I had to break this into two parts, it was getting ridiculous. I had several prompts that I could fill with this one, an anon wanting Killian to worship Emma’s legs and two anons wanting female ejaculation/squirting. The latter doesn’t happen here, but the first is teased a bit.
Two people taking part in the most elite competition in the world. Emma wants to prove that she and her teammate Elsa deserve to be here. Killian wants a second chance after being unable to compete in the 2012 games. Both just want to find a quiet moment to make use of some of those 450,000 condoms the Rio Olympic committee provided.
Part 1 is rated T for Tension. Part 2 will be rated X for Xxxxxxxxxxxxxcellent, I’m Finally Writing Smut Again. The completed piece, whenever it’s finished, will be posted on AO3.
The first time he saw her was on the monitors in the arena adjacent to Maracanã. Will was busy griping in his ear about the order of entry while Robin made sympathetic noises to try and shut him up – not their fault that Brazilian Portuguese put the Americans before Team GB – but a flash of blonde hair and an overwhelmed (but brilliant smile) on the broadcast distracted Killian from Will’s language woes. This, naturally, did not go unnoticed, and Will’s own attention was diverted from the Parade of Nations to taking the piss out of Killian.
Killian had to remind himself several time that an Olympic-level rugby player could kick his sorry arse up and down the beachfront several times without breaking a sweat, and took the abuse with grace and no fisticuffs.
“He’s just looking for a friendly face to keep him company when we take our leave,” Robin said at one point, valiantly trying to save Killian from Will’s teasing.
At this point they’d started to move across the grounds towards Maracanã, to take their place in line for the grand show. Robin did have a point – both he was competing in the morning and Will had practice; both had chosen to walk in the parade under the condition of leaving immediately after to be well-rested. Killian, on the other hand, had several days before competing and hadn’t gotten to know many of the others on Team GB well. Will merely shrugged. “Don’t matter, bloody dog’s been here four days and already trying to bed the competition.”
“If they didn’t want us to bed each other, as you so chastely put it,” Killian said, undoing another button on his shirt – didn’t this country know it was supposed to be winter here? – and wishing he could completely remove the blazer, “the planning committee wouldn’t have provided us with so many means to do so safely.”
This comes under the category of “Things I Desperately Need To See In Canon”, and I kinda gave myself major feels with this post I made a little while ago. So I had to go and finally write the thing.
It’s just a little baby bit, but it wouldn’t get out of my head until I wrote it
Summary: On her birthday, with her family and friends surrounding her, Emma thinks about how different her life is now and reflects on birthdays past.
CS FF – Standing Here, Looking Back
October 22nd.
Her birthday.
Or that was the date on her birth certificate, at least. Growing up, she’d always wondered if it was correct, the only information she had about her birth coming from newspaper clippings the night she was dumped by the side of a highway.
Or so she’d believed.Until her 28th birthday, when Henry had shown up on her doorstep in Boston, informing her quite matter-of-factly that he was the son she gave up for adoption 10 years, 2 months and 1 week ago.
Every birthday before that fateful, life-changing one had been pretty much the same. She’d quietly wished herself happy birthday, heart aching with longing for someone to care about her enough to acknowledge the date.
Then, she’d blown out the single candle on the cupcake she’d stolen – or in later years, bought – and made a weary wish for a better life, for someone to love her, for anything but another year like the last.
And she’d finally gotten her wish, it seemed.
It wasn’t anything like she’d expected. It wasn’t anything she could have possibly imagined, even in her wildest dreams. It was better.
an: an au i may or may not continue that i couldn’t get out of my head after comic con stuff started coming out. title completely and irreverently stolen from the late great terry pratchett.
On the list of things Emma particularly enjoyed doing, running was nowhere near the top. In fact, if given the choice, Emma would prefer to do just about anything but run.
Still. It was either run or let the bastards on her tail catch her, and on the list of things she liked less than running, being caught by the sanctimonious pricks chasing after her was somewhere near the top.
