#my ff

[wrathofthestag]

So I have a new headcanon that eventually, Jack will write a cookbook. After years of watching Bitty cook, Jack picks up a lot. At first, he's shy in the kitchen and looks to Bitty for reassurance and guidance. Gradually, he dives into cooking with gusto. Much to Bitty—and Bob's—delight, he becomes more fearless and adventurous in the kitchen.

With Bitty's busy schedule, Jack begins cooking more meals at home. He approaches Nate the team's dietitian for info on cooking for athletes. They have long chats and Nate gives him lots of books and recommends some online courses if Jack is "really interested." Which he is!

Jack then finds himself making lunches for the guys. Tater draws a cute little cartoon of Jack with a chef's toque that he tapes to the nook wall.

Like everything Jack approaches, he is 110% and is diving into the science of food, particularly in relation to the athlete. Bitty is charmed beyond belief.

"Honey, this is delicious and you have definitely outdone me when it comes to cooking for the team."

"Euh, thanks, Bits."

Jack blushes but feels good when he brings food for the Falconers. And blushes even more when the guys chirp him as they happily dig into Jack's creations. It's then that Jack finally understands, truly understands what Bitty feels when he cooks for others.

Soon, FalcsTV is always abuzz about Jack's cooking, especially with Tater's What's in Zimbonni's Kitchen? segment. So, it's no surprise when Bitty's agent approaches Jack about a cookbook for athletes.

"Bits is the chef, not me," he quickly replies.

But Bitty's agent, and Bitty, smile. Soon the book debuts and, of course, it's a hit.

Shitty and the team chirp Jack within an inch of his life.

"What's with the beefcake photo, brah?" Shitty razzes (as the pride shines on his expression).

Bitty quickly shushes him.

"The publisher knows what the masses want, Byron."

Jack's a little embarrassed, but ultimately, he doesn't care. He's proud of the work he's done and smiles as he puts a copy of Eat More Protein next to all of Bitty's cookbooks in their kitchen.

#jack zimmermann #omgcp headcanon #jack zimmermann head canon #zimbits #jack zimmermann art #OF COURSE it's named Eat More Protein #my FF #hey! i wrote a little something #food mention #:D #pic from pietro boselli IG

[prahacat]

theory on the fluidity of minds and souls

The first three acts of Asajj’s life. A how-to on finding yourself. Experimental prose, 1k words | Read on ao3

How to be a Jedi

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) Child, he says, don’t cry. Here on Rattatak, we are Jedi the best we can. Here’s how to be a temple to each other: brush the red dust from your face before you go to sleep. Brush the dust from his face too. Share the dirty water without flinching, like trusting him comes natural and easy to you. Teach him what to eat, cook for him stews of insects and herbs and if he won’t eat those, tell him you’re sorry, this is all you have. This is all anyone has. Sit and guard the fire while he sleeps; trust him to guard you while you do the same. When you move up north, don’t light a fire at night so the warlords won’t spot you.

(3) Learn to be kind.

(4) When they kill him

don’t rage

don’t rage

grieve

but don’t rage, don’t let it consume you

How to be a Sith

(1) Don’t listen to the old man.

(2) All men are liars. So are the women, so is everyone, but the men are more dangerous to you, especially the older ones. Never let him know (he knows anyway). Forget. Never look back. Don’t cry when he throws lightning at you; when you’re alone again, press your fingers against your temples to relieve the headache. Make the silence your friend. Ask questions, but don’t ask too many or the wrong ones; his anger will teach you which are the wrong ones. Watch out for his anger, but learn to watch out for his sharp-edged smiles too. If he offers you food or a weapon, take it; if he gives you a name, hunt them down. If he offers you a glass of wine, sit and drink and look for the lesson: which tool is he trying to shape you into? A blade, a shadow, a shield, a smoke bomb? Be grateful for what you have because he is offering you more power than he offered anyone else, because he thinks you can take the lessons and not fail, the way so many others did.

So this is how you will live: be wary of cups you haven’t filled yourself. Hide daggers everywhere: in your boots, under the folded cloak you use as a makeshift pillow, in your dreams. Keep the holoproj next to your bedroll, make sure it’s always charged, make sure it’s never muted. Here’s a list of essential things you need to have at hand at all times: spare energy cores for your saber, medpacs and bactaspray, stimcaf and sleeptabs, protein wafers in an osmosis pack in case you can’t swallow anything. It’s better not to stare at the stars for too long when you’re traveling. Navigation is all they’re good for. Be grateful for what you have. It’s really all you need: a place for the pain to go and a place to come home to. It doesn’t matter if they’re the same place, and if one day you should catch him pressing his fingers against his temples, pretend you didn’t see. Go skewer some boys instead. There’s that Jedi again: flirt, tease, smile at him with your dewberry-colored lips and painted eyes, so he knows you want to be here, you enjoy what you are. And if you suspect or know that he too has a list of essential things, and that his list is the same as yours, the same as everyone’s these days, don’t let on.

(3) Never forget to hate yourself.

(4) Don’t fall for the blade, it’s not your friend; it will take away everything you own. It’s very simple. He won’t protect you. You can’t protect them. Always expect betrayal; always expect loss.

And when that day comes

—it will inevitably come—

remember your grief and how it was a dull, useless knife to you.

How to be a ???

How to figure out what who you are

(1) Stay alone.

(2) Boil the water before you use it for soup. Strain it and collect the pulp, the gritty dark things you don’t know how to name. Everything tastes like ashes and dust, that’s all you know. Buy some soap and scrub your hands. If you wake with a start in the middle of the night, pressure crushing your chest and your breathing quick and ragged in the quiet of your room, remember to inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four. Lie still and watch the darkness shed from the light. In the morning, roam the markets, buy something against the headache, something to hide your face, something to scrub your hands. When you walk through the streets, pull your hood low. Tell the spice dealers to leave you alone, always stop after one glass of whiskey, tell the men at the corner to fuck off. There will be days when you wake in unfamiliar places; at least try not to have two of them in a row if you can help it. Watch the sunrise. Tell no-one about your past (they know anyway; probably). Always expect betrayal, always expect loss. Forget. Never look back.

(3) Learn to be kind again.

(4) Get some credits, buy a saber; any saber you can find, as long as it’s still alive. Hold it in your hand, gently, feel the worn hilt that has passed through other hands. Were they cruel? Were they kind? Maybe. Did they protect, did they kill? Who knows. It doesn’t matter to you.

Here’s what you need to do to make this saber yours:

calibrate the focusing ring, install a strong core, toss away the parts you don’t need, polish the metal often, swing the saber daily, trust your hand again, close your eyes, listen, be patient, feel how your crystal talks to you, feel it resonate, feel it hum, learn a new language.

Yellow is a good color.

It’s going to take a long time.

#asajj ventress #ventress #star wars fanfiction #pls help me i'm so emotional abt her. i had to write something #no tbb spoilers here #unless you didn't know about the saber #my ff #prahacat writes

[lionlena]

♕ Queen's Milk (Oberyn Martellxf!reader) one shot

Summary: You are Oberyn Martell's wife, his Queen. After a difficult birth, the first son of the Prince of Dorne was born… Now you are trying to recover, but your husband wants something more.

8,3k

I started writing this about three months ago. It's actually part of a much bigger story. But I've given up hope of writing it in full. That's why I decided to turn it into a one-shot. Note: Oberyn is not 100% canon. I assume he never be with Ellaria Sand for too long and… Of course, he didn't die in a duel with the Mountain ;)

Warnings: NSFW, fluff + porn, loving husband Oberyn, mention of difficult childbirth, postpartum period, blowjobs, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation kink, If you squint you will see a sub Oberyn, the reader has long hair, a brief mention of a previous abusive relationship, breastfeeding…

If you want to learn more about Dorne and listen to Pedro's wonderful voice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6VCGXAYYntc&t=19s

♕ Queen's Milk

You were lying on the bed and looking tenderly at your several-day-old son. You were so proud. Your son… The firstborn son of the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper… The only child from his marriage bed. His only son.

You knew you shouldn't be so proud of it, but you couldn't help it. You were the only woman who managed to tame the prince's wild temper. The only one who became his wife instead of his 'paramour'. And now, you were also the only woman who gave him a male heir.

It's true that Oberyn didn't care about the baby's gender. You knew it. That's just the way it was in Dorne. Regardless of the child's gender, the firstborn child took over in Dorne. People treated princes and princesses with the same respect. Something that was hard to find in the rest of Westeros.

Bastards were also treated completely differently than in other lands. In Dorne, no one made fun of them or threw mud at them. And yet, despite this knowledge, you couldn't shake the feeling of pride when you looked at little Dorian Martell. And you saw that Oberyn was also overjoyed, although a little lost. At first, you were surprised, he was the father of 8 viper bastards. And yet, the day after Dorian's birth, he was a little embarrassed to tell you that he didn't know how to change diapers. And then you realized that there was something else special about you.

Oberyn Martell was never present when his daughters were born. The truth was that he had met the first two when they were no longer wearing diapers. He most often saw the remaining six for the first time when they were over 3 months old. And he was never really a full-time father. He didn't change diapers, he didn't get up at night to take care of a crying baby. Yes, he provided his daughters with everything they needed, and his lovers could count on special considerations, but instead of changing diapers, he preferred… Changing sexual partners in a brothel.

