#Once upon a time oneshot

[heliads]

Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme:  kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect. 

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[justanoasisimagines]

Jealously Headcanons

Hey lovelies back with another jealously Headcanon. My requests ar open and you can find my guidlines pinned on the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

❀Killian will admit he's a possessive person. If you're his then you're his. Plan and simple. He wants people to know you're together so they're aware you're off limits.

❀He knows you're beautiful, an alluring little siren. He's heard your song himself. With that being said, it doesn't give anyone the right to attempt to attempt to steal you away from him.

❀Kilian is not afraid to confront anyone. He doesn't want anyone flirting with you whether it's verbal or touching. He cannot stand when someone brushes their hand over your back or wraps an arm around your waist. You are not theirs to touch like that.

❀Killian has two forms of confrontation. The first he approaches them with his usual confident self. Many find his presence intimidating enough and some scapper off. However, some people are brazen enough to stick around. Naturally, Killian uses his charm and wit to passively get the individual away from you.

❀Killian's sarcastic and nonchalant, underneath it's bothering him. Most of the time, it's enough to get them to leave. Sometimes the individual when they realise you're with Killian.

❀The second approach is much more direct. It usually occurs when Killian notices the individual is not backing off When they've laid their hands on you. Killian is more direct. He's threatening as he warns the individual off.

❀Killian's not afraid to get in a physical fight with someone who doesn't know how to respect you. They will learn to respect you one way or another.

❀He likes to remind people you two are very much together every once and a while. Killian finds enjoyment in it.

[anto-pops]

Envy's Grip - Sylus x Female!Reader

Summary: There was no field guide on how to handle your best friend coming back to life. But in hindsight, maybe keeping it from your crime lord boyfriend wasn’t the best course of action. 

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, rough sex, miscommunication (kind of), a sprinkle of jealous Sylus (or as jealous as he can be, he knows he's fine)

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3

Sylus was perceptive. 

It wasn’t a new trait, by any means. He had always been annoyingly aware of everything. Sometimes it seemed like he knew your own thoughts before you voiced them– though he insisted you were just easy to read and that it had nothing to do with him using his Evol to his advantage. Now was one of those times where you could tell he was scrutinizing you from afar, having picked up on the influx of emotions that overwhelmed your mind and left your body tense. 

Caleb was alive. 

The revelation had left you breathless– utterly at a loss for words as you had stared at him standing before you whole and well. Well, almost whole. The mechanical arm had thrown you for a loop, but it was his eyes that had broken down the wall of doubt between the two of you. Those bright, violet irises silently conveyed a lifetime of emotion that told you then and there that somehow, someway, your childhood friend was back from the dead. 

How the hell were you supposed to go about your day after discovering something like that? 

When Sylus had asked you the day after what had you looking so dreary, you had waved off his concern with a lie. “There’s a mandatory work meeting next weekend. All my plans with Tara are ruined.” 

He had furrowed his brow at that statement, evidently confused as to why he hadn’t heard anything about your weekend plans up until that moment. You were terrible at lying, and it felt awful to do it– especially with Sylus. You had just prayed that he would overlook your nervous behavior and let you get away with it. 

That same day, Sylus’ eyes had narrowed during lunch while you’d chewed your own nails off in favor of the roast he had cooked for the two of you, but you had done your best to play off the anxious habit as something else work related. Then you had jumped– actually jumped– when he’d walked into the living room while you’d zoned out staring at a wall, his sudden presence jerking you back to the present with your heart hammering and your eyes wide. 

“You need to wear a bell,” was all you had said when he’d asked why you were so jumpy. His lips had pursed while he’d worked a muscle in his jaw, opting to keep his innermost thoughts to himself. 

Then there was right now; your form was sloppy, and your shoulder was aching from the lack of control you threw your punches with. The boxing bag hanging from the ceiling of Sylus’ home gym swayed towards you listlessly, the lack of power in your attacks barely causing the chain to rattle the way it normally would. Using your gloved hand, you halted the bag’s momentum, your chest heaving as you drew in deep, steadying breaths to ground yourself. The sweat that dripped down your temples chilled your otherwise heated skin, and you hastily wiped the moisture away using the back of your forearm before swallowing thickly. 

