cscocktoberfest:

Look guys. We know better than anyone that sometimes in an event like this, there can be some performance anxiety and it takes a little longer for things to firm up… That’s okay though. Better late than never right? So with that in mind, here’s an anonymous submission that ‘came in’ just a little behind… (see what we did there with that backdoor double entendre?)

---

Working
overtime was simply a part of their lives. Emma spent hours on
late-night stakeouts, and Killian spent late nights taking groups out on
boat tours. Generally, they were able to make up the hours in the
mornings, or on mutually agreed-upon days off (self-employment
definitely had its perks, particularly choosing day-to-day that maybe
you didn’t want to work on a given day). The past few weeks, though, had
been a series of misses. If Emma had to wait-out a guy who was supposed
to return to his girlfriend’s house by 8pm, he wouldn’t appear until
after 11. If Killian had a private evening cruise for a surprise
proposal, the overjoyed couple were too elated for him to return any
time before midnight. And so it had been, for nearly three weeks.

Because of this, Emma found herself particularly excited to be home and
showered before the sun had set. She was even more excited to know that,
based upon various texts throughout the day, Killian would be joining
her any minute. Deciding that she needed to occupy herself to stave off
the nervous energy, she strolled into the kitchen for a glass of wine.
Finding a new bottle of a holiday sangria she’d spied over the weekend,
she thought this night was definitely cause for a sweet celebration.
More quickly than she’d care to admit, she’d polished off two full
glasses – seriously, what was the point of one of those huge wine
glasses if you weren’t going to fill it? – and was feeling even more
excited than she’d been before. Her excitement just so happened to take
on a different tone, and her mind began playing with all the ways she
could welcome Killian home.

“Love?” His smooth voice shook Emma from her daydream, and she ran to
him, barely registering the huge smile on his face before she threw
herself into his arms. “Well, this is a lovely welcome.”

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alexandralyman:

I missed my original posting date but it’s still October and this is my contribution for @cscocktoberfest! Another extra scene in the BtH-verse, where Princess Emma finds a very interesting (cough*dirty*cough) book on the shelf in the captain’s quarters and has some questions about some unfamiliar words that Killian is all too happy to answer ; )

Also on ff.net here

“Killian?”

“Aye, love?” he answered without looking up, grease pencil in hand as he marked a port on the map in front of him and measured the distance from their current position, doing sums in his head and somewhat distracted by a particularly tricky bit of calculation.

“What does it mean when a randy young lad is secretly polishing his knob?”

“It means…what?”

The figures he’d painstakingly laboured over for the better part of an hour all flew out of his mind and her words lodged there instead while his head jerked up and he met Emma’s curious gaze across the cabin. She was sitting in her chair with a book in hand, skirts spilling over the sides and her ankles crossed, tucked away demurely underneath the seat and looking the very picture of a well-bred lady.

“After spying on the chambermaid in her bath, the randy young lad retires to his master’s empty study to polish his knob with renewed vigour. I’m guessing from the context that the author did not mean the knob on the door? And when he finishes, he gives a loud groan that almost rouses the whole household and hides the evidence in a handkerchief. The evidence of what?”

Killian blinked at that, the pencil going as limp in his hand as presumably the randy young lad’s knob did when he was done, slack-jawed and feeling that he probably bore more than a passing resemblance to a startled codfish at the moment. When he finally managed to find his voice it came out much higher than normal as he squeaked out, “What on earth are you reading?”

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courtorderedcake:

courtorderedcake:

Set ambiguously in the 1920′s-1940′s in a world supposedly without magic, Detective Jones of Boston PD is a broken man with little ore than liquor to keep him going. When a strange string of murders and ominous rumors about a new King of crime bring him face to face with fairytales, Killian is anything but ready to meet, “The Swan”.

@cscocktoberfest

Rating – M, you know what I write by now, c’mon.

Click me, I’m the AO3 link!

Winter fell swiftly over Boston, blankets of snow on cars and streets that kept even the hardiest indoors. Killian and Emma fared slightly better, trudging through drifts to get into the warmth of each other’s beds or Faemarket’s perpetually sunny courtyard.

