phiralovesloki:

Oh boy, do I have a treat for y’all (@swankkat and @caprelloidea have already seen it but I think it’s time to share it with everyone else). Here’s a missing scene from Killian’s POV. It’s under the cut because it’s slightly spoilery, and you know how I feel about spoiling this story for people. (Falling Slowly)

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cshiatuschallenge:

Notes: Also inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 aesthetic submission where she featured the Willy Wonka quote and made my muse go YAAAASSSS!

Rated T / ~300 words

A ‘sugar rush’ she called it.

The manic euphoria one gets from ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

Followed soon after by the ‘crash’.

The onset of lethargy, moodiness, and occasional stomach cramps that follows the high of ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

He doesn’t mind the rush part. The way it makes her a little bit giddy and giggly. How playful she becomes when the milk dud soaked popcorn finally hits her system, or how the sweet surge from the bear claw (or three) gives her a naughty desire to patrol him rather than the now quiet streets of Stroybrooke.

The problem is that its epithet is actually a bit of a misnomer. ‘Rush’ typically signifying that a thing would happen quickly. Suddenly.

Not so with sugar, he finds. The consumption taking too long of moments to finally hit her blood stream.

Not like with rum.

With rum the desired effect is nearly instantaneous. The way it warms your belly and sends that coursing heat through you after the very first swallow. How it relaxes tensions, dulls distraction, and leaves a lingering spice upon the tongue.

He likes the effects of the rum. Not the ‘I’ve lost all sense to make reasonable choices’ effect, but the sultry way she licks those errant drops from her lips…as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing kind of effect.

The luxurious and languid way she kisses him before they even make it through their first tumbler, or how her eyes go dark at him over the rim of her glass or bottle when they are out in public or in another’s home, holding promise for more enjoyable activities when they finally find themselves alone.

It may be true that candy was dandy, but liquor was quicker. 

And as long as you partake in moderation, it holds all the same pleasures without the impending crash.

---

by @hollyethecurious

hollyethecurious:

Candy is Dandy, But Liquor is Quicker / CS + Candy Kisses – @cshiatuschallenge prompt

Notes: Also inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 aesthetic submission where she featured the Willy Wonka quote and made my muse go YAAAASSSS!

Rated T / ~300 words / Also on ff.net and Ao3

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A ‘sugar rush’ she called it.

The manic euphoria one gets from ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

Followed soon after by the ‘crash’.

The onset of lethargy, moodiness, and occasional stomach cramps that follows the high of ingesting copious amounts of sugar in a short period of time.

He doesn’t mind the rush part. The way it makes her a little bit giddy and giggly. How playful she becomes when the milk dud soaked popcorn finally hits her system, or how the sweet surge from the bear claw (or three) gives her a naughty desire to patrol him rather than the now quiet streets of Stroybrooke.

The problem is that its epithet is actually a bit of a misnomer. ‘Rush’ typically signifying that a thing would happen quickly. Suddenly.

Not so with sugar, he finds. The consumption taking too long of moments to finally hit her blood stream.

Not like with rum.

With rum the desired effect is nearly instantaneous. The way it warms your belly and sends that coursing heat through you after the very first swallow. How it relaxes tensions, dulls distraction, and leaves a lingering spice upon the tongue.

He likes the effects of the rum. Not the ‘I’ve lost all sense to make reasonable choices’ effect, but the sultry way she licks those errant drops from her lips…as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing kind of effect.

The luxurious and languid way she kisses him before they even make it through their first tumbler, or how her eyes go dark at him over the rim of her glass or bottle when they are out in public or in another’s home, holding promise for more enjoyable activities when they finally find themselves alone.

It may be true that candy was dandy, but liquor was quicker.

And as long as you partake in moderation, it holds all the same pleasures without the impending crash.

@kmomof4 @winterbaby89

startswithhope:

I set out to write something and it turned into smut, and it got a bit filthy, so well, here you go. Some references to spoilers ahead… (2400 words, very M) AO3

---

He’s been gone for just a few hours and she’s already wondering if letting him go was the right choice. Tracing her fingers over the books on Killian’s shelf in his cabin, Emma thinks of what Henry excitedly explained to them, about wanting to explore these other stories and someday find his own.

“So, do you think there are different versions of you out there in other realms?”

“Pardon, love?”

“Captain Hook, he’s a fairy tale character, so there could be other versions of you, you know?”

