#cs halloweek ficlet

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Witch in the Woods (2/?)

Summary: “If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.”

A/N: This is a continuation of a short ficlet I wrote back in 2021 for that year's Halloweek (link below). When I had the idea of doing a spooky season bingo, I thought it would be a good time to add to this fun little tale so I could mark out the witches square. I would love to expand on this more, but that is entirely up to the muse. As of now, she has given me zero ideas for future installments, however, she is also a fickle bitch, so... who knows??

Although her bday was technically yesterday, I am offering up this continuation to @kmomof4 as a special gift. She yelled at me back in 2021 to continue it and has brought it up every year since. I doubt this will get her off my back, but maybe it'll satisfy her for this year... maybe. Happy belated Birthday, Krystal!!

Rated T for now / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

Hook stood stock still in shock. Her son was related to the devil who had bound him in servitude? How long had the lad been in Neverland? Was he a lost boy? Or perhaps one of the poor unfortunates the tribe of miscreants kept captive for sport? He would not put it past the deranged brat to torment and torture the boy for his own amusement, despite a familial connection.

Before Hook could voice any of this, a blinding glow illuminated from behind a cloth draped over something in the opposite corner. The witch turned and crossed the room, throwing back the cloth and revealing a tall mirror. However, in its reflection was not the witch or the interior of her meager hut, but a viewing portal, depicting a group of townspeople marching through the woods.

“Right on schedule,” the witch sighed sardonically before spinning around and murmuring an enchantment under her breath.

“What the devil is that?” Hook asked, but his question was nearly forgotten as his attention turned to the items that had begun moving of their own accord, whizzing past his head on their way to a carpet bag sitting open atop the work table.

“That-” the witch answered, gathering a few things on her own and packing them into the bag. “-is an angry mob. Note the torches and pitchforks.”

“I gathered,” Hook exasperated, attempting to duck out of the way while jars, vials, bottles, and sachets smelling of herbs continued to glide overhead. “Where are they headed?”

“Here, I'd imagine,” she replied with an unaffected air in her tone. “Most likely to hang me or burn me at the stake.”

Hook balked at that statement and the way she said it so matter-of-factly. “Come again?”

The witch stepped back towards the mirror and gestured at the figure centered within the frame. “See that man? He came here a few days ago, convinced his infant son had been cursed by the midwife and begged me to help.”

“The midwife cursed his newborn babe?”

“No,” she informed him, shortly. “She did her job and did it well. The issue with his son came later.”

“What issue?” Hook asked, making his way to stand next to her now that the objects in her hut had quieted down.

Her gaze still fixed on the mirror, she forlornly told him, “I do not believe the mother’s milk ever came in. The man said the boy would latch, but never seemed satisfied. He was slowly starving and I told the man as much. I suggested they supplement with goat’s milk and offered them an icing rod to feed him with, but…”

“But?”

The witch’s features tightened from a mixture of sadness and anger. “He said, no son of mine will be fed from a goat’s teet. That be the devil’s work.” Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the work table and began inspecting the contents of the carpet bag. “He insisted it had to be witchcraft and demanded I give him something to break the spell.”

“What did you do?” Hook inquired.

“I gave him some herbs to give his wife,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at the mirror, her brow pinched and eyes squinted, straining to make out the details of the image. Perhaps attempting to ascertain how far into the woods the mob had traveled? “I did not tell him it was to increase her milk supply, but I did tell him it would take a few days for the ‘magic’ to take full effect. I warned him that if he did not see that his son was nourished during that time that it may well be too late, and unfortunately…”

“It was,” Hook finished, full comprehension of the situation now becoming clear to him. “So… the man blames you for his son’s death and means to see you pay for his ignorance and superstition.”

“It appears so,” she replied, focusing once more on the bag.

Hook gripped the hilt of his sword and raised his namesake menacingly towards the mirror. “I will not let that happen, love. I will protect you. I swear it.”

The witch chortled; an amused snort reverberated past her lips, causing Hook’s head to snap in her direction.

“I don’t plan for either of us to be here when they arrive,” she told him, closing the bag and lifting it from the table as though it weighed nothing at all. “Why do you think I’ve been packing?” Stepping up to him, she craned her neck to meet his gaze and said, “Shall we?”

“Shall we… what?”

Again, she rolled her eyes, another beguiling scoff huffing from her chest as she inquired, “You are a pirate, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Which means, you have a ship docked somewhere close by?”

“I do.”

“And you still wish for me to remove your binding, yes?”

“Aye.”

“And I’ve told you my fee, haven’t I?”

“Indeed,” he answered. “You wish for me to steal back your son from Pan.”

“Well, then…”

She paused and wet her lips, drawing his gaze down to her mouth. If not for the sound of the approaching mob, he may well have given in to the temptation of claiming that mouth… and other parts of her as well.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, stating that which should have been obvious to him before now.