All of this changed with his love for you. You were the only woman in all of Westeros who completely captured his heart. So he couldn't imagine not being present in your child's life from the very beginning. Even if you were the one who had to teach him everything.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the prince in the chamber. He immediately walked over to the bed and sat down next to you. He kissed your forehead and looked tenderly at his son's sleeping face.

"How are you feeling, my Queen?"

You giggled quietly at his words. Another thing that made you feel special. There was no title of King or Queen in Dorne. Still, Oberyn liked to call you that affectionately. Mostly when you were alone, but even if he did it in the company of others, he didn't care about their outraged faces. He just had to emphasize your uniqueness. You weren't just his woman, his wife… You were his Queen.

"I feel fine." You replied with a slight smile. "Although I'm a little tired and I'd love to cuddle up to your strong body."

Oberyn smiled widely at your words, then spoke in a voice full of love and happiness.

"My love, I was just thinking the same thing. I could use some rest too."

He then carefully picked up your son and carried him to the cradle. When he came back, he immediately laid down next to you and pulled you to his body.

"Relaxing and cuddling with you is my favorite chore. Especially when our son is sleeping."

He started caressing your cheeks tenderly and kissed your head. You snuggled into his strong chest and sighed in contentment. Oberyn began stroking your belly with his hand and murmured:

"Honey, can I ask you a question?"

Lost in your little heaven, you didn't really notice that his tone had changed, from sweet to seductive.

"Mmm… Yes."

"My Queen, since we are alone in our bed, will it be okay if I take off your dress?"

You immediately realized what he was implying, and his next words only confirmed it. He started caressing your breasts and his voice became more flirtatious.

"I could do my chores and make love to you without having to worry about our son interrupting me."

He looked at you with eyes full of lust and you froze. You knew it wasn't his fault. How could he know that not all women were ready for sex so quickly? He wasn't interested in it before. Besides, he was passionate and you knew it and accepted it. You made love to each other until almost the eighth month of your pregnancy, but then you stopped when the maester became concerned about your health.

Your labor was very difficult and you knew you wouldn't be able to give your husband what he wanted. Your heart trembled. You could suggest him to use the services of whores, but… The truth was that you were incredibly jealous, and Oberyn had promised you on wedding day that from now on you would be the only woman in his life. Therefore, with big heartache, you replied:

"My Love, you know we can't do this so soon after giving birth? You could accidentally hurt me."

The smile immediately disappeared from the prince's face. He would never, ever contribute to hurting you. He felt stupid as he realized how inappropriate his offer was.

"Oh… yes, that's right. I'm so sorry, Honey, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. It's been so long since the last…"

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to hide his embarrassment at not thinking about something so important.

"Let's go to sleep instead."

You couldn't take it anymore. Your husband was lovely… Peculiar, but lovely. You cupped his face in your hands and stroked his cheeks with your thumbs.

"Look at me."

Oberyn sighed and looked you straight in the eyes. He really felt embarrassed. He knew a hundred ways to satisfy women and men. With his eyes closed he could find all the erogenous zones. And yet… He knew nothing about female pregnancy. He looked at you with an apologetic expression.

"Yes, my Queen."

You looked at him gently, not feeling even a hint of anger.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I know this is hard for you because it's part of… your fiery temper." You kissed his chin gently. "But you'll have to wait a little longer for it. I promise it will be worth it."

Oberyn couldn't help but smile softly at your words, although he still felt a little embarrassed.

"You're right, Honey. I'm getting more and more impatient every day… But since you promised it would be worth it, I guess I have to wait a little longer."

Then a thought occurred to you. You could still give him some relief. You smiled and started caressing his chest with your hand.

"Although… There are other ways."

Oberyn smiled wider and began to caress your cheeks as your hand moved lower and lower.

"Yes, there are other ways…" He replied in a hoarse voice. "But I wouldn't want to force you to do anything."

You shook your head and licked your lips, your hand already on his stomach.

"You know… The fact that I'm not ready for pleasure yet…" Your fingers hooked the hem of his pants. "That doesn't mean you can't feel relief."

Oberyn let out a soft moan, well aware of your intentions. Your gentle touch was already giving him so much pleasure. He took your hand in his for a moment and stroked it tenderly. Then he kissed you and purred:

"Don't hesitate to continue what you started, darling."

You nodded and kissed his chest while sliding your hand into his pants.

"Do you want it to be like this, my prince? Or do you prefer my lips?"

Oberyn moaned even louder and ran his hand through your hair.

"I want both, Honey."

The prince looked at you with eyes full of lust and you smiled and licked your lips.

"Oh, you're greedy, but… You'll get what you want."

You removed your hand from his pants to unbutton them. You then leaned in and placed a passionate kiss just below his navel. Oberyn couldn't control himself and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes when he felt your soft and gentle lips.

"Y/N… Do you know what you're doing to me?” He started caressing your hair, his voice full of lust. "I love you more than you can imagine."

You raised your head for a moment and looked at him lovingly.

"Do you want more, my prince?"

Oberyn nodded firmly, a quiet sound of satisfaction escaping his lips.

"Yes, my Love… I really want more. Now that you've started it… I want you to keep going. I can't describe how much I want it…."

The prince looked at you with lustful eyes and you pulled down his pants and underwear, muttering:

"Very good."

You started kissing his stomach again, caressing his most intimate places. Soon he felt your hot mouth on his groin, getting closer and closer to his cock, which was already swollen.

Oberyn let out a deep moan as your tongue licked the first drops of pre-cum from his cock head. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unable to control himself. He kept one hand on your head, pressing you gently against his body. Although he never did it in an overly insistent or brutal way. You weren't one of his whores. You were his Queen. His other hand gripped the sheets as your tongue licked his length and your hands caressed his balls. He reveled in your sweet and tender actions.

"Y/N… Oh, Honey… This feels so good! I'm losing my mind here…"

You smiled at his words and reinforced your actions. You touched his cock even more intensely and with more passion. You used your mouth and hands to bring him to the peak of pleasure.

Oberyn moaned loudly and his body tensed. He breathed deeply and his voice was full of desire.

"Oh gods, Y/N, you're so good at this! I'm going to…"

The prince couldn't finish his sentence and climaxed. You tasted his salty seed on your tongue and swallowed everything he offered. His hand gripped your hair tighter for a moment, but as soon as he finished, he let go of you. He looked at you with a happy and contented expression.

"Thank you, my Love. You were wonderful."

You placed one last gentle kiss on his groin before laying down next to him and gently caressing his chest. Oberyn was still euphoric from his orgasm and gasping for breath. You touched your lips to his ear and whispered:

"Like I said. My body needs time to recover, but you… You can always ask me for 'it'."

Oberyn looked at you with tender and loving eyes.

"My Queen, thank you for understanding my needs and for giving me what I wanted."

He stroked your belly tenderly and looked deeply into your eyes with a romantic and gentle smile.

"Honey, your body deserves to rest and recover after everything you went through giving birth to our healthy and happy son." He brushed his thumb over your lips. "But since you promised I could ask for 'it' whenever I wanted, I'll definitely take you up on that offer again."

You sighed and closed your eyes.

"You deserve it, my prince. You were so understanding and caring when I was pregnant. Now you still try to do everything for me. At least this way I can repay you. And I know you need it."

Oberyn couldn't help but smile at your compliments. He felt proud that you appreciated his sacrifice for you. His hand began to tenderly stroke your exposed shoulder.

Without opening your eyes, you continued to gently rub his chest.

"Now that you're satisfied, are you ready to rest?"

"Yes, my sweet Queen. I am ready for some rest. And thank you again for giving me everything I needed." He kissed your lips before closing his eyes to rest. “I love you, Y/N.”

You smiled and whispered sleepily, "I love you, Oberyn."

Then you fell asleep happily in his arms. The prince stroked your hair as you fell asleep in his arms. He felt joy and happiness in his heart seeing you, his love, so peaceful.

"Sweet dreams, Honey." ♕ It was the middle of the night when Dorian's loud screams filled your chamber. Your son was lying in the cradle and was clearly unhappy. You rolled over and nudged your husband.

"Oberyn, your son needs you." You mumbled, still half asleep. "I recently fed him while you were sleeping, so it must be a diaper issue."

The prince slowly woke up to the sound of his baby boy crying. His eyes were half open, but he knew his son's needs came first. He looked at you with a slight smile and caressed your cheeks tenderly.

"It's okay, my sweet Queen. I'll take care of Dorian."

You felt a wave of joy knowing that you had managed to transform the frivolous prince into a caring husband and father. You watched for a moment as Oberyn stood up and headed towards your son's cradle. However, you quickly went back to sleep, believing that your husband would be able to soothe and put Dorian to sleep.

Meanwhile, Oberyn walked to the baby's cradle and took his son in his arms, making soothing sounds. With patience and love, he began to change Dorian's diaper. When he finished, his son looked at him with tired eyes and kept whimpering. The prince smiled at the baby and began to gently rock him in his arms, singing a soothing song. Soon Dorian's wailing turned into soft grunting until it stopped completely as he fell asleep. Oberyn kissed his little son on the forehead and whispered, "Good night, Dorian."

The prince carefully placed the baby in the cradle, then returned to the bed and happily snuggled into your body. ♕ The weeks passed and you felt better and better. Dorian grew up healthy and happy, and your husband patiently waited for intimate moments in bed with you. Finally, two months after giving birth, you felt ready.

