A/N: Fluffy fluff I wrote for tumblr and am posting here too.

When it comes down it, Emma isn't entirely surprised, given that vocabulary that he is so fond of utilizing – words like dalliance and malfeasance and others which she isn't sure are actually even words – that Killian uses her actual name much less than all those other little endearments.

She remembers that day when they'd first met – trudging through muddy fields, determination in her step and captain freaking hook's cocky grin boring into the back of her skull.

"What's your name, lass?" He'd said, stupidly perky for a guy with his hands tied in front of him, one who'd only just about got out with his life (a mercy she'd wanted to remind him she could quickly withdraw).

"Emma Swan." She'd bit out in response. She'd ignored his voice as it trailed on in idle musings ("Emma Swan…nice name, that…I do quite like swans myself…) reminding herself that she needed him to get back to her son and continuing up the path towards the beanstalk.

From there he'd called her just about anything – Emma when he'd told her they make quite the team, Swan yelled into the echoing castle of the giant as she walked away, old feelings churning in her stomach as she'd left him up there.

And, as to be expected, the eventual – and she supposes inevitable, looking back on it – collapse of her walls and collapse into love (with him – practically head over heels, god damn him) is by no means an impediment to the usage those charming little nicknames.

He'd first addressed her with beautiful on that roadside by the town line, wheezy and faint as he'd clutched at his cracked ribs. She wants to roll her eyes, thinking about it now; wondering what it would take to stop this guy flirting.

And whilst that was the first time, it was by no means the last; the endearment falling easily from his mouth in that hazy space between sleep and waking, an arm tugging around her waist tugging her closer as he mumbles morning, beautiful onto the skin of her neck, or when she steps out of the apartment and he's waiting for her, leant against the wall with that lazy smile curling his lips his greeting of "Hey, beautiful" never failing to make her blush.

His use of the word darling soon adopts the same carefree style, one that was absent the first time, Try something new, darling. It's called trust being a statement that was spoken with sincerity but not affection, an addition that doesn't go unnoticed as he tosses the word about, thanks, darling being about as natural as thanks, Emma and she wonders when it all became so easy.

Emma remembers a time when she'd dealt to her pirate – although she hadn't known who he was at the time – a certain threat, and she isn't entirely surprised that he completely ignores it and uses the endearment love just as freely as the others.

One time, she even reminds him, fingers scratching lightly at the scruff that lines his jaw as his hands settle on her hips. "Mm…remember when I said you'd lose the other hand if you called me that."

He only smiles, nudging his nose with hers and pushing her further against the door to the apartment. "You were cursed, so I forgive you…" He hums "…love."

She rolls her eyes, murmuring the word idiot and smiling into the kiss he presses to her lips.

And then of course, there's Swan. Swan this, Swan that and she never really tells him how much she's grown fond of it, a happenstance that's much less to with the fact that he calls her it and much more to do with the fact that only he calls her it – something stupidly special about and thinking about it – shy smile curling her lips as he mumbles I love you too, Swan into her hair – she wonders when she became such a sap.

(What's even stranger is how she doesn't even care – walls down and she's finally stopped running.)

He uses other nicknames too – sweetheart, lass, gorgeous – and she finds herself noticing less and less to the point where he'll call the word darling? into the apartment and she'll reply with yeah? because really – who else could he be addressing?

And because she doesn't really notice it – or notice it past the point of a quiet smile over the breakfast table or roll of the eyes when it gets particularly ridiculous – she doesn't expect others to either, which is why it comes as a slight surprise when Ruby looks at her from the other side of the counter – the door to Grannie's swinging shut from where Killian and Henry have just left, try not to miss me too much, Swan still ringing in her ears, her cheek still warm from where he'd kissed it (she's definitely a sap) – and poses the question "Does he ever actually call you Emma?"

Emma lifts her head up. "Who – Killian?"

Ruby nods.

"Uh – not really." she shrugs, bringing her mug to her lips again, Ruby humming thoughtfully.

(It's not the complete truth, as he does quite often. He murmurs it onto her lips and whispers it onto her skin, trailing kisses down her stomach as she arches into his touch – )

"Mm…I can just see it…do you take thee Swan to be your lawfully wedded – "

"Shut up." Emma warns, raising a threatening finger to her friend but she's smiling either way, the fact that the thought doesn't even scare her making her feel happy and free in that way that only he really can.

(What's ironic is how when they do get married, sometime into the future by which point doing so just seems natural, and her name is changed to Jones, he still calls her Swan.)

(She never corrects him, either, just smiles and buries her head further into the crook of his neck, murmuring I love you too onto his skin, sighing contently when he kisses her forehead.)

A/N: Review?