“Very well,” he acquiesced, forcing himself to step back from her so he could make his way to the door, ready to fight his way through the mob if necessary.

“Not that way,” she said, grasping his arm and pulling him back to her. She set the carpet bag at their feet - or rather, nestled it on top of their feet - then wound her arms around his waist. “Think of your ship, Captain,” she murmured in the scant space between them. “Close your eyes and imagine us at her helm. I’ll do the rest.”

The shouts and cries echoing off the trees outside had become almost deafening. It took every ounce of trust he did not know he possessed to do as she instructed. His eyelids slid shut and his grip at her waist tightened. Images of the two of them together at the helm of his beloved Jolly Roger filled his mind’s eye and without warning a weightlessness took hold of him.

His eyes sprang open and he found himself surrounded by a swirl of white mist. Gone were the aromatics of the witch’s hut, replaced by the bite and brine of the sea. It was not a murderous mob, but the comforting snap of sails and lapping of water against the hull of his ship that filled his ears. When the mist dissipated, instead of the soft flicker of candles, it was the moon’s rays glowing off the shimmering waves that illuminated the deck. The same rays that sparkled in the witch’s eyes, her neck still craned so she could peer up at him, their arms still circling one another, their gazes locked in an enchantment far stronger than any mystic might produce.

“What’s your name, love?” Hook asked in a desperate breath, fearful that the slightest sound or sudden move might cause the woman to vanish as quickly as she’d had whisked them from her hut.

“Emma,” she replied on a breathless exhale. “Emma Swan.”

“Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, Miss Swan,” Hook murmured, his fingers lightly skimming over the rough, woolen texture of her dress. “Captain Killian Jones. At your service.”

Hook had to force himself to not tighten his hold of her when she turned in his arms. Leaning back against his chest, she gently caressed the wheel, her fingers wrapping around one of the spokes. A crackling, the likes of which he had experienced during many a storm where lightning threatened to strike, swept through him and across the deck.

The witch - Emma - let out a giggle tinted with affection and lifted her head to gaze up at the sails. “A pleasure to meet you, too,” she said on a note of fondness, and Hook realized his ship, his enchanted ship, was also welcoming her aboard.

“I think it’s time we set sail. Don't you, Captain?” She made no attempt to move from the spot she currently occupied - the one manning the helm nor the one that kept her pressed against him.

Using the side of his boot, he shoved the carpet bag - still nestled between their feet - to the side and stepped in closer. Reaching around her, he grasped the wheel, caging her in, and gave his ship the command to set sail. The anchor was hoisted, the rigging was tightened, the sails snapped to attention, and the ship lurched forward, gliding through the waters. Once they were clear of the harbour, the mainsail lit up with a glittering sparkle and the hull lifted effortlessly into the night.

Emma gasped and braced her stance, but her surprised reaction was quickly replaced with an astonished laugh of awe and wonder.

“Hold on tight, love,” Hook crooned in her ear, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth at the wash of gooseflesh that erupted down her neck and across the swell of her breasts. “We’ll be in Neverland before you know it.”

“Will we?” she replied, her voice a bit hoarse and husky, making Hook wish the journey to their destination took longer… much, much longer.

“Aye,” he answered, molding himself to her back and pressing his cheek against hers from over her shoulder as he pointed towards starboard. “See there?” he said, turning his face towards hers, their lips now a hair’s breadth apart. “That’s the way to Neverland. To your boy.”

Emma’s eyes cut to the sky then back to Hook’s forget-me-not gaze before dropping down to his mouth. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?”

“Aye, love,” Hook murmured against her lips. “Straight on ‘til morning.”

Part Three

[snowbellewells]

CS Fic Rec Monday: “Safe” by: @kmomof4

So, this @cshalloweek ficlet was written way back in October of last year, but I am slow and lost track of it, so didn’t get it read until now. It’s just a short glimpse of Killian as a vampire, and his then discovering the newly turned Emma and being captivated by her and needing to ensure her safety.  It won’t take you anytime to read, but you’ll be completely caught up in it, and then you’ll finish and joining me in hoping maybe we can entice @kmomof4​ to give us more of this one... ;)  It really is that good!!

(I didn’t make the cover art, but it’s gorgeous, and hopefully it’s okay that I include it in the rec as well to draw more eyes to the story. It looks like @kmomof4​ made the art herself, with some awesome manips by @spartanguard​! )

“Safe” by: @kmomof4​

[katie-dub]

Lost and Lonely

For CS Halloweek - Day Five: Gothic, although I’m not sure it really counts as Gothic? Frankly, I don’t have a clue what it is, but I hope you enjoy a short bit of unbeta’d weirdness.

He doesn’t know where he is.

He’s trapped somewhere strange. To his back there are strange numbers and letters. To his front, there are moving pictures, drawings, words (news and nonsense and everything in between) and behind it all there’s her. His True Love. If only he could reach her.