Oberyn entered the chamber and saw a beautiful scene that immediately melted his heart. Your son was lying on the bed wearing only a diaper, and you were sitting next to him. You made soothing sounds and kept leaning down and kissing his little belly. Dorian made happy sounds and waved his hands.

Oberyn looked at you tenderly and came closer.

"Good evening, my Queen."

He sat down on the bed next to you and, like you, kissed the baby's belly. He smiled and whispered in a tender, calm voice: "Good evening, our dear Dorian."

You smiled at your husband and kissed his cheek. When your baby boy saw his father, he waved his hands even more and babbled happily in his childish way.

"You have perfect timing, darling."

He returned your smile and then leaned down again, kissing Dorian's belly and looking at his son with tenderness and adoration.

"I couldn't miss the chance to spend time with our beloved son." He stroked his son's dark hair. "How was your day, little one?"

You smiled mysteriously and said:

"Oh, our son had a very interesting day. Didn't you, Dorian? Mommy didn't let you sleep much today." You looked at Oberyn again. "Now, you have a very important task to do."

Oberyn chuckled softly at your comment and looked at you curiously.

"Oh, yes? So what is my task, my Queen?"

The prince kissed his son on the cheek and stroked his belly.

"Don't let him fall asleep for another half hour. I'll take a bath and then breastfeed him."

Your request seemed a little strange to him, but he wouldn't dare disobey you. He believed that you always know what is best for your child. He smiled at you gently and replied:

"It's okay, my love. Go enjoy your bath while I take care of our son."

He then turned his attention to Dorian. He started caressing the baby boy's belly with his hand and making funny sounds, making the baby laugh. Before you went to the bathroom, you looked at your son and husband with love once again. You smiled mysteriously, which Oberyn didn't miss. The prince began to wonder what you were planning, but he decided to focus on the task you had entrusted to him. ♕ When you came back from the bath, you looked stunning. Your long hair was loose and slightly damp. Your skin was shiny and smelled of honey. And you were wearing one of the thinner nightgowns that didn't cover much.

Oberyn's eyes lit up when he saw you and his jaw dropped. He was entranced by your appearance and couldn't hide the fact that the mere sight of you was enough to turn him on.

You smiled at him, took Dorian into your arms, and sat comfortably on the bed. Your nightgown had such a low neckline that you could easily take out your breast full of milk and start feeding your son. Your baby boy immediately closed his eyes and eagerly began to suckle. You cooed at him.

"Oh, I know you're tired, my little prince, but just a few more minutes. Once you're full, Daddy will change your diaper and you'll go to sleep for hours."

Oberyn couldn't take his eyes off you. Your appearance, your breasts, your son in your arms. It was an image that was burned into his memory. If he could choose the moment of his death, this would be it. He moved closer to you and started stroking his son's head.

"Oh my Queen, you look gorgeous." His voice was hoarse with desire.

You smiled fondly at him, thinking that what you were planning for him would put him in an absolute state of euphoria. But you had to finish your motherhood duties first.

Your son slowly started to fall asleep, enjoying your warm milk. You moved him away from your chest and rested him on your shoulder, gently patting his back. Then you handed him to Oberyn, saying: "Change his diaper and put him in the cradle in the next room… And when you come back to me, close the door behind you."

The prince nodded and followed your instructions. He felt his skin tingle just thinking about what you had planned for him. When he was sure that your son was sound asleep, he returned to you and quietly closed the door behind him. He looked at you with lust, ready to accept whatever you offered him.

He walked up to you and kissed your cheek.

"Dorian is sleeping and you… you look stunning."

You giggled and ran your fingers along his beard.

"I hoped you'd like it."

"Mmm… I like it very much… I always like you…"

You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Flatterer."

Oberyn smiled, his eyes showing nothing but admiration for you. He leaned closer to you and kissed your neck passionately.

"I couldn't have dreamed of anything more wonderful… You are absolutely gorgeous and I wish I had you all to myself right now."

At that moment you knew you had complete power over him. You kissed his ear and whispered:

"Undress and lie on the bed on your stomach."

Oberyn loved the intimate bond he had with you and had no qualms about following your command. He immediately took off his clothes and lay down in the position you asked him to do.

"There. I am all yours, my sweet Queen."

You sat on his back and leaned down to kiss his shoulder. You felt proud that you were able to tame the Red Viper.

"It's nice to know I still have that power over you, my sweet prince."

Oberyn growled in pleasure as he felt your lips on his body.

"You still have power over me and nothing will ever change that."

You couldn't hide the fact that his words made you happy and filled you with pride. He truly made you feel like a Queen… Like all of Westeros was truly yours and like you could do anything. You wanted to make it up to him.

You started massaging his shoulders, neck, and back. You found every tense muscle and made sure you felt your husband relax. You heard him sigh in relief and you said in a sweet voice:

"You've been so sweet these past months… So patient."

You leaned down and bit his ear. He couldn't help but growl slightly at the feeling of your gentle bite.

"It's been a long time since you showed me that kind of affection… I missed it, Honey."

He closed his eyes and continued to enjoy the massage you were giving him. He felt all his stress disappear and at the same time his desire grew. He didn't want to pressure you. But you sensed it easily. You saw his hands grip the pillow and felt his hips lift. You smiled to yourself. Your plan worked. You kissed his neck and murmured,

"What if I told you that you don't have to be patient anymore? That your behavior will be rewarded tonight…"

Oberyn turned his head to look at you. A happy smile appeared on his face.

"My love, with that one sentence you have made me the happiest husband in the Seven Kingdoms… I can't wait until our bodies become one again."

His gaze alone was enough to make you feel wet between your legs. You sat down next to him and smiled. You took a moment to observe his muscular body, sculpted by daily spear training. You were a lucky one.

"I know that you missed my body and my inner warmth. And that 'other' ways to satisfy your lust were unable to satisfy this longing…" You gently stroked his hair. "But I feel that my body is ready… You can have all of me again, darling."

Oberyn loved the way you spoke to him and he was completely mesmerized. He slowly got up and approached you. He brushed his fingers against your face as if to make sure you were real.

"Y/N… It's like you read my mind. You know my desires so well."

He looked at you with deep affection and kissed your neck. He brought his lips close to your ear and in a hoarse voice full of lust, he said:

"I want nothing more than to have my wife back… And now I want to show you how much I missed your body and your warm pussy…"

You kissed him passionately and whispered, "Show me." Then you giggled and added, "If my motherly tricks work, Dorian will sleep until morning, so… My whole body is only yours."

You lay down on the bed, and Oberyn's heart skipped a beat at your words. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy your body. With a gentle smile on his lips, he moved his body closer to yours and was above you. He started kissing your neck and whispered:

"It'll be like this until morning. I'll make the most of it."

Oberyn began to alternate between nibbling and licking your neck and his hand moved between your legs to rub your clit. You moaned softly, happy that he always knew how to drive you crazy. You ran one hand through his hair and the other caressed his stomach.

"Mmm… I missed you too… The feeling of you in my body."

Oberyn moaned softly, feeling your caresses. He continued to kiss your neck as his fingers worked skillfully over your pussy.

"Ahhh… My sweet Queen… I can't express how much I've missed being inside you."

Oberyn's lips began to travel lower to your shoulders and cleavage. You stopped him for a moment and pulled away. He looked at you longingly for a moment, but when he saw you take off your nightgown, his eyes burned with lust. His eyes devoured your naked body. His hands started caressing your thighs, hips, belly…

"You are a goddess and even that is an understatement… You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

You laughed softly and pulled him in for a kiss. You stroked his jaw and whispered,

"Oh, my prince, you know how to charm a woman with words."

He looked at you with a mischievous smile as his finger slipped inside you, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I can do much more than just charm a woman with words. I want to show you."

His thumb rubbed your clit, making you moan louder and louder. Oberyn leaned closer and whispered in your ear:

"Do you want me, dear?"

You moaned loudly and licked his ear. You felt yourself getting wet and ready for what you wanted him to give you. You tried to catch your breath and speak.

"Have I… not done enough today to show you… how much I want you?"

Oberyn smiled passionately. He knew what your words meant and he couldn't resist anymore. He pulled you into another heated kiss. When he broke away from you, his eyes were dark with lust. You ran your hand down his stomach and felt how swollen his cock was.

"My Queen… I want more… I need more."

His voice was like the growl of a wild animal. He wasn't always this impatient. Sometimes he would spend an hour pleasuring you before sticking his cock inside you. But you weren't surprised by this. He was thirsty and so were you.

"So it's your lucky day, Oberyn Martell, because your queen wants a lot more today too."

The prince smiled widely and grabbed your hips, pulling you down. You squealed in surprise, but you didn't mind. Oberyn began to intimately run his hands over your body until he reached your thighs and gently but firmly spread your legs.

"I am the happiest man in the world knowing that my Queen wants me in her bed as much as I want her."

His eyes were full of love and lust as he knelt between your legs. He leaned over you, practically covering you with his powerful body. He kissed your shoulder sweetly and you felt the head of his cock approach your entrance. Still, he waited patiently for your sign.

"My love, my perfect husband… I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this."

Oberyn moaned softly, his hands stroking your sides soothingly.

"My Queen, you have no reason to apologize. I would never change this moment, even if I had to wait another month. The moment I am with you, everything is fine. And now everything is perfect."

