a/n: for someone promoted ‘as the biggest bad to ever bad’, she was an even worse villain than captain hook and his many foiled plots – and thats saying something. so, here’s an attempt at fixing her curse deployment. bonus: it gives CS honeymoon time! (cs after the cut, with a dash of rb+bby gideon)
Fiona has always considered herself a visionary, a go-getter, a creative mastermind. When she developed The Dark Curse, she tested it with a multitude of woodland creatures and unfortunate peasants (though, given the wonders The Land Without Magic has managed to create, hot water from pipes, for example, she’s certain the peasants are more fortunate than not).
What she may have slightly miscalculated, however, is the details. Not that she’d ever admit it, but if there was one thing Regina had gotten right, it was the incredibly mundane details of a town. And a good thing too – if she hadn’t checked the key profiles of the people she intended to curse, she might have never known Henry was born in this land, which means had she cast her curse blindly, Henry would have been untouched by it completely, which could have been disastrous.
Morning drabble to get my muse interested in working on Fragile Design…a private moment between our favorite duo, at any point after 6×18. A little remedy for what ails Emma (big fat quotation marks around pancakes intended).
Killian and Emma are enjoying a day on the water when a
storm happens upon them. They decide to wait it out down below, where Killian
has some interesting ideas as to what can occupy their time. Mindless fluff and
smut.
wait out the storm
She watches the storm clouds gather off in the distance, a heavy
sweep of slate that cuts across the horizon like a painter’s brush. It’s
beautiful, in its own way, if not faintly terrifying. The wind picks up and
begins to whip at the sails in the same moment she decides definitely terrifying – the heavy canvas ominously billowing back
and forth. It licks along the jut of her collarbones and she pulls her jacket tighter,
stepping closer to the wheel where Killian is perched.
“Should we be heading back?”
Killian keeps his gaze steady on the clouds, fingers
drumming lightly against the spokes of the wheel.
“Afraid we won’t be able to outrun it at this point, best to
just tie things down and wait it out down below.”
Set immediately after Emma’s return from the wish realm… (rated M)
There’s a storm coming. He watched the first cloud roll in when her eyes took in only one of her parents in the small crowd of welcome, a poignant reminder of battles still not won. His palm had felt the stiffness of her spine as he walked with her towards her car, a swirl of emotions on full display behind the tightness of her smile. And now, her hand, with knuckles still white from her grip on the steering wheel, moves deliberately from his reach as she leads them into their home. It feels a bit traitorous to find beauty in her rage, but he can’t deny his body’s reaction to her inner fire just waiting to break free.
Pausing inside the door to shrug off his jacket and toe of his boots, he watches as her coat lands on the back of the sofa and her shoes litter the wooden floor at the base of the stairs. As he passes them both his fingers itch to move them to their rightful place, but he, in all honestly, is fearful of her wrath if she were to see him cleaning up after her in this moment. Lengthening his stride to take the stairs two at a time, he finds her in their bedroom closet already ripping at the buttons of her shirt.
“Emma…”
She doesn’t respond as her patience with her shirt buttons reaches an end and the offending garment is ripped over her head and tossed on the floor next to the hamper.
Just a little Saturday morning smutlet…happy weekend!
She’s humming to herself as she scrubs at the remnants of cinnamon stuck in the depths of her mug and doesn’t hear him approach from behind, his bare feet making little sound on the hardwood as he cages her in with his arms. He chuckles at her flinch and she flicks the water from her fingers over her shoulder in retaliation.
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Yes you did.”
He doesn’t respond, instead seeking the soft skin behind her ear with his slightly wet nose, his lips pressing a smile along her neck when he feels her responsive shiver.
“I was getting lonely.”
“I’ve only been over here for a few minutes…”
Who is she kidding? The way their lives are, a few minutes might be all they have before someone comes crashing through their door with a problem that just must be solved.
The grumble he mumbles against her skin sounds like an agreement to her unspoken thought.
omfg anon I WASN’T PLANNING ON WRITING THIS because flkjhlkj i have so many things i should be writing (and also i have work today that i’ve been putting off) but like… i get it cause that scene fucking ruined me too, so here you go, have some porn with feelings. aslkjhs.
the scene (kitchen table sex with no interruptions) – AO3 ~1800, explicit, obvs
“To hell with the pancakes,” is a sentiment that Killian wholeheartedly agrees with. He much prefers the taste of her tongue and the smell of dried sweat and lingering morning sex on her skin to anything else right now. And, it seems, she has nothing on her mind now either, aside from consuming his groans of pleasure and sliding her deft, teasing fingers across the back of his neck, down his shoulders, his chest, his tense abdomen, all the way there, where he is alive and awake and quite ready for another go at it.
He loves kissing her, always has; she’s a hell of a kisser and she knows it. Though he may have a few more centuries of experience, she’s managed to master the art in her short decades on this earth. Push, pull. Tongue, teeth. Wet lips, plush and pliant, with a gentle ease even when forceful and wild. He could drown in her kisses, although he has, in fact, been resuscitated by them once before. (Whatever excuse she’d had about that “CPR” nonsense had been just that: nonsense. It was definitely the press of her lips that saved him, of that he is entirely certain.)
It’s the combination that does him in – her mouth on his and her hands massaging him through the jeans that he wished he hadn’t even bothered putting on this morning. He can’t stand it, is too revved up and desperate for her that he couldn’t care less about anything else.
cshappybeginning 