The link grew stronger between them and Emma used it to her advantage, leaving Killian trying to hide the flush he felt at Emma tormenting him as he booked intakes or checked on anyone in the drunk tank. Killian tried to push Emma with long strokes of his tongue through what must be a glistening and ready quim, but Emma twisted him in ways that left him wrung out without being actually sated. Her song lit his blood to fire, and it refused to cool until he was buried in her fully.

“At last my love has come along

My lonely days are over and life is like a song, oh yeah

At last the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you

I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill I’ve never known, oh yeah

You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

For you are mine at last”

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Reposted for @cscocktoberfest , ICYMI

spartanguard:

Summary: When there’s only two Whovians in the bar on Halloween, it’s inevitable that they’ll meet. And flirt. And have sex in a closet. Unlike the TARDIS, it’s actually not any bigger on the inside.

A/N: Just some Whovian fun in honor of @cscocktoberfest. And because I love Thirteen even if I’m way behind on watching. Lots of Doctor Who references lay ahead but It should be enjoyable even if you’re not a fan. Allons-y!

rated M | 4.4k words | AO3

Emma hadn’t planned for her night to go this way. It wasn’t at all what she thought would happen when she agreed to go out for Halloween, and honestly, she might not have if she’d known it would happen.

What was that saying, though? “We’re all stories in the end; just make it a good one.”

Well, this one—and the man she was presently making out with in a lonely hallway at the Rabbit’s Hole—was shaping up to be a great one.

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She’d noticed him right away from across the bar. It was hard not to, really, when they both stood out from a crowd that was filled with bro-dudes being bro-dudes and girls dressed as all manner of sexy somethings. Even Emma’s friends fit the mold—Mary Margaret and David were a sexy Snow White and her equally attractive (and scantily clad) Prince Charming, and Elsa was a sexy…well, Elsa.

So the fact that he wasn’t topless, or dressed as something idiotic or offensive (like Skeleboner, ugh—she had to fend off one of those just to get a drink) stood out like a beacon. She hadn’t even seen his face, but she could already tell he wasn’t one of those guys.

And that was partly because she’d recognize his costume anywhere. While there were a lot of costumes that mandated a suit, there weren’t a whole lot of brown pinstriped ones in pop culture.

Then her friends called her back, and their drinks were up, and she lost sight of the man in the throngs of people. Damn.

She tried to cast aside her disappointment as she dodged the douchebags through the crowd. That wasn’t why she was here—she was just having some fun with her friends while her son was out trick-or-treating with his. (And maybe attempting to reclaim some of her lost youth, after spending the bulk of hers raising Henry, who had looked way too grown in his Ghostbusters getup tonight.)

But, damn, did his shoulders fill out that jacket well, and it hugged his trim form perfectly. And what she could tell from the back of his head, his hair looked like it would feel great between her fingers. Granted, she was still imagining his front as David Tennant, so he might be letdown there—few guys stood a chance next to him.

Still, she was curious. And, glancing down at her own trench coat, they kind of went together.

Once she got back to her friends, Mary Margaret and Elsa decided that they really just wanted to dance, so the dance floor it was; she and Elsa danced together to avoid having to look at the sloppy makeouts from Mary Margaret and David. Her eyes scanned the crowd to see if she catch a glimpse of that suit, or even a man with dark hair and the glasses she noticed propped on his ears, but her search came up empty.

At some point, the True Love couple headed home to get some “privacy”, but Emma and Elsa weren’t quite ready yet. Call her obsessed, but Emma really wanted to find this guy. They both needed some water first, so Elsa headed back to their table while Emma went to the bar.

Though it was later in the evening, the place was still packed, so she squeezed into an empty spot and waited for the overworked barkeep to make his way over. She cast a few glances around to see if her mystery man was nearby, but still no luck. So she pulled her lone prop out of her pocket and fiddled with it while she waited.

Another person came up to the bar and took the empty space next to her, but she was too busy playing with the sound effects on her toy to really notice—at least, not until he spoke.

“Well, it looks like I’m not the only 10 in the room.”

She rolled her eyes at the dumb pickup line, even if his British accent was a bit enticing. “Please,” she started. “I’m a 13,” she threw back as she turned to face him—but then anything else she could have said got caught in her throat.

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