You looked at him gratefully and felt your heart beat fast. You kissed him on the lips. You felt ready and you wanted him. You nodded and the prince wasted no more time. He pressed his body against yours, brushed his lips against your neck, and began to slowly enter you.

And that was the moment when you realized that it wasn't going to be that easy. Your husband was big, even before labor, the first moments of his thrust into you caused a slight burning sensation, but now it was worse. You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from groaning in pain. However, his next thrust had you gripping his arms tightly. You hissed in pain and winced. Oberyn immediately froze and looked at you with concern in his eyes.

"Oh, no… Did I hurt you?"

The prince didn't know what to do. He was still inside you, but he didn't want to hurt you. His actions melted your heart. You took a few deep breaths to calm down and relax your vaginal muscles. You also had to calm down Oberyn.

"Everything is fine… It's been a while and my body needs to get used to it again…"

Oberyn breathed a sigh of relief, although he was still concerned. He gently brushed his lips against your forehead and whispered, "I can stop, anytime…"

You smiled and shook your head.

"No… It's better. Give me more."

Your husband looked at you carefully and nodded.

"As you wish, my Queen."

He started moving inside you slowly, being even more careful. Every few moments he kissed your cheeks and forehead, trying to distract you from your discomfort. The initial pain and burning sensation you felt began to subside. It was replaced by a familiar, pleasant warmth, and a shiver of pleasure ran through your body. The prince's patience and understanding began to be successful. You started moaning louder and louder and scratching his back.

"Mmm… My sweet prince… I want more of you…"

Oberyn had no problem noticing that instead of pain, he was now giving you pleasure. Your body was willing again. He smiled fondly at you and continued to caress your face while speeding up his thrusts. However, he was still watching you carefully, ready to fulfill your every desire.

"I'm all yours…" He growled into your ear. "And I will always be."

He couldn't hold back any longer. He wanted you so much. He was almost addicted to your body, to your warmth and smell. He nuzzled his nose into your neck. Hearing your moans become louder, he was sure he was doing everything right. He grabbed your hips and increased the speed and depth of his thrusts as another wave of pleasure hit you. You grabbed his arms and muttered:

"Oh yes… Ahhh! Just like that, honey… Ahhhhh!"

You started placing hot, sloppy kisses on his shoulders and neck. The prince moaned loudly and lifted his head to look at you with lust. His eyes were almost dark and his forehead was covered with beads of sweat.

"You are mine, Queen. Your body belongs to me for me to worship and please you."

As he said this, he leaned down and gently bit your neck. His words, his bite, his thrusts… It all drove you crazy with pleasure. You felt yourself getting closer to orgasm. You grabbed his hair, pressing his head to your neck. You felt your heart speed up.

"Ahhh! Yes, my prince. I am your wife, your queen… and I belong only to you."

This time, it was your words that made Oberyn moan loudly, feeling himself getting closer to his orgasm. He felt your nails scratching at his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. He bit your neck gently again, his hands gripping your hips even tighter. You felt his hot breath on your ear as he panted.

"So take my love… just like I take yours."

You wanted him even more. You wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to enter you even harder and deeper. Your moans began to merge into one, filling the chamber with sounds of pleasure. You arched your back, feeling a familiar tingling wash over your body.

"Oh gods… Ah! Oberyn! I… I…"

Oberyn couldn't help himself. He pushed deeper into you, but his thrusts became more erratic. He was on edge too.

"Oh, my queen… You are like sweet poison to me…"

"Ahhh! My darling, my sweet prince… Mmmm… I…"

You felt ecstasy wash over you. Electricity coursed through your entire body and you screamed his name loudly as you climaxed. Your whole body trembled and your vaginal muscles gripped his cock tightly.

Oberyn lifted his head and looked at you, satisfied, he had achieved his goal, he had pleased you. He himself was getting closer too. He moaned loudly and stilled, emptying himself inside you. His hot seed flooded your insides. He still stayed inside you and began to gently caress your face. His breathing was slowing down as was yours.

You felt your legs tremble and you could no longer keep them on Oberyn's hips. You groaned in dissatisfaction and lowered them down. After such an experience, you always felt the need to be as close to your loved one as possible. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

Oberyn had no intention of resisting you and happily pressed his body against yours. He felt an explosion of passion, desire, and love in his chest.

"You have no idea how much I needed this…"

You smiled and stroked his cheek.

"I can imagine that."

Oberyn returned your smile, then kissed your forehead and whispered,

"You are my whole life, Honey."

He was so happy and fulfilled that he didn't want to break free from your embrace. He rested his head on your breasts and sighed in contentment as you began to stroke his hair.

You also felt the same way he did. You couldn't imagine a better man. A man whose main goal in life was to please you and provide you with comfort. Still playing with his hair, you said:

"You are everything to me, my sweet Prince. You are my heartbeat and my breath… And this moment can last forever."

Oberyn raised his head for a moment and kissed your cheek, only to snuggle into your breasts again.

"This is heaven." He murmured.

You felt him start to caress your side with his hand and you smiled. You started massaging his neck and said:

"If this is heaven, then you died lying on top of me."

Oberyn chuckled at your joke. He always loved your sense of humor.

"Well, if that's the only way to the afterlife, then that's a death I'll gladly accept."

The whole situation suddenly reminded you of the beginning of your affair, when you were still married to your first husband. The cruel and aggressive Lord Aron. You knew that having an affair with the Prince of Dorne was a death sentence for you, but you couldn't resist it. You fell in love, and as it turned out, you weren't the only one. Oberyn was crazy about you, he wanted you to be his. He wanted to free you from your brutal husband and he had an idea. Except you didn't like his idea at all.

You laughed in amusement and looked at your beloved husband.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Oberyn looked up and frowned.

"No, I don't know… Tell me."

"When you came up with the idea that the best way to free me from Aron was to make that bastard mad when he caught us…"

You shook your head and giggled. It made you laugh now, but it didn't at the time. Oberyn really wanted to make your husband so furious that he would challenge him to a duel. The prince was confident in his abilities. And even though you also believed that he was a hundred times better warrior than Aron, the very moment of his fury made you afraid.

Continuing to stroke Oberyn's hair, you added:

"I was so terrified as I waited for him to burst into the chamber and see us. And you pulled me close to you and said, 'If you're going to die, I want you to die on me.' And… Oh gods, I hated you then for saying those words. Now they amuse me."

Oberyn started laughing along with you.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. But for me, it's the moment I'm most proud of. I remember how forcefully I had to hold you down and how sure I was that I wasn't going to let that scum kill you. Those were tense moments, my love. But I would do it again, just for you." He leaned closer and whispered, "You were my Queen even before we got married."

You pulled him into another heated kiss and then said in a joking tone:

"You should thank the gods that your queen has become accustomed to your sense of humor and sarcasm over time."

Your husband chuckled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of your face.

"And yet you married me. My charm, my wit, and my strength won your heart, my Queen. You just have to admit it."

You shook your head. You felt so wonderful in his presence that you decided to keep joking.

"Even if you torture me, I won't admit that…" You lowered your voice to a whisper. "After our first night together, I knew I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life…"

Oberyn's eyes sparkled with joy at your words.

"I didn't have to torture you… You just admitted it." He kissed your forehead and added, "Our first night together is forever burned into my heart, just like you."

You felt yourself bursting with joy. Sometimes you wondered, what you did to deserve such a loving husband? And other times you felt that the gods had decided to reward you for the years you spent with an aggressive, stupid husband who treated you worse than a dog. You sighed and stroked his dark hair. There were already some gray streaks here and there, but you thought that only made him more handsome.

"Our journey has been long and not always easy, but we are finally here. In this wonderful moment."

Oberyn sighed with satisfaction and replied to you:

"And in the end, it was all worth it, because I finally have you, all to myself. And nothing or no one can hurt you, because I'm here now."

Oberyn began to caress your body tenderly, and you melted under his touch. However, not everything was perfect. Something started to bother you… You hissed quietly and started massaging one of your sore breasts. Your son may have been sleeping, but that didn't mean your breasts stopped producing milk.

Oberyn looked at you worried and you started to explain to him:

"My breasts are full of milk and sometimes it kills me. Our son eats a lot anyway, but I have more milk than he needs."

The prince listened to your explanation with a slight smile on his face. He watched you massage your breasts and suddenly he gently grabbed your wrists.

"Let the prince relieve you, my love."

Before you could respond, he started kissing and massaging your breasts. The feeling was great. His hands, much larger than yours, cupped your breasts perfectly. His fingers dug into your skin with perfect pressure.

Oberyn smiled, pleased with how well he was doing. You heard his hoarse voice.

"You will always be taken care of, my Queen. Just ask me and I will satisfy you as best as I can."

You closed your eyes and sighed softly, feeling his firm but gentle touch. Due to his massage, a few drops of milk flowed down your skin. Oberyn looked at it as if hypnotized. He was suddenly overcome with the need to taste it. He licked your skin, tasting the sweet milk, and purred with pleasure:

"My Queen… My love… You are like a dream… You are my dream and my desire…"

You couldn't even find the words. It was something you never expected. Oberyn looked like he was obsessed with your breasts, and was willing to do anything to serve you.

The prince licked his lips and gently placed his mouth on your nipple. He had always loved women's breasts, but this… This was something he had never done and he was as stunned as you were.

"Can I?"