He observes. Sometimes his strange surroundings, sometimes her.

(Mostly her.)

As he watches, he learns.

He discovers how to hide the stories that twist her mouth into the sad frown that he knows and hates. He removes everything shared by people who raise her ire. He deletes the messages that he knows would bring tears to her eyes. He wouldn’t normally dream of such censorship - but what else can he do when he’s trapped in here and she’s out there?

Best of all, he figures out how to communicate with her, to write notes to her with a grey face and no name. She doesn’t know him anyway, he learns, his name would mean nothing to her.

(And oh that hurts, his beloved unaware of him. Not just for himself either, he aches for her, this broken shell of who he knows she really is, twisted by years of loneliness and neglect and it’s not real and it’s not fair that she has to feel like this. When he gets out, he’ll make it all better.)

(If he gets out. How can he when the only known cure requires physical form and he doesn’t appear to have one? Despite his grief, he’s actually impressed by a competent villain. It’s not often that he encounters truly formidable foes these days.)

He eventually learns how to share pictures and words and moving images with the world just like she does. Not that he cares for the world - it’s all for her, to make her smile, to help her remember.

It’s not enough.

How can it be? This is a curse unlike any he’s encountered before and he’s kept apart from her, made to live with this mockery of their true love, able to look but not touch, not embrace, not kiss.

But this villain, powerful and cunning as they are, underestimated him, his desperate need for a reunion and the power of information.

He searched for answers, to discover the truth of this strange realm of information and nonsense. He journeyed through corridors of numbers, getting lost in the labyrinthine symbols late at night when she was sleeping and he could not be with her.

He was sure he would never be free.

He found her boy. Sad, jaded and world weary in a way no boy so young should be. (Her boy was cursed into being an uncomfortable reminder of his own past. He didn’t want that fate for him - for anyone.) And yet.. Beneath the broken exterior of the lonely Lost Boy, still beat the heart of the Truest Believer.

It took time to help the boy believe again, to connect him with his mother, for them to feel the love in their hearts.

(He waited centuries before, he could do it again.)

He wasn’t prepared for it to happen - the burst of magic that brought him back where he belonged. One moment, he didn’t know where he was, but then, at last, he was free, he was home.

[justanother-unluckysoul]

Honour 2/2

Rating: chapter 1 might have been a soft M, but this one is definitely rated a hard M 😏 for smut and Killian’s dirty mouth

Summary: Emma appreciates Killian defending her honour. A ficlet for CS Halloweek 2021.

A/N: For @cshalloweek​ 2021. Fulfilling the prompts: Dance/grey (masquerade | honour | “you’re trembling” | enraged)

I am sorry this took me so long but here you go, the promised smutty follow-up!  (unbetad and hardly edited at all because I'm in a hurry to get it posted lol So please excuse any mistakes!) Hope you enjoy. :)

Read on AO3

Honour, Chapter 2

“Now, Emma, tell me, what shall I do to you first? But keep in mind, you’re being punished.”

He grins wickedly as he releases her and stands up, one brow raised as he watches her.

“Take off your clothes, love, quickly now, and think about it.”

Emma doesn’t bother with putting on a show for him. He’d specified quickly, and it might be her fastest stripping yet. Bared to him, she lies back against the pillows, legs spread invitingly. 

“Very good,” he purrs, “Now, have you thought of what a suitable punishment would be? Perhaps a spanking? Get that perfect arse of yours all pink for me, while you squirm and beg me for more, until you’re dripping with how much you need me.”

“Yes,” Emma whines, the images his words bring to mind making her core throb. And she realizes now, as she lies there naked, that she did not actually think of what she wanted him to do to her, beyond the obvious fuck me.

“Perhaps I will take mercy on you,” Killian continues as though she hasn’t spoken, “and give you my fingers. You do love my fingers, don’t you?” 

Her eyes are locked on said fingers right now, as he deftly unbuttons his shirt.

“I do,” she says, because he’s waiting patiently for her answer.

Killian hums in approval and drops his shirt on the floor. Emma licks her lips at the sight of him, his body so perfectly toned beneath the layer of hair she loves to run her fingers through. 

“You’d be so desperate, so needy, and I could bring you to your peak so very quickly, with these fingers.” He is taking off his pants now, and her mouth is damn near watering; she can feel how wet she is already and he hasn’t even touched her yet. Fuck, he’s good at this. “Perhaps I will taste you as well, Emma.” Killian smiles as though lost in memory for a moment. “You do taste so delicious, darling.”

Emma shivers, his words going straight to her core. He kneels on the bed beside her hip.

"Perhaps, though, since it’s supposed to be a punishment, I should bring you to the edge with my mouth and my hand, waiting until I feel you starting to clench around my fingers and then I’d stop, and leave you desperate and wanting. And I know you would want so fucking badly, darling, wouldn’t you?"

