#cc fluff

[bookishbroadwaybish]

Totally crashing out, send me all your fluffier fic recs because I need them so badly right now

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

I just really want really funny/cute crisscolfer fics, could you help ?

I recommend browsing our CC fluff and CC humor tags, and here are some faves for ya!  Enjoy.  ~Lynne

Beyond The Sea by dumbhuman

Seventeen year old Chris is going on his first real vacation: A Disney cruise with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. What he expects to be a fun getaway of baby-sitting, waiting in line to get autographs, and avoiding the sun gets turned on its head when his family is seated with the Criss's at dinner. Eighteen year old Darren, an experienced cruiser, suggests that he act as Chris's tour guide for the week-long voyage, and Chris agrees, not realizing that seven days is definitely enough time to fall head over heels for someone. But will they have their Happily Ever After?

~~~~~

From Broadway to Brooklyn by @sir-pyllero

Anon prompted: could you write a crisscolfer au where they meet on a train, maybe subway in NY? and the train stops because of technical difficulties for like 10 minutes?

~~~~~

I’VE GOT A FEVER (AND THE CURE IS MORE DARREN CRISS) OR IN SICKNESS AND IN SCHMOOP by  Thentheyhadsex

Chris is sick. Chris is totally, unequivocally, completely sick. It’s a good thing that he’s got four days off from filming, and apparently, Darren volunteering to be his personal nursemaid. He’s too sick to put up much protest, and suddenly Darren is staying at his apartment 24/7. And Chris… Chris is starting to realize he doesn’t mind this one bit.

~~~~~

Big Wood Cabin by orphan account

Stranded in a cabin in a snowstorm (shh there’s nothing wrong with good ol’ cabin fic)

~~~~~

Baby, All I Want For Christmas Is… Darren Criss by @somethingfishyfan

College AU. A new roommate comes along and turns Chris’ world upside down.

[scipunk63]

Max's Parents: Merry Christmas, David

Max sighed softly as he glanced out the window of David's house, watching as the man struggled to uncover his mother's car from the thick blanket of snow that had fallen over it in the time it had taken the woman and her son to bring over a few presents for their favorite camp counselor.

"Give it a rest, David!" Max called through the glass. "The snow just keeps falling!"

He watched the man toss his shovel aside and stomp back into the house. His red hair was coloured white with the slowly melting snow and his pants were soaked from the knees up. Max would've laughed, but he could see that the red in David's face was part frustration and not just from the cold.

"You were here for five minutes! How did the car get THAT covered!" The councillor huffed, ruffling his hair to get the flakes out.

"Mom keeps the car cold and it's been snowing long before we showed up?" Max huffed, shaking his head.

"Well, at least the weatherman said the storm should stop soon." David sighed, collapsing into a nearby easy-chair. "It's nice having company to wait out this storm with."

"Yeah. Nothing like being stuck at a loser's house with my mom and NO presents because they're all at home!" The boy groaned, glaring harder at the snow.

"Max, do you really think I wouldn't have a present or two tucked away for you?" The older man laughed kindly, stretching out his long legs tiredly. "Beside that, it's not even Christmas day yet. You can wait."

"It's ALMOST Christmas."

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." David laughed, ruffling Max's hair.

"...Mom said the coco would be a while." Emerald eyes landed on David's Christmas tree, all trimmed and ready to go with- nothing under it. "Why do you bother to decorate if you don't have anything to put under it?"

"Usually I don't, but Mina said you two would be dropping by a few days ago, so I thought it look nice."

Max wrinkled his nose and studied the tree a little closer. It was a real tree, with handmade, forest themed ornaments, and almost a days worth of pine needles littering the floor.

Just the typical David fashion. Not that Max would bother to point it out.

"When did you start calling my mom 'Mina'?" Max frowned. "Usually it's 'Mrs. Last name' or 'ma'am.' Or even her stupid American name!"