His pleading voice sounded like never before. His brown eyes looked at you hopefully. You nodded and he immediately placed his mouth on your nipple and started sucking.

A soft moan escaped your lips. It was a completely different experience than feeding Dorian. Oberyn's mouth was sucking with so much force and his hands were still squeezing your breasts, causing the feeling of pleasure to travel from your breasts throughout your body and straight to your core.

You started caressing his face with one hand and gently tugging his hair with the other.

"Ah… Oh yes, that's a relief. Honey, don't stop…"

Oberyn moaned passionately upon hearing your words. The taste of your milk, the Queen's milk, was addictive, and knowing that his actions were pleasing you at the same time added to the excitement.

He released your nipple for a moment and croaked:

"What a lucky prince I am to have such a wonderful wife as you."

Then his tongue began to dance on your skin while his hands continued to caress your breasts, more and more milk flowing out of them. Oberyn smiled lewdly and began to suck on your other breast.

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Oberyn… Oh, gods… You're so perfect at this… Mmmm…"

Every time he touched your breasts, the pain you felt lessened. Every flick of his tongue sent a wave of pleasure. Until the pain and tension stopped completely and you couldn't hold back your moans.

Oberyn smiled warmly at the sweet sounds you were making. He pulled away for a moment to get some air.

"I'm glad you're satisfied… I just want to serve you… And I want to taste your wonderful milk every day…"

You giggled quietly and shook your head. You realized that you had probably started his new obsession.

"Umm, Dorian wouldn't be happy knowing his dad was stealing his milk, but…" You smiled and looked at him with lust. "He sleeps peacefully in his cradle and doesn't see it. So, go ahead, my prince."

Oberyn laughed happily and brushed his lips against your nipple.

"Your milk tastes delicious… and for me, there is nothing better than the combination of these two things, a happy wife and her delicious milk."

The prince started sucking your nipple again, swirling his tongue around to give you additional sensations. He wanted to hear you moan his name in ecstasy.

As Oberyn continued to suck and caress your breasts, your moans became louder and louder. You couldn't stand the tension building in your body anymore. Your hand went between your thighs, but your husband didn't miss it.

He knew exactly what you needed and he couldn't resist giving it to you. With a loud click, he released your nipple and in a voice dripping with lust, he said,

"My love… Let me handle this."

One of his hands moved between your thighs and his thumb found your clit with ease and practiced precision.

You started moaning even louder and moving your hips restlessly.

"Yes, please… Please… Oberyn…"

You couldn't even form a coherent sentence anymore, but he didn't care. He didn't need your words. He knew your body and your needs better than his own. His two fingers slid inside your hot core, moving rhythmically as his thumb continued to rub your clit.

You were already on the edge of pleasure. Your body became defenseless and sensitive to the prince's touch.

"I'll take care of you, my Dear." He purred, pressing his lips to your breasts.

Your breathing became rapid and your heart was beating like crazy. Everything around disappeared. There was only pleasure. Oberyn's fingers, his mouth, his voice…

"Let it go, my Queen. I'm here for you."

Hearing your lustful and loud moans, he couldn't resist. He wanted to do everything he could to help you achieve an intense orgasm. He sped up the movements of his hand and pressed his lips against your nipple one last time. And that was it. A strong shiver ran through your entire body. Your whole body tensed as your orgasm hit you.

You screamed and cried with pleasure. And your moans intertwined with his name as You climaxed.

Finally, you closed your eyes and fell back onto the pillows exhausted, feeling your vagina twitch around his fingers.

Oberyn waited a moment longer, knowing how sensitive you were at that moment. He gently pulled his fingers out of you and placed a sweet kiss between your breasts. He then laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you as if he were holding his most precious treasure. He kissed your temple and whispered tenderly into your ear:

"My Queen and my Love… You are even more beautiful when you are filled with pleasure … You make my heart beat louder than thunder."

You smiled and snuggled into his warm body. You still couldn't gather your thoughts, but you knew he wouldn't leave you until you returned to normal. You sighed contented and happy. Your breathing slowly calmed down. You felt so relaxed and safe. Finally, you placed a sweet kiss on his chest and whispered,

"Thank you, my love."

The prince immediately replied:

"You don't have to thank me. I always want you to feel happy and satisfied."

He kissed your neck gently, unable to stop himself from touching you. In return, you caressed his body. From time to time, you ran your fingers over the scars on his chest, remnants of many battles.

You didn't see how long you lay next to each other in complete silence. It didn't matter. You closed your eyes and purred almost like a cat.

"You are perfect, my prince. Every part of your body… As if the gods created you, especially for me."

"And you are a masterpiece, my Queen. No one in this world could compete with you in terms of beauty, grace, love, and sacrifice… My love for you is like a star that will never fade." He gently, even reverently, caressed your body. "My body and heart remain the same as the day I met you. You are the greatest wife a man could dream of."

You moved away from him a little and pushed yourself up on your hands. Then you leaned over him and looked him straight in the eyes. You almost touched your nose to his.

"Do you think so, my prince? Or maybe you just want to cast a spell on me that will make me never think about anyone else but you for a second."

Oberyn chuckled and jokingly replied:

"You are too smart for me, my Queen, I cannot deceive you." He started caressing your cheeks, and a seductive smile appeared on his face. "But you are wrong, my love. I don't need to cast any spells on you, my Queen. You are like an angel, the most beautiful angel I have ever seen… And it will always be like that."

You started peppering his face with small kisses and then collapsed onto his body with a sigh.

"You know you are my safe place. My oasis in the desert."

Oberyn embraced you and pulled you closer to his body.

"And you are my refuge, my Queen. My refuge from the horrors of the world. You are the light of my life, my love." His voice was full of affection and love. "I am your husband and your lover. And I will never be anything else, ever."

He seemed determined and confident like he had no intention of ever changing his mind about you or your love.

You snuggled into his chest even more. As if you wanted to absorb his love and warmth.

"I love you." You said, your voice slightly sleepy.

"Y/N… My Queen… I love you too." He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "May our love be eternal and lasting, just like the gods themselves."

"Hmm… That's a good plan."

You couldn't stop yawning anymore. And now that you had finished making love, goose bumps began to appear on your body. Oberyn noticed that your body was getting cold, so he gently wrapped the blanket around you and wrapped his arms around you tighter. He started stroking your head and in a calm, sweet voice he said:

"I am here for you, my queen. I will keep you warm. No one can hurt you as long as I am with you. You are safe with me."

You smiled and were about to go to dreamland when one thought appeared in your head.

"Hmm… I forgot to tell you…"

You opened your eyes and looked at the prince, half asleep.

"We should throw a feast. After all, Dorian is two months old and we haven't celebrated his birth yet."

Oberyn smiled broadly. He loved feasts, and he loved feasts even more when they were in honor of his family members.

"That's a great idea. We'll throw a feast and invite all our friends from Dorne. It will be a great opportunity to show the world our love and the wonderful baby we have." He kissed your head. "Dorian is a precious gift, my Queen. His birth must be celebrated, but also your sacrifice. Because you two are the greatest people in my life and the best and most important gifts a man can ever receive."

You nodded and kissed him on the lips. After a while, you snuggled back into his chest and were ready to fall asleep. You knew that the prince would probably wake you up in a while with sweet kisses and ask for another round, but you didn't mind. As long as he treated you like his Queen, he had all of you. All your body, heart, and love. Before you fell asleep, you heard his sweet whisper:

"Sweet dreams, darling. I love you."

♕

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #prince oberyn #prince of dorne #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn is a husband #he is so sweet #my sweet prince #fanfiction #my ff #pedrostories

[spartanguard]

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook388 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich​ @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke [let me know if you do/don't want tags!]

#killian jones #killian jones ff #captain charming ff #captain charming friday #my ff

[insilentmagic]

One year ago, i was writing Found...

#merlin #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #my work #my ff

[greenvillainredemption]

Here’s my oneshot for @wdtajn crossover week! And I drew an accompanying image because I just really wanted to.

Bruno and Elsa have a lot in common, and I wanted to see him be a helpful adult figure to a character outside the family. :D

#mars this one’s for YOU #Cinderella was also a contender. maybe someday #wdtajn #encanto #disney #frozen #my ff #my art #bruno madrigal #elsa of arendelle #do they not have last names.....I guess most disney princesses don’t actually lol rip #my words

[walviemort]

Expecting a Secret [2/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow’s labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she’ll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There’s just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: Here's the second part of my bday fic for @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. Last chapter should go up on Friday! rated T | AO3 | 3.8k | part 1 |

Based on what Killian was feeling and seeing, the next morning found him roughly at the 23-week mark (as expected, he’d spent most of the night studying his borrowed book—and was feeling thoroughly overwhelmed). His stomach looked yet larger, but his vest still had plenty of room, even if the laces on the side were let out a bit more.

He also found himself resting his hand on his belt to further hide the increasingly obvious curve of his midsection (at least, it appeared so to him, given all the decades that his form had remained unchanged). It seemed to work, thankfully, but he also made an effort to not be too social; he took lunch with Emma and Henry, at their request, but had to pass on their invite to dine at the loft that night. He cited his desire to avoid the extra burden on Snow—who it was implied could go into labor at any moment, though he had (good) reason to believe they had a bit more time, assuming Zelena’s implication that she had control over Snow’s pregnancy was true—but in reality, he knew his ravenous appetite would be nigh impossible to hide in such close quarters. (Granny was far less discerning, especially with with her approving comments about “putting some meat on his bones.”)