You were a mess.

As you turned to make your way to the edge of the ring for your water bottle, Sylus tracked your movements with predatory-like precision. He didn’t blink, didn’t shift from his spot against the wall. It hardly looked like he was even breathing. The floor to ceiling mirrors that lined the entirety of the gym clued you in on the dark expression that crossed his face the second you turned your back to him, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the air vent overhead snaked its way down your spine. 

“How do I put this nicely…” Sylus’ deep, throaty timbre reverberated off the walls, and you did your best to ignore him as you brought your bottle to your lips. “The way you’re performing now, you’re on par to fight a toddler.” 

Prick. Water dribbled down your chin as you tightened the water cap and set the container down. “That’s what the practice ring is for. Practice. I’m not trying to show out.” 

“No, clearly you’re not. You’re trying to distract yourself.” 

Ever the discerning crime lord. “I’m working out, Sylus. Since when does that require perfect form?” Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at his reflection in the mirror. “More importantly, why are you just standing there watching? It’s weird.” 

He feigned disinterest by looking at his nails, a move that infuriated you as much as it intrigued you. Sylus always looked so effortlessly handsome. The sight of him posted up against the wall with his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest almost distracted you from the rampant thoughts about Caleb that had plagued your brain for the last two days. Almost. “You might be ‘practicing’, but you’re doing yourself a disservice by not utilizing your full potential. That stance is pathetic, and your punches couldn’t hurt a fly. To add insult to injury, you already know all of this.”

“And I really don’t care. Go find Kieran or Luke if you want to criticize someone, I’m not in the mood.”

Sylus went quiet behind you as you began unstrapping your gloves, and a few beats of silence passed before you lifted your gaze back to the mirror. He was staring at you intently, ruby red eyes flickering darkly and narrowing. It wasn’t exactly the expression he wore when he was angry– not when it still hid a sliver of possessive longing within his dark pupils. But even so, it was enough. You felt arousal curling hot in your gut at the sight, and Sylus’ eyes flicked up to your damp hair clinging to your forehead as a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Then what are you in the mood for?” Sylus purred the question, pushing off the wall to stalk over to the boxing platform. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked, tossing it haphazardly over the rope barrier before effortlessly hoisting himself up and stepping into the ring. “Want me to leave you alone? Completely? Back off and let you think about your long lost friend in peace?” 

Oh, shit. 

Your mouth fell open at the realization that he knew. How? When had he found out? Your mind whirred with the possibilities and your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your skin and imbuing you with an overwhelming sense of guilt. It had never been like that with Caleb, but did Sylus know that? Did he think the worst? How much of the impromptu reunion was he aware of? 

“Cat got your tongue, kitten?” He goaded you further, prowling towards you without an ounce of hesitation. You held up your palms towards him as though to stop him, but he captured your smaller hands in his larger ones and threaded your fingers together, pulling you against his chest with a throaty chuckle devoid of any humor. “Did you really think I didn’t know why you’ve been so out of it lately?” 

“Sylus, I–” you stopped yourself, indignant anger taking root as you realized he had somehow invaded your privacy. “Did you follow me? You ass! How do you even know about that?”

He ignored your pointed line of questioning and pressed on with his brows furrowed. “Were you ever planning on telling me? Or would you have kept quiet and silently debated on whether or not rushing back to his side is a good plan?”

“What? Don’t you dare turn this back on me, you spied on me!” 

“I was in the city on business. Nothing special, but I wanted to stop by to see you once I was done. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the park with him on the way to my meeting.” 

You tsk’d in annoyance, rolling your eyes in disbelief. “Business. It’s always business with you. Why does it matter that I didn’t immediately run to you to fess up about my friend not being dead?” 

“Because you lied to me.” The way he growled the blatant fact made your retort die in your throat. The anger that had burned hot in your veins cooled instantly, and you blanched as Sylus continued icily. “Taking your time to process it? That I can understand. But you looked me right in my eyes and came up with some half-assed excuse about work. You didn’t trust me with this, even though we agreed we would always be honest with one another.” 