He drags his fingers gently down her belly, slowly inching closer to where she’s aching for him. She wants so fucking badly now, and she makes no attempt to hide it. 

"Yes. Oh my god," she gasps, already squirming in an attempt to get some friction where she needs it so desperately, Killian smirking as he teases her, his careful fingers just avoiding her clit on each pass, "Fuck, Killian, are you actually going to do something or just talk about it?"

He chuckles then, his tongue darting out teasingly at the corner of his lips. She loves his tongue; God, the things it can do to her.

“Killian, please,” she whimpers.

“You told me to punish you, Emma. I can’t have you enjoying it too much.” He’s finding an irritating amount of enjoyment in it himself as he slowly draws his fingers through her folds, coating them in her arousal. “Not yet, anyway.”

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean, moaning sinfully all the while as he watches her with fire in his eyes.

“Gods, you taste amazing.”

Emma groans, reaching the end of her patience. She wants him to just get on with it.

“Stop teasing,” she demands.

Killian fixes her with a withering stare, that of a ruthless pirate captain who has not taken kindly to being challenged, his blue eyes hot with anger and desire and it makes her burn for him. She can’t help the shudder of primal want that ripples through her.

“I make the demands here, Swan,” he growls, “You wanted this. Now, lie still and take it. Or do I need to tie you up?”

Emma shakes her head quickly. As enjoyable as it would be to be tied up, utterly at Killian’s mercy - they’ve done it before and she loves it - tonight she wants to be free to touch him, to hold onto him when he finally takes her.

“Good girl.”

She moans as he finally presses two fingers into her, leaning down to press his tongue against her clit as he pumps his fingers in and out, carefully stretching her - even when he's supposed to be playing the part of a ruthless pirate he always ensures she's adequately prepared for his size. She quickly grabs a handful of his hair to hold him against her, but he hums disapprovingly, using his hooked arm to push her hand away.

“Ah ah, Swan, hands to yourself.”

Well, fuck. Emma reluctantly takes a fistful of blanket instead. If that’s the way things are going tonight, she wonders if she actually should have agreed to being tied up. There’s no way she’ll be able to resist touching him, pulling him closer as he sends her over the edge. He looks up at her, the perfect picture of sin between her legs, his hair askew and her arousal across his lips and chin. 

"Having second thoughts about those restraints, love?" he asks teasingly, because of course he knows what she's thinking, he knows her so well. 

“Just keep going,” she says, trying to get her body to relax. It’s going to be a long night.

“Still so demanding, aren’t you?” But he relents, thank God, diving back in.

She moans without shame as he licks and sucks at her, murmuring filth about how good she tastes, how perfect she feels, as he curls his fingers inside her, her hips rocking against his fingers and his face. He’s entirely too good at this and she’s so close to coming within a very short time. 

“Fuck yes, don’t stop,” she gasps.

But he does stop his attentions just as Emma’s legs begin to shake, her walls squeezing around his fingers, pulling them out right before she can climax and leaving her empty and wanting.

“Killian,” she whimpers, desperately keeping a white-knuckled grip on the blanket to stop herself from simply grabbing his hair and pushing him against her again, “Please.”

“You’ll take what I give you, Emma,” he growls, but in the next moment he's lined up and thrust easily inside her wet heat without further warning.

“Fuck!” Emma cries out, still so close to the edge she almost thinks she’ll come just from that, right now, just from the sudden fullness of his cock sinking deep inside her.

“Gods, you’re perfect.” Killian holds still for a moment, wiping his hand across his mouth before he bends down, covering her body with his own.  “I swear you’re made just for me, Emma, the way you take my cock like this. So fucking wet and tight.”

The world slips away from her; there’s nothing beyond the warmth and weight of Killian’s body pressed down against her and his cock buried deep inside her, his hips rocking against hers at a maddeningly slow pace, his voice dark and sinful as he mutters deliciously filthy praise into her ear. Emma moans wantonly, wishing he would just move already, it’s not quite enough, the sparks of her impending orgasm fading into nothing despite how nice this feels. Killian is breathing heavily, his mouth open slightly and his eyes dark with lust and arousal as he just barely holds himself back. But Emma wants him to let go, stop being so damn careful with her, she can take it. She wants the pirate. So, deliberately disobeying Killian’s earlier command, she brings both hands up to his back, raking her nails down the scars there with just the right amount of pressure, and Killian hisses sharply at the new sensation, pain mixed with pleasure. 

“Emma, I told you, hands to yourself.”

“Okay, fine,” she sasses, and raises herself up on her elbows so she can sink her teeth firmly into the top of his shoulder, squeezing her core around him for good measure. 

The shudder ripples right through him, his hips bucking into her roughly, the control he was so carefully exerting over himself quickly fraying.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, his hand squeezing her hip tightly, “You minx.”

She smiles against his skin as she soothes the bite with her tongue. 