“We’ll miss you,” Henry told him as he and Emma left the diner that afternoon; Killian wasn’t sure if what he felt at that was his heart skipping a beat, or yet another kick from the little one, which were happening with increasing frequency and strength. 

He tried his damnedest to swallow his emotions and looked up at Emma, who was giving him a similar gentle look. “I, uh, I’ll miss you too—lad,” he added quickly. “Until next time.”

He was glad he’d left things vague when he yet again felt immediate relief at unclasping his vest once back in his room. The odds of it fitting even later that day were slim to none, which would no doubt draw Emma’s attention. No, he’d do best to avoid her the next several days, until this whole thing was done. 

That was something else he’d noticed—his conscious effort to put distance between him and this child, even if it obviously was more emotional than physical. His paternal side would find it far too easy to start considering names for the wee one, to caress his growing stomach and maybe even serenade the baby, to start preparing for the future. He wasn’t even sure the babe was his—but that had never stopped him before.

Until he knew how to keep them safe from Zelena’s clutches, though, he didn’t dare; that might only lead to heartbreak, and he’d known enough of that for a few lifetimes. 

He did ask Emma, during a moment when Henry stepped away to the restroom, if any progress had been made regarding the witch problem, given that his attempt at research was fruitless. 

“Nothing yet,” she sighed. “Unless we can somehow steal the items back before my mom goes into labor, our only hope is my magic.” Her eyes briefly darted to his lips; he leaned away from her. 

“I’d say both are good plans,” he assured her. “Especially the second one.”

She rolled her eyes, but blushed. “I think you’re the only person confident in that.”

“Well, take some of mine, then. Remember: I have yet to see you fail,” he reminded her, and placed his hand over hers on the diner table. 

The look she gave him was heavy; she still wasn’t used to people having that kind of faith in her, he knew. But if this was his only way of thwarting the witch—of keeping two infants safe—he’d give her as much support as he could.

The moment was simultaneously interrupted by Henry’s return, and a strong kick from his passenger—as if to remind him that at some point here (sooner than he’d care to admit), he’d have to go into hiding. He’d have to figure out a way to offer his support from afar. 

But until there was a definite plan, he was going to keep things as impersonal as possible, merely trying to make sure he complied with Zelena’s rules and did whatever he needed to remain something resembling comfortable. The babe seemed to be growing just fine; his stomach was maybe a touch smaller than average, but that could be attributed to him also being taller than the typical expectant parent, as well as a life at sea demanding denser core muscles. 

Hopefully, that remained the trend; he’d read the section about what happened after birth in more detail and…it wasn’t pretty. And he was still a rather vain man, with a woman to woo, if she’d still have him. 

(He hadn’t given much thought as to how he might explain this to Emma after the fact, if at all; he hoped the simple fact that Zelena was no longer going after the Charmings would be enough that they wouldn’t even need to have the conversation. However, he wasn’t naive enough to count on it.)

—----------------------------------------------

When he woke the next morning, his hand was instinctively resting atop the bare curve of his belly. (That didn’t bode well for his plans of detachment.)

He also found it difficult to sit up in his normal manner; after much rolling around and repositioning, he finally managed to get upright—only to see that his stomach had popped out a fair bit overnight. It most definitely resembled a bump now; after using the lavatory, he traced the curve of it in the mirror, equal parts astounded and horrified. He was also surprised at how firm it was—it wasn’t just softness; there was definitely something there. (Something that was repeatedly kicking at his liver, it felt like.)

His tunic was plenty roomy, but the vest would no longer clasp over his gravid form, no matter how much he let out the laces. He huffed as he cast it aside; he knew it was inevitable, but it was depressing all the same. At least his pants still fit, but barely—and likely not for much longer.  

If no one looked closely, and he didn’t tuck in his shirt, it wasn’t all that noticeable. But there would be no hiding it from those even reasonably close to him. Now he understood why the upper-class women referred to this time as “confinement”—because in order to keep this hidden, he’d have to stay in his room.

Not for the first time, he wished he had his ship; it would have been far easier to hide out there, away from prying eyes. Or if only there were another inn in town, but it would likely draw more attention if he were to relocate.

While he still had a semblance of normalcy to his appearance, he decided he should seek out provisions to get him through the next several days. By his math, he’d only just crossed the halfway mark in the time frame Zelena gave him, but was more than halfway through the pregnancy—so it was likely slowing down in speed, meaning he’d be spending the bulk of it during the most uncomfortable parts. Not only would he need food, he’d need other supplies as well. 

He’d jotted down a list and slipped it into the pocket of his greatcoat, next to the fair amount of gold he’d stashed before leaving the Jolly Roger. His jacket hung loose enough that it hid his belly, but only just.

Cautiously, he poked his head out in the hall before heading out; even if he was reasonably covered up, the more inconspicuous he could be, the better. The coast was clear, so he slipped out and locked up—but then he heard a similar sound from behind him.

“Oh, hey—I was just about to come over,” Emma said from across the way. “I’ve got a magic lesson this afternoon, but do you want to get lunch before it?”

He was still facing the door. Given the state of things, Emma was the last person he’d wanted to run into. Traitorously, the baby chose then to give him a sharp thump in the stomach, as if telling him to get a move on.

So he did his best to suck in a breath—to minimize his bump’s profile—before turning around. He plastered on his best flirtatious look and avoided the urge to place his hand on his belt. “Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” he teased, hoping the obvious come-on would prevent her from suspecting anything was awry.

As predicted, she rolled her eyes. “If I was asking you on a date, it wouldn’t be to Granny’s,” she countered.

“Duly noted,” he quipped back (and saved for future reference). “But unfortunately, I have to decline the invitation; I’m afraid I have some errands to run that I’ve been putting off too long.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and he tried to make sure his heart didn’t follow it. “Well, I could go with you, if you wanted.”

He did—so much. But then how would he explain the copious amounts of food he was about to buy? “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long it will take—and I know that Her Majesty can’t be kept waiting.”

Emma huffed, but he saw acceptance across her face. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m absolutely not seeing her on an empty stomach.”

“Nor should you,” he agreed, smiling—though hopefully it didn’t look too pained, because his attempts at holding in his belly were beginning to strain. As such, he started to turn away to leave, but she wasn’t done.

“Hey, where’s your vest? Is that one of your errands?”

Dammit; should have known she’d notice. But her gaze seemed to be focused on his chest and not any lower; normally, he’d comment on her leering but he was just relieved. “Aye; damaged it with my hook last night, and the laces need repair.” (That part was true—some of them had gotten a bit stretched.)

“Darn; I thought maybe you were actually going to join the modern world and get some new clothes,” she teased.

“Not yet,” he countered, but it wasn’t a bad idea—not a total wardrobe change, but perhaps something a bit…roomier, or more forgiving. “I should get to it, though.”

Emma blinked and looked back up at him, having seemingly been lost in a daydream. (Perhaps buying modern clothes did need to be added to his docket at some point; just not today.) “Yeah, and I need to get moving. Have fun.”

“Thanks, and good luck,” he farewelled; Emma headed the opposite way down the hall with a casual wave.

He waited until she was out of sight and then relaxed with a sigh; he could feel his belly press against the laces of his trousers as soon as he did, and indulged in a brief massage of his lower abdominal muscles. At least the ruse had worked—but he was definitely seeking out pants with an elastic waist.

The supermarket was aptly named; it was indeed massive and overwhelming. But it had everything—fresh vegetables and meat, bulk rations, even perishables and fresh-baked goods. It was astounding. He was easily able to gather enough provisions (healthy ones at that) for the next several days. He also grabbed some items at random that simply sounded appealing—mostly sweets, but he’d learned that cravings were a customary part of the process and this little one certainly had a sweet tooth.

(Thankfully, he also found the section with flexible clothing with ease. He purchased a couple pairs of what were labeled “sweatpants” and a few long-sleeved tops in varying sizes and colors; he just hoped he’d selected ones big enough.)

Odds were he overpaid for the lot of goods, given that the lad working the checkout didn’t know the gold conversion rate offhand, but he didn’t rightly care if it also bought the boy’s discretion. Thankfully, he also had his enchanted tote bag with him—the one with the hidden expansion charm he’d picked up…gods, he couldn’t even remember where anymore, it’d been so long—so he wasn’t spotted carrying half a dozen overladen sacks into Granny’s.

He spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking his newfound treasures, grateful to finally have a use for the seemingly magical ice box in his room. He stashed the nonperishables on his small table, and his new clothing in a dresser drawer. 

One last thing remained, and admittedly, he hadn’t paid for it: a tiny outfit intended for a baby, covered with illustrations of sailboats. He’d slipped it into a pocket before paying for everything else, not wanting to draw the raised eyebrows such a purchase would attract, even if he could have passed it off as being for the Charming’s infant. 

He held it up with just his thumb and forefinger; the label on it suggested it was sized for a newborn, but it still seemed impossibly small. At least, until he laid it atop the steadily increasing curve of his belly; then he wondered if it would even be large enough (though the books told him the babe was only yet the size of an aubergine, which he had stared at in the produce section for an extended period of time).

Bloody hell, what was he doing? He couldn’t get attached; if he failed to help Emma and the others defeat Zelena, it would spell doom for this child. And given that he was increasingly running out of ideas, it seemed imminent. He’d already suffered two terrible heartbreaks in his life; he wasn’t sure he could survive another (which would undoubtedly be harsher).

