aislinn was supposed to be that

anonymous asked:

CS 'goodnight' moment after the scene with marian.

Last one before I go to bed. I’ll work on the rest of the prompts throughout the week! (Thanks for sending so many in!)

Killian escorted Emma up the stairs to her room at Granny’s, trailing a few steps behind her. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, afraid that any mention of their stolen moment earlier would once again send her running from him.

She reached her door, opening it as Killian hovered a few feet away. She turned to him, her face troubled, and Killian tensed. He waited anxiously for her next words, knowing she had the power to cause him great joy or misery as she chose.

“You were right, I suppose. I never should have saved her.”

Killian let his hand drift up to cup her cheek as his heart sighed in relief. It wasn’t him she was worried over.

“Emma, your choice was the right one. You never could have lived with yourself if you had left her in that cell. And I’m selfish enough that I couldn’t bear you to shoulder that guilt. At least now Regina never murdered her lover’s wife. That has to count for something.”

Emma took a deep breath and nodded. “Not much I can do about it now, I suppose, except wait for Regina to rain hell down upon me.” She gave him a tight smile.

He stepped closer. His gaze flickered to her lips and back up to her eyes. “She wouldn’t be that obvious about it, I’m afraid. Not with Henry around,” he teased lightly.

Her smile relaxed slightly. “True. I suppose I should be more worried about poisons and apples. That’s definitely more her style.”

“Don’t accept any baked goods from her in the foreseeable future.”

She laughed briefly and low. “Certainly not. I don’t want to fall under a sleeping curse, thank you very much.”

Killian grinned. “No need to worry about that. I’d just kiss you out of it.” As soon as the words left his mouth Killian realised his mistake and froze. Emma looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock.

“I meant…it was a…I’m sorry,” he finished inadequately.

“You really think…,” she began, clearly astonished. Killian stepped as far back away from her as he could get in the narrow corridor.

“I apologise, love. It was an unforgiveable choice of sentiment, particularly with what happened the last time I attempted such a kiss.” He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Emma said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. Her eyes were regretful and Killian felt his heart splinter painfully as he anticipated her next words. “If I were put under a sleeping curse,” she said slowly. “I do know that you are the only one that would have a chance of breaking it,” she finished deliberately, expression begging him to understand what she could not say in words.

Killian smiled softly, the shattering of his heart pausing in its destruction. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” he told her quietly.

“Yes,” Emma replied. “But, in the meantime, we best make every moment count.”

She gripped the lapel of his coat and slowly eased him down until their lips met. He felt the cracks in his heart gradually begin to piece themselves together once again.

dreamingofforeverafter  asked:

458 please and thanks you :)

Killian shifted on the cool tile floor, trying to get comfortable. The cold was seeping through his shirt and into his very bones. He had his jacket over his face, which was suffocating, but also the only way to block out the strong fluorescent lights. The bag he was using as a pillow was strangely lumpy. In short, he was extremely uncomfortable.

Originally his layover was meant to be six hours, and he hadn’t thought it was worth the expense to find a hotel. Besides, once he was in and out of customs, he’d probably only have had two hours of sleep.

But at the last minute they had delayed his flight indefinitely, so now he was trapped overnight in a near-empty airport (the flight could apparently leave at any moment), starving (all the shops were closed), exhausted (jetlag) and the least comfortable he’d ever been in his life.

He was convinced that fate hated him.

He tore the jacket off his face, giving up on the idea of sleep. His eyes were watering because he was so weary, but he made the effort to sit up.

“Crisp?” came a voice from across the aisle.

He looked up to see an incredibly beautiful blonde sitting cross-legged opposite him, holding out a bag of chips. His stomach rumbled. He blinked, wondering if his tired eyes were deceiving him, but no. She really was that stunning at the arse-end of the morning.

“Thanks,” he said, and leaned forward to grab a chip. “Where did you find these?”

“There’s a vending machine around the corner. I happened to have a few of the local currency left.”

He nodded, considering his useless British pounds. “Well, I appreciate it. I should have thought to bring my own food with me.”

She shrugged and smiled. “You seemed like you needed it.”

“That I do.” She offered the bag again and he gratefully took another.

“Any idea why our flight was delayed?” she asked.

“Mechanical trouble, apparently.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. That could mean anything.”

“No doubt the engineers have gone home for the night.”

She smiled. “That’d be right.”

“So, what should we do to pass the time?”

“I can think of a few ideas,” she told him. Then, as if realising how suggestive that sounded, her face went red. Killian felt his heart flip. “I meant…,” she started.

He grinned. “Well, you did buy me dinner,” he told her, indicating the bag of chips.

She laughed, and the sound was infectious. “I suppose I did.”

He opened his mouth to reply, when the flight attendant walked out. “Boarding will be in about twenty minutes,” she told them. Killian felt suddenly disappointed that they’d have to leave, just as things were getting interesting.

Half an hour later he found himself on the plane, sitting next to the blonde, whose name, it turned out, was Emma.

He decided that fate was smiling on him after all.

500 followers week! Send me a number and I’ll write you a drabble!

bashful-killian  asked:

473 please!!!

“Jones, we need to talk about Henry,” Emma announced as she bust into his office brandishing a handful of paper like a weapon.

Killian froze for an instant at her sudden intrusion before he slowly leaned back in his chair and gave her his most infuriating grin. He was gratified to see it worked, as her frown deepened in response.

“What about Henry?” he asked calmly, knowing exactly what this was regarding.

“You gave him a C on his paper. He came to me asking why you had it in for him. He always gets straight As in my class.”

Killian sighed. “Sit down, Swan.” She sat, begrudgingly. “I don’t have it out for the lad. Surely you know me better than that by now.” He looked at her pointedly and had the satisfaction of seeing her blush.

“You don’t play favourites,” she allowed.

“Not with the students,” he amended, and gave her a hooded look. Her cheeks reddened further and he had no doubt she had understood his meaning.

“It was a well-written paper. I just wanted to talk to you about why you marked him down.”

“As I said in my remarks, his writing is excellent. But I teach History, and Henry has a bountiful imagination. That may work well in Creative Writing, such as you teach, but we largely deal in facts in this discipline.”

She bristled. “There is plenty of hard analysis in English. And History is very much open to interpretation,” Emma protested.

“I don’t want to stifle him, but the lad is determined to romanticise the past, which actually hinders his ability to offer new approaches to the period. For example, he sees the medieval era as all knights and fair maidens to be rescued, without looking beyond that to what life was really like for the people of the time.”

“Oh,” Emma murmured. “I suppose that is rather a difficulty. I guess we’ll need to find a way to balance the two in each of our classes.”

He gave her a slow smile. “I suppose that means that we should spend some more time together.”

She blinked, then his meaning dawned. “I…yes, I suppose so. But what happened last time won’t happen again, I can assure you.”

Killian nodded absently, but was already half imagining her lips on his once more. He’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for months and he was determined not to squander it.

500 follower week! Send me a number and I’ll write you a drabble!