“If that’s the way you want it,” he growls, and hell yeah, that’s exactly how she wants it. “Lie back down, darling, and you have permission to touch me now - with your hands.”

He sits back, brings one of her legs up and rests it over his shoulder, the new angle as her hips twist slightly letting his cock slide even deeper. Emma gasps, whimpering, grabbing him firmly to brace herself as Killian thrusts shallowly, slowly.

“You’re going to want to hold on.”

Yes. Yes. Finally. It’s rough and it’s fast and it’s everything she craves. Killian focuses on chasing his own pleasure now, pounding his cock into her willing body again and again. Emma can do nothing but hold on to him. She loves it when he gets like this, trying to meet his thrusts as much as she can, breathless whimpers and moans falling from her lips as he fucks her hard. 

"Bloody hell, Emma, you feel so good," he gasps after not long enough, his hips stuttering. 

He slows the pace, letting her catch her breath a little, lowering her leg back onto the mattress. Emma whines, her climax so close and yet not quite within reach, desperately hoping he isn’t really going to edge her again. 

"I want to feel you come first, love," Killian explains, still slowly rutting into her as he sucks his thumb into his mouth before rubbing it against her clit. 

Oh thank God. Emma moans, her body tensing once more, the pleasure building again quickly under the careful circles he's drawing on her clit and the languid thrusts of his cock. 

"That's it, Emma," he coaxes, "Come for me." 

Her orgasm rushes through her in a burst of euphoria as she tries not to scream too loud, suddenly acutely aware that they are having sex in a hotel room and not in their own house. 

“Good girl,” Killian growls, “So fucking good.”

He shifts his position slightly, grabbing her hip firmly and she hears something rip, his hook tearing through the sheets and anchoring him to the mattress before he begins to thrust once more, the change of position giving him enough purchase as he slams into her that the bed frame creaks ominously underneath them. Emma can’t find the coherency to be concerned about either of those things, too caught up in the lingering haze of her climax and the sensation of a rapidly approaching second one. Before she started having sex with Killian, she’d never thought it was possible for it to feel so amazing, that having multiple orgasms with a partner were a fantasy - that perhaps, even, there was something wrong with her body and that was why penetration never felt quite as good as she’d expected. But then, Killian. And holy fuck, he is good at sex, and it’s not just because he’s well-endowed - though she’s not going to lie, that is a bonus. He didn’t rush her, never pressured her, always taking his time with foreplay, always adequately preparing her for his cock. The first time Killian’s cock had slipped inside her, stretching and filling her so completely and perfectly, it was only then Emma had realized just how truly awful at sex Neal had been. Killian had filled Emma’s ears with praise for her, for her reactions to him, telling her how beautiful and tight and wet she was, his nimble fingers seeking every sensitive place on her body and she had sailed over the edge faster than she ever had before. And sex with Killian only gotten impossibly better over the years. Even when he takes her roughly like this, there’s still an overwhelming feeling of being loved and cared for, with the way he knows her body so well, intimately aware of her needs in a way only people who have been together for so long can be. 

“Come with me, Emma,” she hears him say, his voice rough and wrecked as he nears his climax, “Give me one more, sweetheart. I need to feel you squeezing my cock again as I fill you.”

She doesn’t need any further encouragement - her body had been poised on the edge already, and another wave of bliss washes over her almost immediately, her body shaking with the intensity of it. 

“Yes,” Killian groans, “Yes, Emma. Fuck!” His hips jerk erratically against her, the clenching of her walls around him triggering his release. 

She's still trembling and panting when he pulls out of her with a satisfied groan, and she can’t help the soft whimper that catches in her throat.

"Shhh, my darling," he soothes, stroking her sweat-slick skin, pressing his lips to her forehead, "You were bloody magnificent, Emma. Such a good girl. Just relax now and let me take care of you." 

She drifts in a blissful, exhausted haze as Killian gently cleans her, speaking quiet words of praise and reassurance as he does. She marvels every time how he’s never as tired afterwards as she is; her pirate has an impossible amount of stamina. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks when he eventually settles into bed beside her, drawing her into his arms and kissing the top of her head, “Are you sore, love?”

“Hmm. Only a little.” She knows she has to be honest with him. “But I’m okay. I wanted you to be rough.”

“Aye, love,” he murmurs against her hair, “And you took it so well, Emma.”

“You didn’t really punish me though,” she points out. Not that she’s concerned about it; it was amazing sex anyway, as it always is.

Killian chuckles softly.

“Well, no, I suppose I didn’t, did I?”

Emma giggles, her fingers tracing nonsensical patterns across his chest as she curls against him.

“No. You talked about doing so many things to me, and then you didn’t do any of it.”

“I did edge you,” he reminds her.

“You edged me once. That’s hardly a punishment.”

Killian hums in agreement. 

“You’re entirely too tempting, my darling, I couldn’t wait any longer to feel you around my cock,” he says. “You still enjoyed yourself, though?” Of course Killian has to make sure.