You stammered, “Sylus, wait– I wasn’t–” 

He let go of one of your hands to capture your chin in his firm grip, forcing your eyes to meet his as he stared down at you. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was unrelenting, and the angle left you wholly at his mercy as he slipped his other hand around your back to hold you flush to him. “You weren’t what? Keeping secrets? Giving me unwarranted attitude?”

“None of this is your business!” You jerked your head out of his hold and wedged your hands between the two of you, shoving him away so abruptly that the tiniest grunt escaped his lips. Your eyes were frantic as you exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have left– I just– dammit! Just give me a minute here!”

He gave you ten seconds of uninterrupted silence. The tense kind that set your teeth on edge and made your skin crawl. Then you looked back at him, shocked to discover an icy cool expression painted across his sharp features. The unyielding wall that had existed between you both when you’d first met had been reconstructed in record time, the lack of warmth in his eyes speaking volumes of how he really felt. 

“Take all the time you need, Miss Hunter.” 

When he turned his back to you and started towards the ropes, your heart nearly gave out as your stomach plummeted into your feet. He couldn’t walk away from this– not after he had implied the worst without letting you explain. You had no clue how he even knew about Caleb, but clearly Sylus assumed your relationship with him was something more, and it scared you to think that your lover doubted you. Worse, that he doubted himself. 

Your body acted of its own accord, carrying you forward fast enough that you were able to coil your fingers around Sylus’ thick wrist. He stopped dead in his tracks, but he didn’t turn to look at you. On instinct, you darted around him so you were standing before him, then rose up onto the tips of your toes so you could crush your lips to his. 

Sylus’ reaction was slow; he inhaled sharply before his hands slowly came to the back of your neck, holding your mouth to his as an animalistic growl resonated from deep within his chest. He stepped closer to you, blindly leading you towards the edge of the ring until you felt your back press against the ropes, and Sylus used the newfound barrier to his advantage and rolled his hips against yours while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth. It was equal parts suffocating and exhilarating. Your every sense was overtaken by him– his heady scent, the muscular feeling of him, the guttural sounds he made as he devoured you. 

Sylus’ lips trailed away from yours to mouth wetly at your jaw, and your head fell back as a raspy moan escaped you when he ground his hips into you. The hard length of him was tangible through his dress pants, and the thin pair of leggings you wore did little to deter the feeling. Your hands drifted down his toned biceps and along his taut stomach before your fingers curled tellingly over his belt buckle. The tug you gave the leather material was ardent, your desires taking over your better judgement. Rational thinking had suggested you talk things out with Sylus like adults. To speak to him about loyalty and remind him that he had nothing to worry about as far as Caleb was concerned. 

But bringing up Caleb right now was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. Fucking like adults might also do the trick. 

An airy whimper sounded from you as Sylus roughly brushed your hands away from his belt, taking control of the situation and yanking your sweat-soaked t-shirt over your head. Your sports-bra went next, and the peaks of your breasts pebbled in response to the cold air surrounding you. When you blinked up at the man through hazy eyes, his own orbs were dark and hooded, and the way he licked his lips made you want to kiss him again badly. You weren’t far gone enough to think you deserved it yet, though– not even when Sylus leaned forward to start mouthing down your throat, his tongue trailing against your sweat-slick skin as he descended lower and lower. 

Just when you thought Sylus would end up on his knees in front of you, he was back to his full height. He wasted little time taking you by the hips and assertively guiding you down to the floor of the boxing ring. Dazed, you blinked up at the white haired man, staring at him long enough to catch sight of the strained expression he hid behind his calm facade. It almost looked like he was pained. It confused you, but questioning it wasn’t possible once Sylus shuffled down to settle between your legs. 

You felt his blunt nails scrape against your hip bones as he tugged your panties and leggings away, tossing both of them aside before laying flat between your bent knees. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t talking with you the way he normally would when the two of you were intimate. In fact, there wasn’t anything that was intimate about this aside from you being fully exposed to him. There he was, fully clothed between your legs and inches away from your womanhood, and yet not a lick of warmth emanated from him. 

