A/N: I am eleven days away from 30. As a celebration of this (and to get my writing muscles moving again) I will be posting small ficlets between now and then, because why the hell not. :) (This is my way of crashing into Pervy Thirty with a fucking bang… which means not all of these will be so tame.)
(All prompts come from this list, in no particular order.)
It’s well after
midnight when Emma finds herself on the swing set in the backyard of David and
Mary Margaret’s house. It can’t be more than two minutes before Killian is
joining her, sitting down on the unoccupied swing and letting the companionable
silence fill the small space between them.
With the summer
breeze ruffling through his hair, Killian looks young and carefree. Emma tries
not to stare at him as he sways gently forward and back on the plastic swing.
Instead, she pushes off the ground, pumping her legs and propelling herself
higher than the small movements Killian is making on his own swing. When she’s
reached a speed and height she’s satisfied with, she tips back and looks at the
stars. Her long blonde hair brushes the rubber mulch that coats the ground of
the small playground. She’s only vaguely aware when Killian copies her moves,
swinging himself in earnest and eventually matching her pace.
You know, in another universe, David and Gillian could have been this costar couple who would have been so done with Hollywood and so nostalgic about the hippie years that they would have recreated Woodstock in their huge backyard and David would have played the ukulele after he fed their pet goats and Gillian would be knitting in the sun while drinking some herbal infusion, only wearing a flower crown and looking fabulous.