These Nights Never Seem To Go To Plan- Chapter 1

A Captain Swan FF

Rated T (for now) because my keyboard has a potty mouth 

(Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, and also on FF.net and AO3)


She came out here to think. To think, to muse, to seethe. From the outside looking in, a sheriff who is supposed to be patrolling on the night shift pulled over to the side of the road at the town line, scowling at everything and nothing while she mutters to herself may look irresponsible. But Emma Swan knows her town. It’s sleepy.

(And Grumpy and Dopey, and if those two idiots whose real names escape her at the moment get drunk at The Rabbit Hole for the umpteenth time and start some shit, she knows it will take her exactly four minutes to get to the scene by breaking every speed limit with calculated risk.)

Speaking of speed limits…

The motorcycle raced past her so fast she barely had time to curse the interruption of her already curse-laden train of thought before a braking taillight illuminated the entire tree-lined road behind her.

“Too late, asshole.” With a grin, Emma switched on her headlights, flipped on her flashers and swung a U-turn, ready for whatever manner of entertainment the speeding rider was going to provide.

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These Nights Never Seem To Go To Plan- Chapter 2

A Captain Swan AU FF

Rated M (because I’m smutty trash)

(Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, and also on FF.net and AO3)


Not only no, but fuck no and fuck you.

That’s what Emma would have told anyone who suggested she spent the two o’clock hour of her bimonthly night shifts parked at the town line, hoping for another run-in with the mysterious Captain Killian Jones. She just liked communing with nature and the forest. While sitting comfortably in a vehicle, surrounded by the layer of fast food and snack wrappers that carpeted the inside of the cruiser when there were no witnesses to her natural slovenliness.

Years in the foster system usually produced to types of people: those who retained a regimented cleanliness out of fear of being tossed out in the cold and those who flipped an adulthood finger to that notion and were a little looser with the state of their surroundings. Not that Emma would ever cop to the sob story behind her clutter. So what if she controlled her environment by tossing an empty beverage cup over her shoulder once in a while, just because she could?  She wiped up any drips of hot chocolate laced with cinnamon up before handing the car over to her deputy at shift change. No harm, no foul.

And, as far as she was concerned, the same went for Emma’s excursions to the edge of town. Wanting to keep riffraff out of Storybrooke and her citizens safe was the primary duty the Sheriff. Stopping hell on two wheels from endangering the townsfolk was important, regardless of the form it took. It didn’t matter that the handful of times she’d seen him since their first meeting, he’d barely so much as glanced in her direction as he drove past at a respectable and completely lawful speed. The two fingers he’d raised in her direction were the same he’d toss toward any other rider in passing.  

His seeming disinterest in another encounter was why she was parked in the dark just past midnight this time. If she allowed herself to be honest, Emma would admit the time change put her outside of the 2 a.m. box she’d found herself in, but still pressed right up against it.

Closing her eyes, Emma rubbed her thighs together at the sudden mental image of being pressed right up against her cruiser. Or a door, or a wall, or any other immoveable object as long as Jones was the one doing the pressing.  Emma had taken to allowing her imagination to run wild (and her hand to sneak inside her panties as she lay in bed) in the month since she had first encountered him. 

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These Nights Never Seem To Go To Plan - Chapter 10

A Captain Swan AU FF

Rated M

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, and also on FF.net and AO3)

Thank you all so much for the amazingly supportive and sweet messages, reviews and tags. This is my first multi-chapter fic (and I can count the one-shots I’ve written on about two fingers), and the response has been so lovely and welcoming. 

A happy and safe 4th of July to all who celebrate! xoxo


He’s been shot.

That’s exactly what his detective, Locksley, had said when ten o’clock rolled around. Jones was two hours late for their date and Emma had broken her standard operating procedure of never chasing a man. She called Killian ready to eviscerate him with a speech she had been rehearsing since eight-thirty but a vaguely familiar voice answered instead.

“Sheriff Swan? It’s Robin Locksley.”

“Oh. Hello, detective.” Emma had cursed herself, hoping she sounded less awkward than she felt and significantly more professional. All of the piss, vinegar and scathing retort was put on hold, replaced by no small amount of embarrassment at being caught calling a colleague (of sorts) after hours. “I was hoping to speak with Captain Jones.”

“He’s…Emma, he’s been shot.” Robin was giving her a rundown over the phone as she grabbed her bag and slipped on the pair of fuck me pumps she’d bought for a night out with a skip years before. They went well with the skintight red dress she’d also bought for the same occasion and hadn’t considered wearing again until she decided she wanted nothing more than to watch Killian Jones’ jaw drop when she opened her front door for their first date. In another time and place, she’d be giving herself a little pat on the back for having the ability to break into a dead run out to her car wearing both.

“…taking fire and he was hit trying to move an injured officer outside the perimeter for medical attention.”

Her head swam.

There was more. Something about nicked carotid artery, surgery, still unconscious. When she’d hung up the phone, it had been Emma’s turn to break every speed limit between Storybrooke and Bangor. No slick, racy motorcycle or new(er) truck for her; just a Volkswagen Bug whose steering column had one hell of a shimmy over fifty-five miles per hour, a lead foot, and desperate a need to see Killian for herself.

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These Nights Never Seem To Go To Plan - Chapter 4

A Captain Swan FF

Rated M

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, and also on FF.net and AO3)


Best behavior didn’t begin to describe the next three months of Killian’s life.  If the best revenge is living well, he figured the best way to atone for his drunken asshole discretions was to get his shit together. 

He threw himself into his work when he was in the city, honoring his brother’s legacy. Instead of booze-soaked, lost weekends at his cabin, Killian found grounding solace in hiking the surrounding woods and kayaking the waters. The sagging front porch was fixed, a ripped screen replaced, fresh paint adorned the kitchen, and the shower walls had been switched out from 1967 avocado green to more modern white beveled subway tiles. Not necessarily backbreaking labor, but it provided Killian with two things he hadn’t realized were missing from his life outside of his job—focus and pride.  

Critically examining the evenness of his grout job in one of the corners as he let warm water cascade down his back, Killian willed himself to not think of the most difficult aspect of his newfound discipline - staying away from Storybrooke on the many long rides he took on his motorcycle. 

As per usual, he failed.

Every fiber of his being was drawn toward the town and Emma Swan and he had to talk himself out of bringing her hot chocolate laced with cinnamon on the chillier nights, or accidentally-on-purpose running into her under the guise of looking through the town’s antique store and pawn shop for treasures and oddities with which to furnish his cabin.

The longing Killian felt to be in her presence—to earn her forgiveness and favor—was constant. It unnerved him and he found it easier to embrace his more carnal interests, imagining how mind-blowing sex with Emma would be when alone with his thoughts and his hand. 

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