Can you repost your fic where it was like Emma and Killian were trying to get pregnant and they were doing it really quickly before work?
Here you go! :)
Seven months. It’s been almost seven months and nothing.
“Shit, we forgot the candle.”
Killian’s body presses her into the bed, hands roaming in an all too familiar dance as underclothes are quickly discarded and bodies fall into place - special fertility candle free (she still claims she had accidentally stumbled on it on Amazon, a story she’s sticking to as long as it sits in plain sight in her bedroom where her mother of all people can comment on how pretty it is and how it smells like a popular medicinal plant from the Enchanted Forest, all while making suspicious eyes at her – god).
“Sod the bloody candle, love,” he grumbles as he buries her face into the crook of her neck and begins sucking needy kisses along her shoulder. “If I recall, its rather pungent scent only serves to make my head ache.” Killian chuckles into her neck and reaches between them, guiding and entering her with a sharp thrust followed by a number of smaller one as he works his way into her.
And wasn’t it supposed to be easier than this?
Didn’t schools teach that you could practically get pregnant from dry humping in the back of a van? Hell, she was a poster child for inopportune teen pregnancies, but the moment she’s ready for a baby, True Love and all, her body forgets what it’s supposed to do or something?
Rational or not, as much as she loves Henry, as much as she wouldn’t change anything for the world, just the thought frustrates her far more than she wants it to. The lack of choice, the wondering if it’s too late for them, and she’s only 31 for God’s sakes!
(She wonders if it frustrates him too.)
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” she gasps in reply, meeting his lips with a bruising kiss and getting lost in the moment, the rock of hips, the slide of their tongues, the bruising of fingers… until she opens her eyes for a moment and sees the alarm clock, blinking red and angrily by her head.
Monday. Shit, it’s Monday. Where had Sunday even gone? Oh yeah, another town crisis. Because there wasn’t a fucking shortage of those in Storybrooke, was there?
“Crap. Just hurry, I have work in like forty minutes.”
Killian laughs again and she melts a little at the feeling of him nuzzling her throat while he pumps his hips back and forth at the same, leisurely pace. “Romantic as ever, Swan,” he grunts amiably and bites down onto her collar, yet he picks up the pace (she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t want to explain why she was late to her father anyway) pushing his hips forward, both needing and hurried all at once (two entirely different things when it comes down to it, they’ve discovered these past few months).
“About as romantic as pushing me up against the counter while I’m making dinner because I was supposed to be ovulating and Roland was going to be here in an hour.”
Not that it was bad sex.
Actually, it was pretty damned great sex, her legs wrapped around his waist and her ass digging into the edge of the table. Quick. Rough. Dirty. Exciting. Hold on tight, Darling, he’d whispered into her ear as he rode her into oblivion that she was just sure had made a baby.
That was over three months ago and she’s almost stopped having those feelings now.
“And you’re sure that it is your fertile time now?”
“As sure as I fucking can be,” she snaps and rocks her hips upward (she doesn’t mean to snap at him, she never means to snap). “I peed on three damn sticks and- ohh, right there… yeah.. Killian.”
Emma dissolves into whimpers when he hits that spot and she’s still not there, not quite there - it’s only been two minutes, after all - and she has to shower and eat breakfast and drop Henry off and it’s going to take her another ten minutes to get to the station. The way she sees it, it’s either no shower or no orgasm, and today, the responsible, adult answer seems pretty damned clear.
(She is a lucky lady.)
“Just hurry up, I need to shower and I don’t want to go to work smelling like-“ She stops her thought abruptly when he slips his hand between them (tempting, oh so tempting, but there’s no time). She pushes him away. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me. You can owe me for later, okay?” she pants into his ear and reaches down to grip his ass, tugging him into her faster.
“Come on, don’t worry about me,” she repeats.
“Gods, Swan,” he groans, used to “quickies” and the unfortunate necessity of leaving her very occasionally unsatisfied in these moments. “Do you know I was dreaming of you?” he mumbles into her breasts and gives an especially spirited thrust that makes Emma consider calling in sick. “You were riding me. A position we haven’t tried in some time, as I recall.”
"Yeah, well, you’re the one that claims gravity working against us isn’t going to help matters.”
“Perhaps. But after more than six months of attempting to conceive, do you want to take the chance? Still, I do miss the lovely view of your breasts-” he cuts himself off with a sharp whine when she grabs both of his hips roughly and begins riding him from below. “Gods, love. Darling- are you- are you certain I shouldn’t take you from behind? Didn’t the internet say that could help?”
"No. I-I like you like this.”
“It doesn’t feel right. Taking you so quickly and not bringing you to-”
“It’s fine.This is good.”
“Are you sure? I have heard a woman needs to release in order for the seed to-”
“Dammit, Killian, can we stop talking about it and just finish?”
Minutes later, she’s playfully pushing him off of her chest (damn, it’s always the times that they have to be quick that she has the inexplicable desire to cuddle and watch tv with the idiot all day).
“Give a man a moment, love,” he laughs warmly, but acquiesces, rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling, chest heaving with each breath.
Emma glances over, apologetic. “It won’t be like this forever, okay?” She reaches over and runs a hand along the tense plane of his abs, smiling at the tight muscles and the way his lips curve up every time she touches him there.
(She wonders for a brief moment if their baby would be ticklish like him? Or if its eyes would be blue or green? A boy or a girl? Would it have their family’s sense of adventure or be a bookworm or a combination of the two, like Henry?)
(She stops thinking them as soon as she starts because after seven months of trying something that is supposed to be so easy - especially with the added bonus of True Love - it’s become habit not to let herself wonder things like that for too long.)
“Like what? Frantically making love to you before work, and after, almost every day? I could imagine worse fates, Darling,” Killian purrs, closing his eyes in the haze of satisfaction.
“You know what I mean.”
Emma frowns, and he must sense it, because he opens his eyes and meets hers. After a few seconds, he grabs the pillow behind his head and she lifts her hips, allowing him to place it beneath her so she rests at a slight angle.
“Aye. I know, love,” he nods, resting on his side and kissing her cheek.
“And we’ll have it.”
She fights the urge to argue, to question, to doubt, and instead she nods back, forcing a smile and stroking his belly again, giggling softly when he arches out of her reach, and right now, this second… she believes him.
“Lately I’ve been, I’ve been losing seep. Dreaming about the things that we could be” “Lately I’ve been, I’ve been praying hard. Said no more counting dollar “We’ll be counting STARS”
I’m sorry I’ve been really in love with Dipcifica the past few days, especially when I can drop my AU Dipper in here. Just, AHH! But it’s just a sketch because I literally was just doodling and liked how it came out.