He yanked open an empty drawer and threw the onesie inside, then shoved it shut. Best not to continue that train of thought; only if they actually managed to defeat the witch.

Sighing, he plopped down in the dining chair and tore (literally) into a package of something called Oreos. They were delicious, but did nothing to assuage his fears or guilt. For the umpteenth time, his hand instinctively drifted to his stomach, as if his touch alone could protect the babe.

Hopefully that, and his trust in the heroes, would be enough.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Killian awoke the next day to something touching him. In his sleep-addled mind, he lashed out towards whatever it was, fully intending to let it (or them) get acquainted with the sharp end of his hook.

However, he’d taken his prosthesis off last night, lest he do anything to injure his ever-expanding midsection, so all he did was hit it away with his brace. An annoyed yelp followed his impact. 

“Bloody hell, I was just checking on the baby,” Zelena scolded. He blinked a few times, urging the sleep away from his eyes, to see the witch standing over him, scowling. 

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded as he tried (and failed) to sit up, eventually settling for propping himself on his elbows.

“I’m simply making sure that my investment is paying off. I’ve kept up my part of the deal—those sickly-sweet Charmings are just fine. But I’ve got to make sure everything is going well here, too; pregnancy is tricky business, you know.” She turned her gaze to his exposed belly; despite the shirt he’d worn to bed, it had ridden up overnight. “Oh, is that a stretch mark I see?” she declared, leaning back towards him.

He yanked the hem of his shirt down, both to cut off her view and at the wound to his vanity.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “I thought most expectant parents were basking in the glow of creating life, or whatever?”

“When it’s something they’ve wanted, aye; not when it’s been forced on them,” he spat. He hadn’t truly understood the concept of glowing until his time spent with Snow lately; however, he felt more washed out than anything incandescent.

But speaking of glowing—as she stood upright and folded her arms, light from the window glinted off the jewel at her neck. He remembered what the Charmings had been told about it being the source of her power, and without any further thought (moving faster than he thought he could), he lunged for the pendant, hoping that it might be just that simple to defeat her.

No sooner had his fingers brushed the surface of the gem than he was thrown back forcefully against the headboard; he groaned in pain. Bollocks.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she chastised. “Did you really think it’d be that easy? Especially when you’ve been touched not once, but twice by my own magic?”

“Had to try,” he panted out as he tried to catch his breath. His hand flew to his stomach as its inhabitant also protested the blow.

“You really ought to be more careful; a fall like that isn’t good for the little one,” she warned.

“Why do I give a shit what happens to your demon offspring?” he countered.

She scoffed. “Oh, it’s not mine. The spell would never work with my own blood. But,” she started, coming closer and leaning over him again. “It is yours.”

“What?” he gasped. He’d certainly wondered, but hadn’t expected that it was actually his child. How could she expect him to hand over his own flesh and blood? What he did to Bae all those years ago still haunted him; this would be even worse.

“Indeed. All the more reason for you to be careful, hm?” The way she caressed his bump again felt more like a threat than any sort of endearment. “If this child doesn’t survive, our deal is off. And maybe you should read the part of that book over there on just what that will do to you.”

(He swallowed, because he already had, of course; he couldn’t imagine anything more traumatic than carrying a child that didn’t survive—especially now knowing this one was truly his.)

“Then who’s the mum?” he asked, trying to distract himself. He needed to know that, too, especially if it wasn’t Zelena. “Is there one?” (Biologically, he knew there should be…but, biologically, she would be the one with child.)

“There is. Magic can’t circumvent that,” she confirmed as she set herself to rights. “But as for who…I’ll tell you when it’s all said and done.”

“You’re a bastard,” he growled.

“Something me and that baby will have in common,” she laughed.

She abruptly moved away and turned around, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath to recover, at least physically, while she was distracted. He hadn’t realized how much the babe was pressing on his lungs until now.

“Oh, isn’t this sweet?” Zelena cooed. He opened his eyes to see her holding up the onesie. “Not my color scheme, but it certainly suits your aesthetic. Too bad they won’t get to wear it.”

Angrily, he stood from his bed to rush at her—he didn’t know why, exactly, just that he was suddenly filled with rage—but it was for nought, as she merely threw the garment at him before disappearing in her signature green smoke.

He caught it against his chest and sighed. He’d failed, hadn’t he? There was no way he could do anything to keep this child from Zelena’s clutches now, unless Emma managed to defeat her in the next few days. He sniffled, suddenly overcome by emotion—because wasn’t this so typical for him? To lose the things he loved?

(Because, much as he had tried not to, he did love the babe—even before he knew it was his; that was just his nature. But as with all things he loved, it was going to be taken from him—and their mum likely had no clue. Shit.)

His gaze was still on the outfit, vision blurring with tears, when a knock rapped at his door. He froze, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it sounded again. “Hook? Are you there?”

Of course it was Emma. Despite everything, he couldn’t say no to her. “Coming,” he called out, and quickly tossed the onesie aside, wiped his eyes, and strode to the door.

But then he glanced down; there was no hiding his belly, especially while wearing just the shirt and sweatpants he’d changed into (which, while exceedingly comfortable, did nothing to disguise the curve of his waistline). So he awkwardly angled himself, and opened the door just enough to peek his upper body around.

“Morning, Swan,” he greeted, though it was nowhere near as smooth as he usually was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, then tried to look past him into his room. “I thought I heard something weird; is everything okay?”

“Right as rain,” he lied. “I did have a run-in with my bed frame, though,” he said, hoping she would believe him if he at least partially told the truth.

“What, stub your toe?” she teased.

“Aye, something like that,” he agreed.

She briefly narrowed her gaze, but seemed to accept his answer. “Well, do you want to get breakfast? Henry was asking if you wanted to spar again, too; I think he’s gunning to be your first mate.”

He had to smile at that, but it didn’t hold. “Ah, I’m dealing with a fair bit of fatigue at the moment; can I take a rain bill?”

Emma tilted her head. “You mean a rain check?”

“That, yes.”

“I suppose, but that’s only going to mean he’ll want more later.”

“I endeavor to make it up to him in full.”

She grinned, but hers too didn’t last. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he told her—which was true, given that the babe was treating his internal organs as playthings.

“Alright, well, rest up; you’ve been missed around here.” There was a steadiness in her gaze that suggested she was speaking personally rather than generally.

“I’ll try,” he said, though his voice was almost a whisper.

“See you,” she farewelled; he repeated it and shut the door, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

The next few days were going to be interminable, weren’t they?

The lone blessing was that Belle had lent him a few books from the library, so he had the means of entertainment, and obviously had bought more than enough food. (Those Pop-Tart pastries that Emma seemed to favor were indeed delicious.)

He felt like an arse when he had to feign sleep during Emma’s next attempt to drag him from his room, around dinner time. The woman was bloody stubborn. But, as he was being reminded by the insistent little foot digging into his ribs, there was truly nothing to be done until they were out. He’d extend his apologies then—once they’d defeated the witch.

-----------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

#cs ff #killian mpreg #killian jones ff #expecting a secret #my ff

[conditionaljewel]

Hey! Chapter four is up for About Laudna's Leg!

Laudna has a conversation with Pate about what's been going on, and then has dinner with Imogen where they discuss briefly how she is feeling, and what the future holds. In the midst of all that, Imogen gives Laudna a gift, and they receive a message from a friend that brings them some excitement.

#critical role #laudna #imogen #southern gothic #imogen x laudna #imodna #cr fan fic #critical role fan fic #critical role fan fiction #fan fic #fan fiction #my fan fiction #my ff #text post #link post #ao3 post #i can never remember what other tags i use god dammit

[banditsregina]

caught looking

Summary: Ted and Rebecca go to a baseball game together, it's all fun and chill until a camera operator has their own ideas of fun during the kiss cam segment. Rated: G

#my brain cells cooperated for once and let me finish a thing!! #my ff #tr ff #tedbecca #ted lasso

[gifsbysimplysonia]

For the lyrics inspo

“ oh and my love, did I mistake you as a sign from God?”

The part of the song that has the lyric starts at about 3:34 (it really is like 2 different songs in one)

I am so sorry this took me so long but I finally just effing did the damn thing. I apologize for the errors and just overall terrible quality. I'm SO appreciative of whomever this was actually sending something in tho. I stg I have like 5 human followers 😄

*divider by @saradika

"We're closed," she announced at the light airy sound of the bell over her door. It was close to midnight and she had just gotten everyone out of her bar.

"Should probably lock your door, then." That voice. She closed her eyes and shuddered as the sound slid down her spine with a chill. She turned to look him right in the eye, and the smirk he offered her sank that chill into her bones.

"Lloyd Hansen." His name fell from her lips like a curse. If anyone knew his presence on their doorstep was exactly that, it was her. Especially if he was here for the reason she thought he might be. Casual measured steps brought him to her, and she did her best to appear unphased as she looked up at him. Lloyd wore a smile anyone might see as jovial which made her nervous. He usually was only giddy before the torture began.

"Did he send you?" Her voice was so much quieter than she wanted it to be. As soon as she said the words, Lloyd's expression chanted. His face morphed into a mask of barely contained fury. She was stunned.