Suddenly, your morose thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Sylus licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, your breath catching as the man took care to add a sinful amount of pressure to your bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you managed to wheeze, your hands flying to Sylus’ soft locs as he wrapped his lips around your clit, then sucked hard enough that your back arched off the floor. Another rough moan escaped you as Sylus splayed his fingers against the underside of your thigh and dug his nails into the tender flesh there. He did the same with your other leg, and the bruising strength he held your legs apart with was something that enticed you as much as it confused you. 

Make no mistake: rough sex with Sylus was always phenomenal, and it was most definitely something you enjoyed partaking in. But there was a missing puzzle piece here– something irregular that had your heart weighing heavy in your chest as you gazed breathlessly to the ceiling. 

You wished Sylus would say something. He hadn’t since you had grabbed for him just minutes prior, nor had he let you undress him like you’d wanted to. The disappointing memory of him crudely swatting your hands away from his belt returned to you then and imbued you with a lingering sense of remorse. Shit, you would settle for him just looking at you by this point. Anything other than the cold, rigid version of your lover before you now. 

Unbeknownst to your internal turmoil, Sylus sat back on his haunches and slid his hands to your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach and allowing for him to manhandle your legs apart. Part of you wanted to protest against the position, but then you felt your lover begin to mouth hotly down your spine and press chaste kisses to your warm skin, and your inhibitions started to melt. It was the first real show of Sylus’ softer side. The gentle press of his index finger against your entrance further derailed your train of thought, and as Sylus slowly breached your fluttering walls with the digit, you couldn’t help but breathe out a soft moan.  

The tenderness left you shaking– trembling–  for more. 

As Sylus started to pump his finger slowly, he took care to remain incredibly attentive to the way you wriggled and keened for more, your face half-buried in the crook of your arm. His free hand came to rub soothing circles against your hip as he gingerly added a second finger to join the first, and the tantalizing stretch had you gasping and squeezing your eyes shut. “F-Fuck, Sylus,” you mumbled, the words muffled slightly by your own arm pressed against your lips. 

You felt Sylus lean forward, his warm breath fanning across your ear as he asked, “Does it feel good?” 

You rocked your hips back onto the fingers easing you open, nodding and gasping breathlessly as the crime lord pressed against your inner walls incessantly in search of that one spot he knew would reduce you to a babbling mess. It didn’t take long for him to find it. Before long, Sylus slid his fingers deeper and curled them up, and the sudden jolt of pleasure that ran through you caused you to mewl your lover's name loudly. 

Taking your reactions as his cue, Sylus proceeded to work you with his fingers faster, brushing the pads of his digits over that magical spot within you every time without fail. The overwhelming sensations left your body quaking as fiery hot arousal coursed through your veins, the beginnings of your climax festering in your gut. As blissful as it was, you had no desire to end things like this; on your knees and with your back to Sylus while he used his damn hands to undo you. 

Blearily, you pushed yourself up with your arms, craning your head around to stare at the man through your lashes. “C-Come on, Sylus,” you implored him weakly. “Please?” 

Sylus met your gaze for the briefest of moments, his eyes dancing away before you could get a good look at him. He mercifully withdrew his fingers, trailing the appendages against your inner thighs and inducing a wave of goosebumps along your skin, then sat back to begin removing his clothing. It was methodical– swift, even. All you could do was watch in the reflection of the mirror as Sylus stripped himself bare without your aid, tossing his clothes off to the side of the boxing ring before returning to his kneeled position behind you. 

Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair dejectedly, accepting that Sylus’ colder nature was your own fault. How could you blame him? Beyond keeping the truth about Caleb from him, you had pushed him away when he’d tried to get close to you. It didn’t look good for you, and you found yourself lowering yourself back to the ground with your face buried in the crook of your arm. Whether you were hiding from Sylus or your own embarrassment, you didn’t know. 

As Sylus lined himself up with your wet entrance, the tiniest sigh escaped him when the blunt head of his cock rubbed softly against you. His firm, warm hands settled on your hips as he asked, “Ready?” 

You could sass him, or rush him along, or just generally be an ass to him in response to him being so closed off, but you didn’t. The air between the two of you was different than it was before, even though Sylus was keeping all his sweetness to himself. You told yourself that you didn’t deserve it anyways and nodded shakily. 