“Very much so,” she assures him, propping herself up on her elbow so she can kiss him a bit more.

Emma loves how his hand immediately finds its way into her hair, his rings catching slightly at the strands as he cradles her head. She sighs a happy sigh as they break apart and snuggles back down beside him, feeling wonderfully sleepy and warm in his embrace. She has no intention of moving from this spot until the morning.

"Oh bloody hell," Killian spits out suddenly, startling her. 

"What is it?" 

"The mattress."

Emma blames the mind blowing sex she's just had for how long it takes her to recall the ripping sound she'd heard earlier. She shifts and stretches out her hand, and her fingers sink into a gaping tear in the bed where Killian had lodged his hook for leverage. 

"Well," she says, "Bloody hell indeed." And then she dissolves into helpless giggling. 

Killian’s own laughter joins hers in a moment as he holds her tightly. She revels in this moment, this connection and love they share, tinged with just a little bit of giddiness from two amazing orgasms. And she thinks not for the first time that Killian's laughter might just be her favourite sound in the world. 

"I love you so much," she says breathlessly when their giggling finally abates, "and we are never staying in this hotel again."

THE END (for real this time lol) 

TAG LIST:  @teamhook - @klynn-stormz - @xarandomdreamx - @zaharadessert - @kmomof4 - @therooksshiningknight - @batana54 - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld - @tiganasummertree - @jonesfandomfanatic - @the-darkdragonfly - @jrob64 - @hollyethecurious - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan - @moviequeen51 - @onceratheart18

[lenfaz]

businesscasualprincess replied to your post “any suggestions for spirits and traditions during the cs halloweek?”

Rum and late night ghost stories? That hits two kinds of spirits!

Killian Jones is cursed by the blind witch, trapped in a rum bottle that gets forgotten in a shelve until Emma Swan finds it 300 years later...

ohhhhh ficlet idea!

[aprilqueen84]

Loved it!!

CS Halloweek: The Witch in the Woods

The Witch in the Woods - @cshalloweek Day 1

Day One Prompts: 

Treats / orange 

pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery

Thanks for @kmomof4 for giving this a once over! Rest assured she has already yelled at me 😆 

Rated GA / Also available on ao3 or ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list  / Curious? Come Ask Me!

~/~

“If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.”

That’s what the apothecary had told him. The witch in the woods. A designation that brought forth images of an old crone, hump-backed and wrinkled with warts on her nose and long spindling fingers whose knuckles were gnarled and stiff - not the blonde goddess currently grinding an assortment of herbs with her mortar and pestle, her brilliant jade eyes sparkling in the candlelight that was also casting a honeyed glow over her smooth, creamy skin.

“So, you’ve been magically bound, you say?” the witch commented, repeating his reason for seeking her out.

“Aye,” Hook responded, shifting his weight in an effort to maintain an air of command in the presence of the witch who had knocked him off kilter the moment he’d entered her presence.

Stopping her work, she puffed a breath over her lips, blowing away a section of her hair that had fallen from her braid out of her face, and glanced up at him. “Where?”

Distracted by the way her gaze seemed to pierce right through him, in addition to the inexplicable urge he felt to reach over and tuck the errant strand - which she had failed to move out of the way - behind her ear, Hook blinked several times before responding, “Where what?”

A knowing sort of smirk lifted the corner of her mouth and she began macerating her herbs once more, clarifying, “Where on your person is the binding attached?”

Hook reached up and scratched behind his ear, then hastily dropped his hand, not wishing to expose anything more than he already had in the way of vulnerability. “Actually, love,” he said, applying a heavy dose of his captain’s voice to his tone. “It isn’t attached to my person. It’s attached to my shadow.”

The pestle clattered to the floor, slipping from her hand when she reared back with a jolt. “Your shadow?”

Before he could reply she plunged the room into darkness with a wave of her hand, and Hook immediately grasped the hilt of his sword. A flame flickered to life and he blanched, caught off guard by her proximity as she now stood right in front of him holding a single candle. Her focus was not on him, however - or rather, not on his person. With the flame casting his shadow against the wall behind him, she took her time scrutinizing it until she found what she was looking for.

“I see Pan is still up to his usual tricks.”

The name of his current nemesis falling from her lips grabbed Hook’s attention. “You know Pan?”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, still studying the area of his shadow the boy had attached the magical binding to, making it impossible for him to leave Neverland without the miscreant’s permission while also seeing to it his departures could never last longer than a single night. “He, his son, and his good-for-nothing grandson have all been thorns in my side for years.”

“Son?” Hook exclaimed, taken aback. “Grandson? Are we talking about the Pan? That demon boy can’t possibly be old enough–”

“He’s older than he looks,” she quipped, flicking her wrist and bringing all the candles back to life, filling the room with a warm glow once more.