"Ohhhhh, my love," she said, not intending her tone to be mocking. "Did I mistake you for a sign from…" the last word never made it past her lips as Lloyd's right hand clasped her throat. He didn't squeeze but he did not treat her as delicate. He closed the distance between them and traced her cheek with the tip of his nose.

"Do. Not. Say. His. Name." She laughed then, the sound choked but true. What a delightful turn of events. She reached up to dig the chain around her neck out from under her shirt and flash him the key. He released her immediately. She took a step back and rubbed at where he had none too gently grabbed her. She licked her lips as she looked Lloyd up and down.

"You know the rules," she told him as she made her way back behind the bar. "Any enemy of his drinks the good stuff." Lloyd had seated himself on a stool. He looked around the place, keen eyes taking in far too much for her liking. Regardless of the new situation, to be on Lloyd Hansen's radar was dangerous.

"Pour me a glass, then, troublemaker. Let's toast the asshole and his imminent demise." She squatted down to unlock the cabinet she kept the expensive liquor in. She quietly slid her gun into the back of her jeans as well, just in case.

"How am I the troublemaker?" She wondered aloud as she placed a napkin in front of him. With a flourish to cover her nerves, she grabbed a glass and flipped it before she set it on the napkin. Then she poured him 2 fingers worth of Angels Envy whiskey. When she put the bottle down in front of him, he snorted and nodded towards it.

"There's an example. Shit stirrer. Don't know a fuckin thing about whiskey, pick something based on a name or a bottle and then tell me it's the good stuff." His long fingers wrapped around the glass and he threw it back without hesitation. When Lloyd righted, he shook his head and pursed his lips as he let out a laugh that sounded slightly maniacal.

"Damn!" He exclaimed, turning the bottle around. "Even a broken clock I guess." She nodded, leaned her hip against the wall opposite the bar to put distance between them as inconspicuous as possible. Lloyd helped himself to another glass.

"Why are you here?" Lloyd looked at her over the top of the glass with a look that was almost pity. She rolled her eyes at him because she knew what it meant. "Whatever you two are to each other now you had to know there'd be no trace of him here."

"Do you think you're lying to me? Or are you flat out just lying to yourself, sweetheart?" Her eyebrows came together and she had to fight the urge to reach for her gun. "Because you and I both know…" She was ashamed at how her body heated at his leisurely perusal of her. "You're the one to bring God to his knees, whenever you want." She swallowed thickly.

"Maybe once upon a time but…"

"Are you really that thick?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "You really thought he'd stay away?" Lloyd's questions irritated her. Of course he had stayed away; she hadn't seen him in a month. Wait. She hadn't seen him…oh for fucks sake.

"There she is." His tone was smug as she caught on. Lloyd sipped slowly at his second glass of top shelf whiskey. "Just because you don't see us doesn't mean we aren't out there." His tone was quiet but earnest and it made chill bumps erupt all down her arms. "You of all people should know that." His eyes were too focused, too intense, and saw too much. She cleared her throat and went up to the bar to face him.

"Even if you're right, it doesn't mean he cares so what good am I?" Lloyd leaned his forearms on the bar, stood on his stool and leaned into her space. He put his face in the side of her neck and inhaled slowly. The hairs on his mustache tickled her sensitive skin and she felt her eyes fluttering. Not again, she thought…only to be interrupted by the sound of the bell on her door.

"Told you sooooo," Lloyd sang at her, all knowing and smug in his rightness.

"Should probably lock your door." God’s voice sounded harsh and dry. He stood just inside her doorway, backlit by neon signs. He looked dirty and exhausted and damn her for somehow still wanting to greet him with a hug to offer him some comfort.

She sighed as Lloyd sat back on his stool. God walked up and sat next to him. Moving automatically, she slid a napkin in front of him, once again grabbed a glass and unnecessarily flipped it to set it down. She could feel his heavy gaze, as if he was trying to pierce through her layers of armor to get down to the nitty gritty. She'd made that mistake already and was not looking to repeat it.

"Why don't I get the good stuff?" He asked. Her glare had him holding up his hands in surrender as Lloyd unabashedly laughed.

"Isn't this great guys?" Lloyd exclaimed. He clapped God on the back just as God went to drink so his cheap whiskey spilled all over him. "The gang's back together! Imagine the kind of trouble we can get into!" Despite Lloyd's attention being on God, God was solely focused on her. Her throat was the Sahara so she threw back a shot and immediately started coughing and wheezing.

"Sweet baby Jesus and the grown one too! How the hell do y'all drink this stuff? That burns like a bitch!"

"That's why," they said in unison. She looked at them as God finally acknowledged Lloyd. The look they exchanged was dark; she wondered if it was about to turn deadly. The weight of her gun in the small of her back provided a small bit of reassurance as she braced herself for what was about to unfold.

#my ff #lloyd hansen #god the bounty hunter

[ladyorlandodream]

My Works and Playlists

Hi! I am writing this post to link all the FF I wrote or that are still in progress

I will teach you all I know (Doom Patrol TV show - Rita Farr x Female Original Character - Ongoing)

Under a "not so evil" care (The School for Good and Evil, movie - Dovesso - Completed)

This crystal is not for display (Resident Evil 8 - Lady Dimitrescu x reader - Ongoing)

Care to Dance? (RE8 - Lady Dimitrescu x reader - One Shots Collection)

All hallow's eve (RE8 - Lady Dimitrescu x reader - Completed)

Forever with you, Mother (RE8 - Dimitrescu Family - Completed)

Lost in the woods (RE8 - Lady Dimitrescu x Female Original Character - Completed)

Wonderful Tonight and tumblr link (Abbott Elementary - Barbara Howard x Melissa Schemmenti - Completed)

and here is a list of Playlists I created on Spotify inspired by shows and characters:

Barlissa dedicated to the work wives: Barbara Howard and Melissa Schemmenti

Rita Farr and Agent Carter's vibes

Care to Dance? connected to the FF I wrote (see list above)

Thinking of Lady Dimitrescu

#ao3 #my ff #my works #doom patrol ff #lady dimitrescu ff #dovesso ff #sge ff #Lady Dimitrescu x Female Original Character #rifa farr x female original character #lady dimitrescu #dovesso #rita farr ff #rita farr #doom patrol fanfiction #lady dimitrescu fanfiction #dovesso fanfiction #sge fanfiction #abbott elementary #barlissa #barbara howard #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard x melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x barbara howard #agent carter #spotify

[prahacat]

The Drowning - an Obi-Wan-centric merpeople au about grief, family, deep-sea horrors and environmentalism

star wars prequels & the clone wars | gen | 60k, complete

characters: Obi-Wan, Dooku, Ahsoka

Summary: They have always lived in the reef, hidden in the sea, safe from the unsuspecting land-dwellers. This was their home. But the world is changing. The sharks disappear, the corals lose their colors, and one day, a ship comes to the reef. Obi-Wan would do anything to protect those he calls family. But where do you turn when the world is closing in around you left and right?

Read the complete fic on AO3!

#obi-wan kenobi #dooku #count dooku #ahsoka tano #star wars fanfiction #it's finally complete! #thank you everyone <3 #i started this last year for yotp as a short plotting exercise but it took on a life of its own #i learned so much while writing this #what a year #yotp 2023 #prahacat writes #my ff

[theoniprince]

3 Sentences WIP Game

Write three sentences of your current WIP, post them, then tag other people! (Make your own post)

uiuiui This tag game motivates me to continue my writing!! Thank you @silverysnake <3

Kurzerhand griff er nach Eddie, hielt ihn vor sich, wie Celio es getan hatte. Es verstrichen Minuten. Moritz blinzelte die Erinnerungen weg.

If anyone wants to share something - do it!!

#tag game #soko leipzig #moritz brenner #liebeskummer #wird hoffentlich bald zu einem crossover #eddie das krafttier #my writing #my story #my ff #german #j writes

[spartanguard]

when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy. 

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed. 

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie. 

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.) 

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present. 

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine. 

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that. 

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered. 

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity. 

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope. 

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it. 

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it. 

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying? 

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick.  His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs. 

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink. 

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it. 

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze. 

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly. 

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered. 

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical. 

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying. 

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically. 

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off. 

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected. 

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.” 

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we’ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?” 

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.) 

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space. 

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah. 

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped. 

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment. 

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more. 

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him. 

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

#cs ff #captain swan #cursed killian au #spartanguard: from the vault #my ff

[derridoid]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fall Out Boy Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz Characters: Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump Additional Tags: Christmas Fluff, Lingerie, Surprises, Romance, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Facials, Pillow Talk, Fluff and Smut Summary:

As Patrick gives himself a once-over in the bathroom mirror one last time, he sighs. What is Pete going to think?

-

Patrick has gotten a piece of festive, ribbon-inspired lingerie that he's hoping Pete will enjoy, but he's not so certain of himself. What is Pete going to think?

#my ff #peterick #pete wentz #patrick stump #fob #hope that everyone who celebrates has a great christmas!

[greenvillainredemption]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50796298

Encantober fic in which the Madrigals go to a Halloween party ft some OCs! I had to throw in a reference to @madrigaljail’s el brujo loco era. and also I drew the worst little Bruno I have ever laid eyes on. <3

#encantober #encanto #bruno madrigal #el brujo loco #my art #‘art’ #ik art is subjective and doodles are art too but I was so sleep deprived drawing him it’s a disaster XD #my words #my ff