At your confirmation, Sylus sighed and squeezed your hips, then began to sink his thick, perfect cock deep inside of you with slow, gentle thrusts. You gasped and hid your face in your arms, rocking back onto the larger man as you muffled needy little noises against your skin. When Sylus bottomed out, he moaned and ran his hands up your sides, over your ribs, so gentle and so fucking nice that you kind of wished he would just rail you through the floor of the ring. How amazingly soft he was being while distancing himself was making your chest ache. 

It didn’t last long, thankfully. When Sylus gave an experimental roll of his hips and found you more than a little eager for his cock, he groaned and pulled back farther before ramming his dick into you, and the way you cried out for it covered the throaty moan that had escaped his lips. The crime lord set the pace just like that; hard and fast, impaling you and wringing gasping cries out of you easily. The arch of your back let Sylus’ cock slide along your sweet spot with every rough thrust, and the feeling had your eyes fucking crossing. 

It was too good. Your thoughts were crashing, noisy moans sounding from you freely. You were entirely sure you were drooling all over the padding of the ring’s floor, but you didn’t really care when Sylus was fucking you so thoroughly. The fingers digging into your hips pulled you back hard even as Sylus pounded his cock into your wet, tight heat, leaving you completely and utterly helpless for it. 

You didn’t know if Sylus had a cruel streak or a merciful one, because eventually he peeled one hand off of your hip and wound it immediately into your hair, and then you knew you were fucked. So very fucked. And not just by the cock driving you crazy. 

Sylus yanked your hair– just a little on the side of painful– and you couldn’t help the way you fucking wailed Sylus’ name, your thighs shaking and your hips slamming back into his fast thrusts. When he pulled again, you obediently scrambled up onto your weak hands, your shoulders trembling and your stomach churning with wanton pleasure. Sylus leaned down and moaned in your ear, his grip on your hair unrelenting as he urged, “Say my name, say my name for me, come on…” 

You didn’t even have to think about it. You leaned your head back against Sylus’ shoulder and gasped his name over and over, your voice pitched high and desperate from the way his cock owned you so perfectly. Sylus’ soft sounds were driving you mad for him, eager to hear his voice again, to hear the white haired man tell you how good you were. The hand pulling at your hair made it impossible to form words, though, save for the increasingly needy cries of Sylus’ name and shaky iterations of please, please, please. 

The floor of the boxing ring creaked as Sylus pressed the two of you back down against its surface to speed up, his hips slapping against your ass so aggressively that you couldn’t help but scream for him, the pleas coming in shaking sobs. 

Even though Sylus was so thoroughly possessing you and fucking his cock straight into your cervix, something was still keeping you from getting close. It felt so good, absolutely amazing, but you couldn’t finish like this. Not when Sylus was biting his lip against his own noisy moans. Not when Sylus hadn’t said your name once this entire time. Not when Sylus had yet to look you in the eyes. 

Whining, you turned your head forward so you could look at him in the reflection of the mirror straight ahead. The muscles of his back rippled with effort as he continued pumping his hips, and his own forehead was pressed into your shoulder so he didn’t have to look at you. The change in your breathy sounds caught his attention, however, and Sylus slowed his hips to a rough grind to give the two of you a damn break. He finally lifted his dark, fucked-out gaze to yours, and proceeded to finally made eye contact with you in the mirror. Even hazy with lust, you could still pick out the hurt in Sylus’ eyes. 

You had put that there. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered and spread your fingers out against the padded floor, an unspoken invitation. After a long moment of consideration, Sylus mouthed at your sweat-slick shoulder and carefully unwound his fingers from your tangled hair to twine them together with yours. You gripped his hand tight and shivered for him, rocking back into now-gentle thrusts with a soft moan of his name. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you breathed, looking back at Sylus from over your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sylus.” 

He stilled then, his free hand moving to tenderly brush your sweaty bangs out of your eyes. He didn’t respond yet, though, instead pulling out entirely to ease you over onto your back. 