Looking up from his task of sharpening his hook, Killian lifts his eyebrow and flashes a dashing smile.

“I’d like to think I’m one of a kind, Swan…”

Emma laughs, her boots shuffling across the wood as she crosses to him, her hands coming to rest on his lapels as she nudges her hips between his spread legs. He leans further back into his desk to accommodate her, the mischievous twinkle in his eye sparking with immediate heat at her closeness.

“I’m serious. If Henry’s right and there are other realms with the same characters and similar stories, there could be many different Captain Hooks out there.”

“I suppose it’s possible, love. Even if we look at our history and the adventures we’ve had, you’ve met quite a few versions of me so far. Hell, there was even a time you had the pleasure of being with two of me at once.”

The animated eyebrow wiggle he gives her at that memory has her playfully flicking his earlobe, but she still leans in to give him a quick kiss.

“Ah, a memory you obviously enjoy, I see…” Killian mumbles against her lips, his head moving forward to chase her mouth as she pulls away with a smile.

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bleebug:

The series is COMPLETE (finally!) so here’s a masterpost with all the links so it’s easy to navigate. Thank you everyone for reading. I appreciate yoooou! ❤️ 

Every Letter – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 (½) – 10 (2/2) – (AO3)
Rating: T
Words: 93k
A pen pal writing assignment connects a young Emma Swan with her best friend Killian Jones. Life sends many hardships their way, but their friendship remains solid through the years. As they both grow older and begin to realize what they want out of life, will their letters be enough?

Every Touch – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – (AO3)
Rating: E
Words: 28k
Killian and Emma have been craving each other’s touch for as long as they’ve been in love with each other. Neither have been able to fight their lascivious fantasies for years. Will the real deal measure up? (A smutty addition to the “Every Letter” story. Takes place during various chapters.) 

Every Letter – Christmas Morning ficlet (1/1)
Rating: T
Words: 800
Henry decides to wake up Emma and Killian for Christmas presents. Takes place a month after Ch9 of Every Letter.

Every Letter – Ten Years (1/1) – (AO3)
Rating: T
Words: 2.7k
Emma and Killian celebrate ten years together. 

initiala:

theeeeeeeee oldest prompt still alive/uneaten in my askbox, let’s suck some diiiiiiiiiicks

hiatus between 4a and 4b

There are a lot of questions Emma still feels are too weird to ask and keeps her mouth shut about – how did people get ringlets in the Enchanted Forest? Did corsets ever get more comfortable or were there some spleen issues her mom needed to see a doctor about? Was virginity as overrated there as it was here? How did anyone survive before tampons? Or Advil? How many expensive foreign vases given as gifts from ambassadors would she have been allowed to break in a princessy tantrum? Can Granny teach her how to shoot that crossbow sometime?

“Hey, did you know that yours is the second uncut dick I’ve ever seen?” is one she never expected to think up, and she definitely doesn’t voice that aloud.

(Really, thinking about her ex in this scenario shouldn’t happen at all, but she does have him to thank for knowing what to do in this scenario.)

As irritating as not having her own place is, half the fun of these stolen moments in Killian’s rented room is seeing how far they can go before Granny gives them dirty looks at breakfast the next morning. An inn run by wolves is not an inn that allows for very much privacy, but Emma’s determined not to let that stop her from seeing if after talking the talk Killian can walk the walk.

(Oh, he definitely can walk the walk. Some mornings Emma isn’t sure she can walk the walk of shame back to the loft.)

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piratesails:

The last thing he thought he’d be doing on a Tuesday evening when the sky opened up and let out a monster of a thunderstorm, was leaving the house and getting caught in the rain. And yet, here he is, wringing water out of his clothes in the bathroom sink to get them just dry enough that they won’t leave trails when he takes them to the laundry room downstairs.

He heaves out a heavy sigh but he can’t seem to get mad. Because every time he tries, he thinks of Emma Swan knocking on his door and pulling him down several flights of stairs to soak him to his toes. His best friend is a thunderstorm in herself.

There’s a knock at the door, and he hums in reply.

“I made apology coffee,” Emma calls out. He laughs, as though she has anything to apologise for. She could lead him anywhere and he’d follow willingly, as head over heels he is about her.

“I’ll be right there, love.”

