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 …”
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.”
Here, have a sweet and hopefully funny little piece inspired in part by @penandinkprincess ‘s ask from yesterday.
It wasn’t until Emma reached for her glass and accidentally knocked it over for the third time that Killian realized they had something of a problem.
Emma Swan was drunk.
She apologized profusely to Granny, who had at first been amused – because Emma Swan getting tipsy at her counter was not something that happened every day – but was now skating toward lovingly annoyed. “I’ve half a mind to make you wipe up the counter yourself, girl,” she said, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the rum-induced haze in Emma’s mind enough to make her sit at attention. “One more spilled glass and I’m cutting you off.”
“Sorry,” Emma repeated, her cheeks flushed as Granny wiped a rag over the counter to sop up the spilled drink. The woman gave her a curt nod, accepting her apology, and ducked out back to put the glass in the wash.
Emma turned on her stool and smiled sheepishly at Killian. “I think I got us in trouble.”
This piece of fluff is for @thisisevenharderthannamingablog‘s birthday. She said a while back she just wanted those two crazy kids to have some piece and quiet. I’m not normally a domestic fluff writer, but for this, I happily make an exception.
As many of you who follow her know, she does like to bake, so I used that as my starting point. I chose bread because I’m pretty sure that’s one of her favorite things to make. I even used her go-to bread recipe for the story. (You can find the recipe here but she doesn’t use the nuts.) I promise I’ll be making it myself, too.
Hopefully I haven’t ruined her bread-making experience with this unbeta’d story. It’s done with love. 🙂 Happy Birthday, my friend!
Word Count: ~2500
Summary: Killian and Emma make bread and innuendos.
Rating: D for doughy goodness
Killian Jones was a man of many, many talents, some of which Emma had become intimately acquainted with just in the past couple of weeks. But she never could have prepared herself for the scene that greeted her when she returned home from the Sheriff’s station that afternoon.
There, at the large farm table in their kitchen, was Killian, setting out a glass bowl and several ingredients he’d emptied from the grocery bags piled on the counter behind him.
Emma paused in the doorway, mouth agape but eyes narrowed. Slowly, she shut the door behind her and stepped into the living room.
“Ah, Swan! Just in time!” Killian called out, his warm smile impossible not to return.
cshappybeginning 