Winding your violently trembling legs loosely around his waist, you wiggled as Sylus leaned back over you and aligned himself with your throbbing center once again. When he slid home, it was slow and easy, leaving the two of you gasping. To make things even better, Sylus reached over to grab both of your hands before lacing your fingers together again, balancing easily on his elbows so his chest was nearly flush to yours. It was so close, so damn intimate, and so much better than you deserved that you couldn’t even begin to hope for anything more. 

Sylus was so kind, though. He was thoughtful and courteous and so damn sweet, and he nudged your nose with his own before he finally kissed you again, thank god. You whimpered pitifully, squeezing his hands while he slid his tongue easily between your lips, deepening the kiss and drawing a keening moan from your sore throat. 

This time, Sylus’ thrusts were steady and slow, following an even tempo that left you sputtering against his lips. 

It was a world apart from earlier. Before, Sylus had been fucking you, marking you like you were his territory, holding back even as he let loose some wild, animalistic part of himself brought on by you pushing him away. 

Now, by some grace from god or by virtue of Sylus’ incredible capacity for dealing with your shit, it was like he was making love to you, his cock continuing to fill you up so good but just slow enough that you had time to understand how amazing he made you feel. Sort of. As much as you could understand when you were whispering Sylus’ name against his lips, your voice still rough from screaming and hitching audibly when he thrusted into you. 

You swallowed thickly to coat your dry throat, then opened your eyes to stare up at him again. 

Sylus had pulled back enough that he could see the faces you were making perfectly, how flushed your cheeks were, and how watery your eyes were. Being watched so intimately caused you to flush darker, and you closed your eyes again and arched your back with a broken groan when Sylus’ cock slid over your sweet spot once again. 

“Sylus,” you moaned, sliding your thighs further up his sides and spreading them wider. “Sylus, you’re so good…”

You felt as Sylus bumped your noses together again, squeezing your hands with a contented sigh. You were more than okay with the pace things were moving at, especially once your lover brushed his lips against your cheeks so incredibly tenderly and thrust deeper into you. Spine rounding again, you let loose a shuddering gasp before your mouth fell open with an airy whisper of Sylus’ name. 

“You look so good like this,” Sylus purred, the sound of his voice sending you reeling once again. It was beyond unfair how Sylus had you wrapped around his finger. You instinctively tightened around his cock, and the lecherous moan the action pulled from him made your stomach flip. He chuckled softly shortly thereafter and squeezed your hands again, “So pretty, you know that, kitten? And you take me so well, with the prettiest little noises. God, the noises you make…” 

You were losing your fucking mind. You rolled your head to the side with a bitten-back whimper, your body rocking perfectly into Sylus’ thrusts. There was no way you could have known that the way Sylus whispered to you would set you so on edge, but you had missed it so badly in the seemingly endless period of time you’d had to go without it. Sylus’ praises made you so hot, so damn brainless that you didn’t know what to do with yourself, and the bastard knew it. When Sylus sped up, you were still helpless– still unable to do anything other than gasp your lover’s name into the humid air between you both. 

Even as he smiled down at you and chuckled at the way you fell apart, Sylus’ own voice was growing breathier, his moans louder. Apparently you weren’t the only one so deeply affected. 

“I can feel you getting close, kitten,” Sylus moaned against you, his hips moving in deep, quick thrusts that filled you up easily. You licked your lips and cracked open your bleary eyes to watch as Sylus’ brows pinched together in response to your walls clamping down on his cock harder. With a stammered moan of your name, Sylus’ head drooped between his shoulders as he murmured, “You feel incredible. You’re so good for me.” 

That was what you needed more than anything. Sylus moaning your name while his thrusts picked up with more force, his teeth worrying his lip as he fought against his bone-deep urge to finish. Your name spoken by Sylus would forever be your favorite sound, and hearing it now was driving you straight to the edge and building your orgasm up quickly in your gut. Your moans spiked into breathy cries, your muscles tensing and twitching in earnest. Unable to stop yourself, you started to beg, “S-Sylus, Sylus, I’m almost– I’m– please, Sylus–”

Sylus obliged your senseless word babble. He untangled your fingers from his so he could sit up on his heels, looping his arms under your back to bring you with him. With you balanced easily in his lap, Sylus kept one arm around your midsection while the other came to grip your hip before he started thrusting again, his cock angling up and hitting you so deep and so perfect that you were certain you were seeing stars. Your hands flew frantically to Sylus’ toned shoulders, your nails digging in for purchase as that telltale sensation in the pit of your stomach grew stronger and more potent. 