"Does it bother you? I don't have to call her that." David rose from his chair and headed over to the fireplace where two presents had gone unnoticed by Max.

"No... It's fine." Max sighed, more focused on the presents more than anything. "Geez, David, are you always this prepared?"

"Again, not usually." He began, tossing one of the boxes over to Max. "I don't typically have friends and family over this time of year, actually."

"Why the hell not?"

"The folks are down in Florida, Gwen never had time, and that's about it." He summed up, waving his hand. "Not a big deal."

"So you typically have NO ONE for Christmas?" A deeper frown settled on the boy's face. "That's fucked up."

"Not no one. At least this year I have you two." David said, looking over at the snow.

He didn't look at the white flakes in distain like Max did, rather he had a small look of thankfulness. He didn't have presents to rush home to like Max, and the boy figured the thankfulness was due to him finally having something for Christmas.

"... Merry Christmas, David." He muttered, looking down at the carefully wrapped box he had been given.

Part of him wanted to tear it open, but another part of him wanted to save it for Christmas morning and wait.

After all, David had done some waiting, and it didn't look that bad.

"Merry Christmas, Max." A small smile settled on David's face as his eyes, tired from shoveling, began to flutter closed.

[spartanguard]

a classic spring break fling

This is a tad bit late, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY @phiralovesloki!!!!!!!! Hope you had the amazing, wonderful day you so deserve! This is just a bit of romantic Captain Charming silliness to hopefully continue your celebrations :) (thank you, @optomisticgirl, for looking it over!) | 2.6 k, rated T

David didn't know why he let Victor push him into these things. He barely even liked Victor; he had only agreed to go on this trip because August was going, too, and Spring Break alone in their apartment sounded lame, even if he could have used the time to catch up on school; fourth-year pre-vet courses were no joke.

But in some odd effort to show that he was cooler than Victor, or another similar dick-measuring contest, he'd agreed to join them in Daytona, and it had actually been a lot of fun. The sunny, balmy weather was a far cry from UMaine this time of year, and the beach provided plenty of eye candy. As much as he'd stared at the shirtless bods across the sand, he knew he'd garnered similar attention—and his friends had noticed that, too, which led to the current predicament.

“Come on, Dave, it's just a wet t-shirt contest; there's no way you don't win and then we get free beer.” Of course, it sounded so simple when Victor put it that way.

Normally, David was against any kind of objectification like that, of women or men. But...fucking Victor. This was going to be the third time this week he'd let the pre-med douchebag talk him into this shit.

And a glance across the crowd—in which he caught a flash of blue eyes and bedhead—told him that Killian was here.

And he wasn't sure if that made him excited or even more embarrassed.

See, the first “come on, Dave” had led them to a cornhole contest on the beach, sponsored by some restaurant with the promise of free wings to the winner. “There's no way you don't win; you played ball in high school.”

David’s argument of “That’s not the same thing” fell on deaf ears as Victor practically dragged him to the sign up and then over to the boards; a pleading look at August had only been met with his laughter. Some roommate he was.

“Look, dude, we’ll totally win, he’s only got one hand,” Victor said—not as quietly as he thought—after assessing their opponents.

“Victor, what the fuck? Do you ever shut your mouth?” David chastised, both annoyed and embarrassed by the outburst, and shoved Victor in the direction of the other board. Because yeah, one of their opponents was missing a hand—but that wasn’t the first thing he’d noticed about the guy.

It was pretty easy to miss when you were too busy staring at the bare chest, with its well-formed muscles and dark hair spread across his pecs that trailed down into low-slung swim trunks. Or at the strong biceps and forearms he could easily imagine in more intimate settings. Or at the far-too-attractive face, ridiculous blue eyes, thick dark hair and brows, and chiseled jaw that nearly put his own to shame, which was currently ticking in annoyance at Victor’s comment.