It takes him a few seconds to gather his clothes in the basket at the corner, to push his fingers through his hair several times and look in the mirror, giving himself a silent pep talk. It’s mostly new, the discovery of the severity of his feelings for Emma. He’s always known he was drawn to her, but there’s something else there, too – a need to never be separated, a sensation of care that extends well beyond the natural, and a word that starts with L that he doesn’t think he should ever utter out loud in her presence. Not now anyway. Someday, maybe.

He hears her humming from the kitchen and smiles to himself.

“Apology coffee and a musical performance? Aren’t I just the luckiest man in the world.” It’s easy for him to slip into a tone of levity, even easier when she teases him right back.

“Please,” she scoffs. “You’re going to have to make me coffee if you want to hear me sing.”

“I make you coffee every single weekend,” he replies, throwing in a pout for good measure.

Emma shrugs, her smirk taking away from her excuse of an apology. She turns around to pick up the mugs from the counter and that’s when he notices it, the deep red fabric that bunches around her arms where she’s pushes the too long sleeves to her elbows. It hangs loosely on her frame, the threads fraying, the small tear in the hem glaring at him in recognition.

He hasn’t seen this sweatshirt in years, had forgotten about it completely, in fact. And here it is, worn by the woman he would never, in his existence, want to forget.

She places the mugs on the table and hesitates when he stays frozen in place. He’s staring, he knows, but he can’t help it.

“I forgot to bring an extra sweater, I thought it would be okay if I borrowed one?” she explains, though it comes out more like a question. He opens his mouth but doesn’t get a word out. Emma’s fingers run along the hem, fidgeting. “I’ll just go put it back in your drawer, I’ll be fine in my shirt.”

He steps in front of her when she tries to pass by him, and shakes his head.

“No, no, I just– my brother gave me that sweatshirt. I simply haven’t seen it in a while, that’s all.”

“Shit, sorry, I should–,” she moves towards his room but he grabs her by the elbow and pulls her back in place.

“Swan, it’s perfectly fine. It even suits you,” he grins. And gods, does it ever. It brings out the gold of her hair and matches the red on her cheeks that’s always present during colder months. And it’s something else, to see her wrapped up in clothing that’s his. He’s pathetic in his longing for domesticity, for wanting it with Emma and Emma only. Unbidden, he imagines her in nothing but his sweatshirt, greeting him on a morning after with intimacy he should not be letting creep into his mind when she’s standing right in front of him.

He coughs, trying to cover it up.

She eyes him warily. “Are you sure?” He knows what she’s asking, Are you sure you want to trust me with this? As though she and Liam aren’t on the same standing in his mind, as though she isn’t deserving of being compared to his late brother. How she doesn’t see his heart beat straight out of his chest when she’s near, he’ll never know.

He gently runs a hand up and down her arm, and she visibly deflates at the gesture. He’s so close to her that he can count the creases on her forehead, knows they won’t leave her until the unnecessary guilt subsides.

“Positive,” he reassures.

And perhaps if he was privy to her thought process, he would expect her reaching up on her tiptoes and places a soft kiss on his cheek. Instead, he stands there like a fool, stock still, as it happens.

“Thank you,” she practically whispers. She squeezes his hand once before stepping back. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

He watches her walk to the table, damp curls hanging down her back, at home in a place that isn’t hers. Engulfed in an article of clothing that he associates with warmth and comfort. Completely and irrevocably making his heart pound. He lets out a gust of a breath. A thunderstorm in herself, indeed.

intimacy prompts

unfolded73:

Captain Swan, Rated E, ~3000 words.

My fluff offensive continues. This started as just a bunch of dirty lady banter

that amused me (because do I have a weakness for writing women oversharing with each other? I do), and then it turned into dirty sex. Oops. For the purposes of this fic, I just pretended all the side characters I wanted are still in Storybrooke. Set several months after the final battle.

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It was the third margarita that made Emma open her big mouth. That and the fact that her mother, usually present at a girls’ night such as this one, was absent. 

“You need to advocate for your own pleasure,” Zelena was telling Aurora as Emma came back into the room with her drink. “If he’s not doing what you need him to do to get you off, then you tell him what he needs to do.” 

Emma’s gaze met Regina’s and the two of them had a silent conversation through strategically widened eyes about how these nights always devolved into sex talk and oversharing. 

“Exactly,” Ashley agreed. “Or show him.” 

Aurora looked slightly scandalized at that. “Show him?” 

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