Once Sylus breathed your name again, his voice trailing off into a raspy, rumbling moan, it was more than enough to carry you over the edge. 

Your breasts pressed into Sylus’ chest as your spine arched, your climax crashing over you violently and rendering your brain useless. Sylus groaned long and loud as you clenched impossibly further around his cock, and as you clung desperately to him and buried your face into the crook of his neck, he managed to thrust once, then twice, before he came with a shuddering groan. 

Sylus curled around you possessively and ground against you mindlessly, his large hands gripping you so tightly that you were certain they would leave bruises in their wake. He continued to mumble your name breathlessly into your ear as the two of you came down together, and eventually you were able to think through the pleasured fog that still tinged your vision. 

You continued to breathe heavily, your limbs shaking and twitching as you clenched your eyes shut and continued to hide your looming shame in the crook of Sylus’ neck. The only thing that pulled you out of your makeshift cocoon was the feeling of the larger man’s lips pressing against the top of your head, and you jolted almost violently at the attention. 

“Damn, sweetie,” Sylus said roughly, his hand trailing up your bare back to hold the nape of your neck. “You’re still shaking an awful lot. Are you alright?” 

You were silent for a long time, trying and failing to get your breathing under control again while Sylus simply cradled you. There was nothing you wanted more than to keep holding him, to keep him from leaving you and walking away, but as the dust settled around the two of you, you remembered how bad you had actually fucked up. So you waited for Sylus to release you, to stop mumbling sweet nothings into the top of your head, to banish you from his home entirely and send you back to Linkon City. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. He surprised you by lowering his own head so it was right beside yours, using his chin to gently nudge you out of your hiding spot in his shoulder so he could look at you. “I’m going to need an answer, sweetie, because I’m becoming increasingly worried that I hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry, Sylus,” you mumbled, avoiding meeting his gaze in favor of directing your words to his chest. Your voice was meek and pitiful, and your lower lip trembled as you tried and failed to fight the influx of tears that welled in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

At first, Sylus was quiet. You felt his arms slide away from your back, and for a split second you were convinced that he was going to shove you away and end things with you then and there. But then his hands reappeared between the two of you, tentatively cupping your jaw to angle your face up at him. He looked at you curiously, sweeping his thumb under your eyes to catch the stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. His voice was calm and gentle when he finally asked, “What exactly are you apologizing for?” 

“For lying to you. For saying those hurtful things. I know I was overwhelmed by Caleb just… showing up the way he did, but that was no excuse for being so cruel to you.” You swallowed, your brow furrowing as you stared up at the literal love of your life and became overtaken by a fresh dose of remorse. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want Caleb. I don’t want you to think that you’ve been some replacement for him this entire time because I never had feelings like that for him. I should have been honest from the jump instead of getting so defensive. I’m really, really sorry, Sylus.” 

Sylus seemed to mull your confession over– always so careful about picking his words. It was a trait that you could certainly stand to learn from, if only you could manage to stop talking out of your ass for five seconds. 

“I didn’t exactly broach the subject with you delicately,” he admonished with a grimace. “I didn’t stop to consider that your childhood friend was back from the dead. I just assumed the worst and jumped head first into the conversation with that thought driving me. So for that, I’m sorry.” 

A watery smile stretched across your face, and you wrapped your arms around Sylus’ waist with your ear pressed against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing your previously frayed nerves. “So does this mean you forgive me?” 

To your mild surprise, Sylus laughed. Softly, and far from the mean-spirited kind. He returned your embrace eagerly, tracing small circles against your back with his fingers as he shook his head to himself. “There’s hardly that much to forgive. You’ve said worse things to me in the past, remember?” 

“Don’t make me beg. Just answer the question.” 

“Yes, kitten. I forgive you.” 