The guy next to him—a blond who was nearly as attractive—looked like he was trying to talk him down, but he shrugged the other man off, took a sip from his flask, and stepped up to the board David was standing by. As his friend jogged down to where Victor stood, David said quietly, “Sorry about that. He’s an ass.”

“It’s fine,” the guy replied, voice low and hard indicating that it clearly wasn’t. The way his first beanbag completely overshot the hole also said plenty about his current mental state, and it didn't seem to help when David’s slid right into the hole. They passed a tense first round in a similar manner, and the second saw the guy brooding with his flask again. David wasn’t much a fan of tense, awkward situations—and he loathed the idea of someone so attractive hating him—so he tried to diffuse this one when they started the third.

“I’m David.”

“Killian.”

“Where are you guys from?”

“England; we’re on break from uni.”

“Same.”

They continued to make small talk—about their schools, studies, and where they were staying—and Killian seemed to calm down, only sulking a tiny bit when David and Victor easily won.

“Good match,” Killian said, offering David his hand; he had a firm grip that made David’s mind wander to other things that probably shouldn’t be done on a public beach. “Um, I don’t suppose you might want to meet up again sometime? Maybe without your friend over there?” Victor was presently crowing about the win to whatever girl would listen, but David was hardly paying attention because he was basically floored by Killian’s request.

“Uh, yeah! I’d love to! Same spot, tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Until then,” he nodded, finally let go of David’s hand, and walked off with his mates.

The wings were good, but not as good as the feel of Killian’s hand in his.

The second “come on, Dave,” was, unfortunately, the next day, because David hadn’t quite been able to shake free of Victor and August. But it seemed that Killian had the same luck with his friends. They’d hardly greeted each other when Victor was already badgering him into a beer pong tourney (how many stereotypical college games could one place host during Spring Break?) in hopes of free pizza.

But then Killian joined him. “I’m in if you are. Ready for a challenge, mate?” he said with a smirk—an amazing thing that cut a dimple into the well-manicured, gingery scruff on his face (that David was realizing he wanted to feel against his palm, and his lips, and probably more places).

“Ugh, fine,” David sighed. “August, we’re doing this.” No way was he teaming up with Victor again.

It was them against Killian and his friend Will, who was already unsteady on his feet and seemed slightly tipsy; David wasn’t sure if that boded well for him and August or not—it was always hard to say when it came to pong.

“Think you can handle this?” Killian was grinning at him from the other end of the table and it was hard not to smile back when he looked so happy and carefree—a far cry from yesterday’s sulking (not that he could be blamed).

“Are you sure you can?” David threw back with a wink. Killian glanced down and...blushed? Did he actually blush? Which nearly made David blush at the idea of making Killian blush. He’d only known the guy for about 4 hours and his schoolyard crush—because had to admit that’s what this was—was beginning to spiral out of control.

He was still staring at Killian when, out of nowhere, Will sunk the first ping pong ball, right in the middle. “Holy shit,” August whispered, and they both took their drinks (per the rules of this tournament), realizing what they were about to be in for.

The American were no slouches, either, and did take an early lead. But the alcohol seemed to have little effect on their opponents, so it wasn’t long until he and August were uselessly shooting at two cups that suddenly seemed very far away, while Killian and Will were catching up and sinking every shot. David was on his third beer and he was seriously wondering what was in Killian’s flask that he seemed so unaffected.

“You’ve gotta be cheating. No way you’re this good drunk,” he blurted out.

Will answered, “‘E’s a pirate! And all good pirates can hold their rum.” Killian just smirked, and David kind of wanted to kiss it off of him. He settled for attempting to sink another ball and instead hitting Killian’s (perfect) chest.

Not even two turns later, it was all over: the pizza belonged to the Brits and David vowed to never again have August as a partner.

Again, they all shook hands after, and then Will and the other guy—Robin—ran off to collect their prize. But Killian lingered, just like last time.

“You nearly had us there; I was a bit worried,” he said brightly. “You Yanks do know your stuff.”