When she’d met Baelfire, some years ago now, the idea that she’d been meant for something special had drawn her in. She’d been thrilled to learn that all those strange things that had kept her on the streets, kept her from earning the loving family she so desired, that those things made her different. Remarkable, even, she’d been told. Realm jumpers were few and far between, and even then, more often than not they used tools to help them get to where they wanted to go. Emma, Bae had said, was something altogether different, her abilities almost an unconscious thing, but he’d told her to be careful of them, to learn to control them, because there was danger in what she did. The ease with which she could stitch herself into a new reality was something he’d yearned for his whole life – but he’d been terrified of it, too.
Magic, he had told her, always comes at a price.
Once upon a time, she’d thought he was just being paranoid.
a big thank you to everybody who reviewed in the last chapter. sorry that it took me so long to get out but real life gets in the way sometimes. i hope to keep up this frequent updating (like once a week), but i am moving house next weekend, so it may be a little bit longer. two weeks at most, i promise! anyways, hope you all like this one.
“We also have cause to believe that both are also linked with Killian’s recent trauma.”
Her eyes are wide, as she stares up at Graham, and she immediately knows there’s tears there. Stupid, traitorous feelings.
She’s not sure why she’s so shocked, because she pretty much knew it wasn’t an accident. Hers? Perhaps. But with Killian’s accident so close to hers and in such a similar way? She knew that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Not that she believes in coincidences, anyway.
Maybe, she’s in denial. Maybe she’s still just reeling in from the news of the accident.
“Excuse me?”
Her voice cracks, when she speaks, and she knows it’s because of the emotion welling in her chest, the way the tears are beginning to spill out from her eyes.
She watches as Graham’s hands reach out towards her before they drop back to his sides with a loud sigh, as he seemingly thinks better of reaching for her. He doesn’t repeat himself though, he merely stares up at her with those big, pitiful eyes of his.
“I’m sorry, Ems,” he says, slowly. “I’m really sorry.”
Summary: It’s been just over ten years since Emma Swan won the Games, and her growing connection to fellow victor Killian Jones is something leading them into very dangerous territory. OUAT/THG crossover.
Warnings: Implications/mentions of forced prostitution. Alcohol and drug use mentions. Violence and a little bit of graphic imagery. For those used to Hunger Games fic set in the canon world, it’s the usual fare of unpleasantness . A/N: So here’s my post for the Day 1 of CS AU Week. It’s certainly the first CS AU I’ve ever written, and only my third CS fic total, so I hope I’ve done it all justice here. I’ve taken lots of liberties with THG world to better fit to the Once characters. Also, this is purely Once fic set in THG universe, so sorry my HG followers – no Everlark here. I knocked this fic out in 24 hours and managed to change tenses about twenty different times while writing it, so I apologize for any mistakes I missed in editing (especially since it’s completely un-beta’d).
(For everybody who wanted to be tagged on this post, for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag anyone. *sigh*)
—–
She sips from the glass in her hand, trying her best to not look as uncomfortable as she feels in the thin strips of fabric that are pretending to be a dress wrapped around her body. She is meant to look alluring, as she always has to the rabid sycophants meandering about the lavish room. But after more than ten years of being paraded out for the lust-hungry Capitol masses, Emma can’t muster much more than an elusive grin anytime somebody sizes her up and down. The promise of so much more, if they are willing to pay the right price.
She hates the weeks leading up to the reapings. When the deluded and privileged citizens decide to make the most of their existing crop of victors before they are all swept up in mentoring and securing sponsors for the poor souls entrusted to them. It’s nothing but an excuse for more extravagant parties, even though the same type of parties are held even during the Games.
‘What better way to secure your tribute’s future than a good fuck.’ She thinks bitterly, her mask of fake allure no doubt slipping. She tries to hide it behind another sip, hoping no one is the wiser to the her current feelings of distaste and distrust.
“Careful now, darling,” a lilting voice murmurs in her ear, just moments before the cold sensation of metal brushing up against her bare hip follows. “Some may think you’re not thoroughly enjoying yourself this evening.”
Killian Jones is a pirate captain down on his luck after a falling out with the Evil Queen. Emma Swan just found out she is the Savior. Their shared goals bring them on an epic quest to liberate the kingdom once and for all. It’s a lot easier said than done.