Their eyes connected and for a few rapid beats of his heart, Hook had trouble drawing air into his lungs. An unguarded, slightly desperate look peeked around the corner of her gaze and her teeth gripped her bottom lip as her eyes flickered appraisingly between his. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips, her gaze dropped and followed the action, her teeth scraping the tender flesh of her lip as it was slowly released, the grip leaving it red and swollen and all too tempting. Perhaps sensing the charge in the atmosphere between them, she made her way back to her work table, retrieving the pestle from the floor so she could continue to grind away at the herbs.

A somewhat forced calm and collected countenance settled over her and she kept her eyes averted from his as she stated, “I can rid you of that binding, but not until after you’ve collected my fee.”

Suspecting his presence was having the same effect on her as hers was having on him, Hook sauntered towards the table with a seductive swagger, boasting, “I have a substantial amount of gold with me. Can we not see to the matter now, love?”

“No,” she answered back, her attention still on her work. “The payment I require is not gold or jewels or any other… pirate plunder you may have pilfered in your, what I can only imagine have been numerous, pillaging exploits.”

He wouldn’t mind numerous pillagings, plunderings, and exploits with the likes of her, but he knew better than to voice such a desire. “What is your price then?”

Looking back up at him, there was now a hard glint in her eyes. “My son.”

Hook balked and his brows snapped together. A son? She has a son?

“He was taken from me and I want you to get him back.”

The hard glint was now obscured by a misty sheen, and though she did an admirable job trying to hide it, he had detected the quiver in her voice when she spoke of her boy being taken from her. Hook clenched his teeth, the muscle in his jaw pulsating with a flicker of fury creeping up within him, along with an instinct he’d thought long dead.

“Aye. I’ll get you your boy,” he vowed solemnly. “Have you any idea who took him or where he’s being kept?”

“I do,” she told him. “His great-grandfather, Peter Pan, took him. He’s in Neverland.”

~/~

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[justanother-unluckysoul]

2021 Fic Roundup

My first full year of writing CS fics! Here are all the fics I wrote this year. There’s a little bit of everything, mainly whump and angst of course, but I graduated to adding a bit of smut and I even wrote a oneshot that was entirely fluff! 

Thanks so much to my lovely Discord friends for encouraging me to write all the things. Love you guys so much, you have made my year so much brighter.

27 January: Working My Way Back To You - rated M, 27k words, 12 chapters

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Thankfully Emma is close at hand to help him through it.

First chapter posted in November 2020 but I didn’t finish it until 2021 so that counts, right? My first fic to ever reach 100 kudos on AO3. Also contains my first published smut!

19 May: A Quiet Moment - rated G, 1k words, oneshot

Emma's been stressed lately, so Killian takes her to visit a secluded beach. That’s all. Just sweet CS fluff without a plot.

A gift for my dear friend @teamhook, and my only fic to date that is 100% fluff.

6 June: The Good Fight - rated M, 29k words, 6 chapters

Emma Nolan has hunted a lot of creatures in her life and there are very few things out there that she hasn’t killed at this point. But there’s one thing that isn’t real – angels. At least, that’s what she thought until the day she met Killian, angel of the lord. A Supernatural AU for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer.

My first foray into a fandom event.

18 June: You Are My Shelter - rated T, 5k words, oneshot

An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

Just self indulgent hurt/comfort, what more can I say?

30 October: Honour - rated M, 3k words, twoshot

Emma appreciates Killian defending her honour. A ficlet for CS Halloweek 2021.

Started out a fun little prompt fill then chapter two turned out to be entirely smut lol

18 November: Lost To The Shadows - rated T, 14k words, 5 chapters

When Liam Jones' younger brother disappears at sea under mysterious circumstances, he enlists the help of Emma Swan to find him. What ensues is by far the weirdest case Emma has ever worked - and the most traumatic. Thankfully Killian Jones is good at surviving; and it's just as well, because he's going to get quite a few chances to prove it.

A great prompt from @teamhook that took a slightly dark turn but it’s all sweet fluff at the end, I promise.

27 November: Blood On My Name - rated M, 6k words, oneshot

Gravely injured in battle, Killian had resigned himself to dying alone, slowly bleeding out on the battlefield. That is until the beautiful angel that is Emma Swan appeared at his side to comfort him in his final moments, and Killian realized he was not quite ready to let go of life. But it is a long road to healing. A Captain Swan war AU, of sorts.

This fic was an experiment in writing only the fun parts, while ignoring world building and the majority of the plot. Apparently it worked okay because readers gave it very nice comments lol

I have a few fun WIPs that I hope to post early next year, that I am so excited to share with you (if my muse will stop running away from me every time I sit down to write them lol). Wishing a very happy and safe festive season to all my followers and I can only hope some of my fics were able to bring you all some of the happiness your fics, gifs, posts, and conversations have given me.

[jennjenn615]

Awesome!!!! Amazing!!!!