“Pretty sure it started over here,” David replied, though his heart wasn’t really into a teasing match. But he did need to know: “Is that really rum in your flask?”

Killian replied by popping the cap of it and offering it up. “Inspect me, Officer.” His tone was nearly filthy and he ran his tongue over his lips and winked. Hot damn.

Unfortunately, David could smell it and it nearly made his stomach turn—he learned the hard way freshman year not to mix beer and rum. He saved face as much as he could, just barely not gagging. “Yeah, I believe you.”

The hungry gaze in Killian’s blue gaze faded a bit, but he didn’t seem deterred. “Shall we meet again tomorrow? This seems to be our thing now.”

David took a glance over at his friends, who were continuing to work on the 24-pack they’d bought that morning, before giving Killian an answer. “Yeah, we should; but I’ve also got another idea.”

So here they were, night three of three with one of Victor’s crazy ideas for getting free shit. And Killian was going to be subjected to it yet again. Just because he’d been game last night didn’t mean he would today; for all his come-ons and chest baring, he was surprisingly a bit modest.

(Thankfully, this wasn’t the first time they were seeing each other today. David had taken advantage of his roommates’ hangover and met up with Killian for brunch, where they actually got to talk—really talk—about their lives: their brothers, who were both gone but still dear to them; school, and how Killian’s desire to put his planned-on law degree to use was similar to David’s vet aspirations; and their thoughts on love, having both been burned in the past but very much still open to it.

That last part might have been paired with some very longing glances on both sides.)

“Seriously, Victor? This is the third fucking time you’ve pushed me into one of these things. Why don’t you do it?”

“Because even I know I’d lose to you. And we’re almost out of beer.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“All of ours. Now go!” David nearly stumbled with how hard Victor pushed him in the direction of the stage next to the beachfront bar, and he grumbled all the way up to the registration table.

He was putting on the just-too-tight shirt they gave him when a familiar accent spoke behind him. “Well, this should settle the score. We’re tied, right?”

Killian was slipping his equally form-fitting top on, and there was that smirk again when his head popped through.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he answered slowly, suddenly much happier to be in this. At least he wasn’t going through this subjugation on his own.

(And, despite his thoughts on the matter, he knew he definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Killian in a wet shirt.)

“May the best man win,” Killian said, extending his hand. David clapped it and nodded, and probably held on just a bit too long but he really, really enjoyed the feel of Killian’s hand in his. And based on the warm blue gaze that was holding his own, Killian felt the same.

The host on stage announced that the contest was beginning, pulling them from their trance and making them jump apart (and making Killian blush again). Ever the gentleman, he gestured for David to head up first, which he did while staring at the steps lest he trip on one.

They lined up on stage with a few other guys, though David didn’t really spare them a glance, too hyper aware of the fact that Killian was on his right. His only other thought was that he hoped the water was warm.

Which, he found out seconds later, it wasn’t. Cold buckets dumped on them from above and all the contestants yelped in surprise, hopping up and down in an attempt to regain body heat from the just-barely-not-ice bucket challenge. Four times that happened, each one worse than the other.

When he was finally able to stand upright and breathe, he didn’t even bother looking at the competition—his eyes immediately traveled to Killian, who he was pleased to see had done the same (but was doing a decidedly better job of checking out everyone else and not just David, but...he could tell). The now-see-through top had done little to hide his chest hair before, and now it stood out bold through the fabric. But so did his abs, which looked even more defined in the constricting cotton, and his pecs were heaving as he tried to catch his breath, too. The shirt had already clung to his biceps but now it was like a second skin.

David could guess that he was putting on just as good a show, save for his depressing lack of body hair, but he’d always been pretty well-built and the way the shirt was clinging to him surely showed it off. But he honestly didn’t think he stood a chance against Killian, and he really hoped his shorts weren’t clinging to him too much, either.

They were all made to turn and flex and preen a bit, to the audience’s thrill, before the judges made their decisions.