“Power, of course,” Killian finishes easily, walking up behind Emma just as she soon as she stops speaking. She turns around at the sound quickly and he can’t conceal his wide grin at the sight of her. She’s intact, healthy, and ready to fight. And he, fortunately, has his heart safely inside of his chest.
Even given that there’s a grand threat looming over their heads, things are beginning to look up.
“Killian,” Emma exhales, her expression overcome with relief as she races forward to embrace him. Killian reciprocates readily, his arms curling around her waist as he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She holds him so tightly he wonders if it’ll leave bruises, but he can’t find it within himself to give a damn.
He’s thankful they managed to have such impeccable timing. David is right behind him, he’s willing to bet Emma is mouthing her thank-yous to her father over his shoulder, and they ran most of the way here to catch up. Most of all, he’s thankful Emma is alive, safe, and warm in his arms. Finally.
“Emma,” he says her name with all the reverence he can imbue the word with, “thank the bloody gods you’re alright.”
“I could say the same to you,” Emma replies. One of her hands tangles in his hair, a soothing and familiar gesture. He just buries his nose further in the crook of her neck. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I was trying to kill you, so that feeling is quite understandable.”
Summary: Princess Emma of Misthaven, frustrated with her lack of progress in mastering her magic, secretly travels to visit her dear friend, Queen Elsa of Arendelle for help. Along the way she encounters Captain Killian Jones who turns her world upside-down. Fate throws them together but a looming danger threatens to pull them apart before they can recognize the love growing between them.
Emma awoke to the sounds of shouting and cannon fire. Shit, this was not part of the plan. Emma scrambled off the bunk and secured her bodice which she had loosened to take a nap. Emma suddenly found herself glad she was wearing a dress that fell to halfway down her thighs, under which she wore pants and leather calf-high boots. And thank goodness the bodice she wore provided enough structure she could do without a corset.
The captain’s disapproval of her wearing men’s attire on a prior trip had lead to the compromise of her current outfit, but it would aide her well if she had to fight. She quickly grabbed her sword, dagger and gun and tucked them into her belt. About to exit the room, she ran back to the desk for two smaller knives, and shoved the smaller knife between her breasts and the other into a secret pocket inside her boots. Armed as well as she could manage, she came to the top deck to find a ship almost lined up to board hers. Why the hell did the captain not wake her, she thought in a panic.
A quick scan of the deck revealed, to her horror, that the captain and a few other souls were lying underneath the mainmast which had been taken out by the cannon fire. The officers of the ship were gone and the sailors that remained were unorganized. One of the men was shouting that they had begun to take on water.
so, this isn’t exactly what @captain–kitten was talking about when she flailed over a 90s grunge au. but listen, 90s grunge is my jaaaaam. so her post definitely inspired this ficlet.
captain swan // modern au // rated teen for drinking and a lil’ bit of kissing // they work the scene at tiny’s bar where musician’s dreams come true (and maybe their’s will too, someday)
Killian celebrates his birthday in
February with “A Party So Big the Heavens Can See It,” dubbed so by Will, a
surprisingly fitting label coming from him. It happens to fall in the quiet
weeks between the start of the semester and midterms, so there’s a turnout at
the frat that Emma isn’t exactly expecting. Killian’s friendly, but she doesn’t
think so many people would be offering him birthday wishes (and presents, a
ridiculous amount of $5 gift cards to the campus Starbucks) if Ruby hadn’t
spread the word of a party and Jefferson and Victor hadn’t promised the music
and drinks.
It’s cold as all hell outside and yet
Emma finds herself there, on the back porch of the house, icy wind raking
through her hair – and his fingers, too, as he tugs her even closer, nudging
her nose in his desperation to deepen the kiss. His tongue strokes over her
bottom lip, seeking entrance and finds it when Emma parts on a breath that’s
quickly swallowed up by his kiss. The music is loud enough that Emma can hear
it even through the closed door, but the rat-a-tat beat of her heart is louder,
dancing in harmony with his other hand, riding up her side.
It All Starts With a Dance 