajones:

For @once-uponacaptain (thanks bb) who requested : Neighbor AU " Why are you crying in the hallway?? Are you okay?? Let’s go to my place, I have ice cream and Netflix"

Ao3

4.2k words, smut and fluff ♥ And as usual a big thank you to @tillthebooksrunout for the beta job ily ♥ 

“Yeah, Liam, I have to hang up, my show is about to start. Have a lovely date with Elsa, see you tomorrow.” And with that, Killian puts down his phone on the table in front of him and falls flat on his couch.

“Favourite part of the day,” he mumbles to himself, a little smile on his lips.

He reaches for the control and is about to hit the switch on button but then-

“What the bloody hell is that?”

Frowning, he stands back up and concentrates himself on the sound he perceives.

Wait a second, he thinks, realization hitting him.

Someone is crying in the corridor, and it’s an ugly kind of crying. The kind where he’s almost sure that girl, because from the shaking voice he hears it’s a lass, is barely managing to breathe.

It’s none of your business, grumbles a part of him.

He stands up anyway, jaw clenched. He has to make sure that person is safe. This is only his civic duty.

Always following the rules, mocks Liam’s voice in his head.

Grabbing his keys, he eyes his clothes with a disapproving look; he’s only wearing his flannel boxer shorts and a white t-shirt decorating with an inscription : man’s lasses. A gift of Liam’s, obviously.

Sighing, he rushes anyway towards his door. He closes it gently, not wanting to alarm more neighbors, and turns around.

The spectacle he is offered then makes his stomach twist.

“Bloody hell.”

Indeed, a woman is sitting against the door in front of his own flat, knees pressed to her chest and chin down, wearing what he assumes to be a party dress. 

She’s visibly completely distraught : eyes red, stains of mascara devouring her cheeks, and her blond hair is messed up, loose strands falling in front of her face.

As he had guessed earlier, terrible cries are shaking her frail body and she seems completely unaware of his presence.

“Love,” he calls her softly as he makes his way towards her, quiet as possible because freaking her out is the last thing he wants to do.

He has never seen her before, but from the keys she’s clutching in her hands, phalanges white from the pressure, he assumes she must live in this building.

She keeps babbling nonsense, words escaping her dry mouth in between sobs.

“Hey, princess, look at me.” he says again, trying to catch her attention.

Taking one more careful step towards her, he kneels down in front of her and his weary eyes falls on her distressed face.

She’s stinking of alcohol.

“Lass, can you hear me?” And with those last words, he grabs her hand.

He catches her attention with his gesture, her empty green eyes considering him, and he’s already relieved that he hasn’t scared her to death.

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She’s A Marvel

laschatzi:

this is a belated birthday gift to my wonderful friend and muse @princessjoneswan – she’s been wanting to see this for a long time, and how fitting that Colin himself mentioned that anything having to do with a Captain Swan wedding would probably involve the Jolly Roger. Because his ship and his Swan, they’re both marvels. Rated T.

(also on ff.net and ao3)

“Thanks
for your help, mate,” Killian says and hands David a bottle of
beer. To him, it’s still odd that  any other libation than rum and
wine comes in a bottle – beer should be in barrels, really – but
this is the 21st century, and besides, it has its perks.
He kept those bottles in a bucket with cold water aboard his ship,
and so they have an acceptable temperature.

David
wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and takes the
offered bottle, eyeing his daughter’s boyfriend with mild suspicion.
“What was this really about?”

Killian
scratches behind his ear. “Uh, what?” he frowns and fetches a
bottle for himself. “I don’t…”

“Oh,
come on,” David interrupts and plops the swing top of the bottle
open. “Out with it, Hook. You’ve navigated this ship alone for
quite some time, you could have done that bit of handiwork alone. You
didn’t really need my help.”

“Alright,
alright, you got me.” Killian opens his bottle, too, and tilts his
head. “I was doing you a favor. With your little one teething I
thought you could use a bit of–”

“Killian.”
Oddly enough, David is one of the people who still call him by his
old moniker most of the time, even though he is – there’s no use
denying it – his best friend. Maybe because he is. They are
so comfortable with their friendship now that they can say almost
everything to each other without it being offensive. They have
developed that routine of friendly throwing around nicknames like
Hook, prince, mate, pirate that it actually stands out
whenever David calls Killian by his first name. Mostly it’s a sign of
seriousness.

Killian
sighs and knows that he can’t delay the moment any longer, and anyway
– David is right. There was a reason why he lured him on the Jolly
Roger on this hot summer afternoon under the pretext of “needing
a hand” with some repair work. “You’re quite the perceptive
prince,” he grumbles and puts down his bottle while David patiently
waits, an amused grin on his face.

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