CS Halloweek: The Witch in the Woods

The Witch in the Woods - @cshalloweek Day 1

Day One Prompts: 

Treats / orange 

pumpkin spice | witch in the woods | “get off me” | fiery

Thanks for @kmomof4 for giving this a once over! Rest assured she has already yelled at me 😆 

Rated GA / Also available on ao3 or ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list  / Curious? Come Ask Me!

~/~

“If it’s aid of a magical sort ye seek, then you’ll be wanting to find the witch in the woods.”

That’s what the apothecary had told him. The witch in the woods. A designation that brought forth images of an old crone, hump-backed and wrinkled with warts on her nose and long spindling fingers whose knuckles were gnarled and stiff - not the blonde goddess currently grinding an assortment of herbs with her mortar and pestle, her brilliant jade eyes sparkling in the candlelight that was also casting a honeyed glow over her smooth, creamy skin.

“So, you’ve been magically bound, you say?” the witch commented, repeating his reason for seeking her out.

“Aye,” Hook responded, shifting his weight in an effort to maintain an air of command in the presence of the witch who had knocked him off kilter the moment he’d entered her presence.

Stopping her work, she puffed a breath over her lips, blowing away a section of her hair that had fallen from her braid out of her face, and glanced up at him. “Where?”

Distracted by the way her gaze seemed to pierce right through him, in addition to the inexplicable urge he felt to reach over and tuck the errant strand - which she had failed to move out of the way - behind her ear, Hook blinked several times before responding, “Where what?”

A knowing sort of smirk lifted the corner of her mouth and she began macerating her herbs once more, clarifying, “Where on your person is the binding attached?”

Hook reached up and scratched behind his ear, then hastily dropped his hand, not wishing to expose anything more than he already had in the way of vulnerability. “Actually, love,” he said, applying a heavy dose of his captain’s voice to his tone. “It isn’t attached to my person. It’s attached to my shadow.”

The pestle clattered to the floor, slipping from her hand when she reared back with a jolt. “Your shadow?”

Before he could reply she plunged the room into darkness with a wave of her hand, and Hook immediately grasped the hilt of his sword. A flame flickered to life and he blanched, caught off guard by her proximity as she now stood right in front of him holding a single candle. Her focus was not on him, however - or rather, not on his person. With the flame casting his shadow against the wall behind him, she took her time scrutinizing it until she found what she was looking for.

“I see Pan is still up to his usual tricks.”

The name of his current nemesis falling from her lips grabbed Hook’s attention. “You know Pan?”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, still studying the area of his shadow the boy had attached the magical binding to, making it impossible for him to leave Neverland without the miscreant’s permission while also seeing to it his departures could never last longer than a single night. “He, his son, and his good-for-nothing grandson have all been thorns in my side for years.”

“Son?” Hook exclaimed, taken aback. “Grandson? Are we talking about the Pan? That demon boy can’t possibly be old enough–”

“He’s older than he looks,” she quipped, flicking her wrist and bringing all the candles back to life, filling the room with a warm glow once more.

Their eyes connected and for a few rapid beats of his heart, Hook had trouble drawing air into his lungs. An unguarded, slightly desperate look peeked around the corner of her gaze and her teeth gripped her bottom lip as her eyes flickered appraisingly between his. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips, her gaze dropped and followed the action, her teeth scraping the tender flesh of her lip as it was slowly released, the grip leaving it red and swollen and all too tempting. Perhaps sensing the charge in the atmosphere between them, she made her way back to her work table, retrieving the pestle from the floor so she could continue to grind away at the herbs.

A somewhat forced calm and collected countenance settled over her and she kept her eyes averted from his as she stated, “I can rid you of that binding, but not until after you’ve collected my fee.”

Suspecting his presence was having the same effect on her as hers was having on him, Hook sauntered towards the table with a seductive swagger, boasting, “I have a substantial amount of gold with me. Can we not see to the matter now, love?”

“No,” she answered back, her attention still on her work. “The payment I require is not gold or jewels or any other… pirate plunder you may have pilfered in your, what I can only imagine have been numerous, pillaging exploits.”

He wouldn’t mind numerous pillagings, plunderings, and exploits with the likes of her, but he knew better than to voice such a desire. “What is your price then?”

Looking back up at him, there was now a hard glint in her eyes. “My son.”

Hook balked and his brows snapped together. A son? She has a son?

“He was taken from me and I want you to get him back.”

The hard glint was now obscured by a misty sheen, and though she did an admirable job trying to hide it, he had detected the quiver in her voice when she spoke of her boy being taken from her. Hook clenched his teeth, the muscle in his jaw pulsating with a flicker of fury creeping up within him, along with an instinct he’d thought long dead.

“Aye. I’ll get you your boy,” he vowed solemnly. “Have you any idea who took him or where he’s being kept?”

“I do,” she told him. “His great-grandfather, Peter Pan, took him. He’s in Neverland.”

~/~

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