“I think it’ll be you, mate,” Killian whispered during the brief break. “No one else compares.”

“No way, man; it has to be you,” David murmured back. “I’d be shocked if it wasn’t.”

Killian didn’t get a chance to respond when the host came back, announcing the winner and the runner up...who weren’t either of them. The winner could have passed for Bucky Barnes and the runner up looked like he walked right off the set of Fifty Shades. Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Victor kicking the sand in disappointment and Will also shaking his head.

However, David didn’t much mind. Because no sooner had they hopped off the stage than Killian had turned around, grabbed a fist of wet t-shirt, and hauled David toward him, finding his lips with his in a perfect kiss that they’d honestly been building to the past few days. David’s cool skin quickly flushed when he made contact with Killian’s still-warm chest, and he finally reached up to feel Killian’s rough beard on his palm. It was just as amazing as he imagined, but not as incredible as the gentle scratch of it against his lips as they continued to kiss passionately in front of who-knew-how-many strangers that they were no longer aware of. His free arm pulled Killian tight to him and it felt so right to be next to him like that, and he wasn’t sure how he’d gone this long without it.

“Fuckin’ finally.”

Will’s exclamation had them jumping apart, only to see all of their friends lined up in front of them.

“Bloody hell, Scarlett! I don't interrupt you when you're having a snog,” Killian admonished, but still stayed close to David’s side.

Robin jumped in. “You should’ve snogged him ages ago; what took you so long?”

“Well, it's not his fault that David’s a little slow in things,” August added, taking David aback.

“Wait—were you all in on this?”

“Why do you think I made you do all these games?” Victor answered with a shrug. “I knew Robin as a kid and we reconnected. Thought you two needed some lovin’, and here we are.”

David’s jaw dropped and he looked at Killian, who appeared equally stricken. But, in the end, he guessed it didn't matter.

Because as he gave his friends the middle finger and went back to making out with Killian, he knew it was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

tagging some others who might enjoy it (I’m not sure who all is in the CC trashcan anymore but I think it might be growing to a dumpster): @kat2609 @nfbagelperson @gusenitsaa @annytecture @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @fergus80 @its-like-a-story-of-love @cocohook38 @hencethebravery @mahstatins @the-reason-to-sail-home @abbadons-little-witch @yayimallamaagain @ladyciaramiggles @stubble-sandwich @queen-mabs-revenge @katie-dub @walkerfairytales @dassala (feel free to ignore!)

[everaftercaptainswan]

can you pleaseeee write a fic about Killian and Henry's reunion in the underworld?? last nights episode killed me and I need some fluff

Henry watched hollowly as his mother ran up to a shocked Killian, her hands cupping his face, tears flooding her eyes. They melted into one another, arms clasping around each other for dear life. Henry gulped back tears he hadn't know were beginning to well up inside him. He must have made a noise, for Killian broke away his blue eyes finding the lad. 

A smile touched his face, and with slow reluctance he parted with Emma, moving towards the boy, his hand reaching for him. Henry broke apart; rushing forward he barreled into the man, burying his tear streaked face into his coat, inhaling roughly. Killian smiled, pressing his lips down to the boys mop of brown hair, his fingers combing through them as he held him close. 

“There lad, it’s all right,” Killian whispered. 

It was. Henry conceded. His family was whole again. 

[kat2609]

"Is there something you want to tell me, son?" + Captain Charming (muahahahaa) (Love that you're doing this!!!)

When I started this I was envisioning a short little something - but somehow, no. And you get Captain Charming Cobra…..because I am a rebel who likes to push the boundaries.

Thank you for being the one of the best partners in crime a girl could ask for… #teamridiculous FTW

Killian Jones wasn’t quite sure how a fearsome pirate andscourge of the seven seas had become the go to man when the people ofStorybrooke were looking for a few hours respite from the care of small (or notso small) children.

And yet, here he was aboard his ship, preparing to set sail,the average age of his crew under 10 years.

And he was including Dave in those statistics.

The prince looked more excited to be setting sail than histoddler son and young Roland combined. Clearly Mary Margaret had decided sheneeded ALL the children entertained today.

Henry came to stand next to the pirate, and let out a deepsigh.

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be muchharder than a day out with just you and I?” Henry asked. Astute lad thathe was, he had already ascertained that the extra hands would be of littleextra assistance in the actual business of sailing the Jolly Roger.

“Perhaps because we are not able to leave yourgrandfather here at the dock,” Killian replied with a wink. Henry snorted,a wide grin crossing his face.

“He’d have a bigger tantrum than Neal if we did.”Laughing at the boy’s assessment, Killian slapped a reassuring arm around hisshoulders.

“We make quite the team, lad. All will be well.”He moved away to assist his young passengers aboard, but looked back at Henrybriefly.

“Of course,” he added, eyebrow crooked. “Ifrequired, I trust you know the appropriate lashings to secure a man to the mainmast?”

“Aye Captain,” came the amused reply.

———

An hour later, all had been smooth sailing. (Damn you, Swan,he thought, I’m doing it now.)

The children were enthralled with the gentle rolling of theship, leaning as close to the rail as they dared to watch the water splashagainst the hull. Henry took Roland under his wing and gave him simple tasks toperform as Neal explored the deck, climbing over hatches and into coils ofrope.

Only David seemed restless. From the helm, Killian smirkedat his friend’s dissatisfied countenance - clearly the prince had expected moreadventure of the swashbuckling variety on this trip.

“Grandpa,” called Henry. “Do you want to comeand help us with this rope?”

“I have to keep an eye on your Uncle Neal,” Davidreplied, as the boy in question began a treacherous climb immediately behindhim. Henry rushed over and snatched up the toddler.

“This Uncle Neal?” he asked pointedly, placing the boy inhis father’s arms.  David had the goodgrace to look sheepish as Neal squirmed in his arms.

Killian looked fondly at the family scene – David playingwith his son, whispering in his ear and making him giggle in delight.  Henry and Roland working side by side, bigbrother and small – younger, he thought to himself with a sad smile.

It seemed he was, indeed, a part of something, just as Swanhad challenged him once to be.

Of course, nothing was ever that straightforward.

Lost in his own thoughts, he failed to notice David and Nealcoming towards the helm, an ominous grin on the prince’s face.

“Is there something you want to tell me, son?”David asked the small boy, making a show of listening intently to the boy’sbabbles and laughs.

“Oh,” continued David, “You think Uncle Killian should showus how he climbs the rigging? Right up to the top there? And he should let mehave a go, too?  Good idea, son.” He heldthe boy up to the pirate, as if daring him to deny the little lad what heapparently wanted.

Killian shook his head at his mate, and ruffled Neal’s hairwith a grin.

“Not a chance, little mate. I have a ship to run – and Ihave my doubts about letting your father loose in my sails. He cannot afford ahead injury, apparently, and I have no desire to explain the inevitable to yourmother.”

Undeterred, David began another imagined conversation withhis son, tickling the boy to elicit a suitably delightful response.

“What’s that, buddy? Uncle Killian should let Daddy have ago of the wheel? Great idea!”

Killian sighed. “Your highness, if you wish to steer thisvessel you have only to ask. Using a youngster to do your bidding is very bad form.”

Dave hung his head. “Can I have a go of the wheel, Killian?”

The pirate raised an expectant eyebrow at the prince.

“Please?” Manners were always important, after all.

Killian held out his arms to take the little prince andcocked his head at the helm. The boy went willingly, grabbing his charms andsnuggling in to the crook of the pirate’s neck. Grinning, Killian leaned in asif listening to the boy’s whispered words himself.

“Well said, little mate,” he laughed. “Your son reminds youto not damage my ship. I have a plank and I am not afraid to use it.”

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