Sighing contentedly, you felt Sylus press a quick kiss to your forehead before holding you tighter to him, then he rose swiftly and easily, not at all slowed down by hoisting you up along with him. You yelped a little in alarm and wrapped your legs around his waist, entirely at his mercy as he somehow managed to duck under the ropes of the boxing ring with you coiled around him like a baby monkey. “Where are we going?” 

“To shower. I have every intention of making the most of your apologetic mood. And I think I might like to see you beg a little.” 

You sat upright in his firm hold, placing your hand on his chest to put a modicum of space between the two of you. “But you said you forgave me! What about Luke and Kieran?! Your room is on the other side of the house– Sylus, we’re naked!” 

Undeterred, Sylus flashed you his trademark smirk– the one that never failed to lower your inhibitions. “Oh, I forgive you. But since I have heard worse things from you before, the way I see it is you can go ahead and earn some more forgiveness while you’re at it.” 

Anxious beyond belief at the prospect of the twins seeing you in the nude, you shoved at Sylus more and scrambled to get out of his hold. He was having none of it, however, and swiftly readjusted his grip so he could toss you over his shoulder, your rear on full display in the event anyone crossed paths with the two of you. When you frantically started kicking your legs and hitting his back, he returned the motion with a playful slap to your ass that pulled a loud yelp from your lips. 

You loved the man with all your heart. You truly couldn’t fathom yourself ever leaving him, nor could you imagine your life without him. He brought a certain excitement to your otherwise dull day-to-day that you treasured and valued endlessly. 

But be that as it may, you were so, so going to kill him for this. 

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Rumple x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | heartfelt reunion, tears

𝘐𝘯 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦, 𝘔𝘳. 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨—𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘴. 𝘈 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯.

It had been a month since Emma Swan arrived in Storybrooke—a month since Mr. Gold’s memories had returned. Not the ones tied to this town, where he was nothing more than a feared and respected pawnbroker, but the ones from before. From the world of magic. From his life as Rumplestiltskin.

His plan had worked. The moment she crossed the town line, the curse had begun to unravel, its iron grip loosening thread by thread. Now, all he had to do was wait. Guide her. Nudge her in the right direction until the final knot came undone, until she shattered the illusion and restored what had been lost. Because once she did, he would be free. Free to find his son.

That had been the plan, at least.

But then there was you.

Every day, without fail, he saw you. Sometimes through the frost-kissed window of his shop as you strolled past, wrapped in a thick coat, a scarf tucked snug beneath your chin. Other times, at Granny’s, where you sat at the counter, hands curled around a steaming cup of coffee, the scent of cinnamon and cream drifting in the air. You always smiled—at Ruby, at Mary Margaret, at whoever was lucky enough to bask in your warmth. And every time, something inside him twisted, sharp and cruel, settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

People said he had no heart. That he had traded it for power long ago. That he was incapable of love.

They were wrong.

He had a heart—a dark, battered thing, bruised and cracked at the edges, but still beating. And it beat only for you.

You had been part of his story before, long before this world, long before the curse twisted reality into something dull and ordinary. He had met you in the Enchanted Forest, in a life woven with shadows and deals sealed in blood.

You had tried to steal from him. A reckless, foolish mistake.

An artifact of great power—something that should have gotten you killed.

But you had been fearless, all sharp wit and reckless fire, standing before the Dark One without so much as a tremor. No begging, no pleading. Just defiance burning in your gaze. It should have annoyed him. It should have ended with your body lying cold at his feet. Instead, against all logic, against all reason, he had fallen.

Not all at once. No, it had been slow, insidious, a gradual unraveling of the fortress he had built around himself. It started with the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with revulsion, but with curiosity, with something dangerously close to understanding. Then came the sharp-edged banter, the verbal duels where neither of you ever truly won, but neither of you wanted to stop. 

You had seen beyond the monster, past the shadows coiled around him like chains, past the dark magic that clung to him like a second skin. You had looked at him and, somehow, impossibly, you had seen a man.

He had never understood how you did it. How you had looked at him and found something worth loving. But you had.

And then, the curse had come.

He had fought against it, clawed at the encroaching darkness, tried to hold onto you with everything he had left. But the shadows were merciless, swallowing you whole, stripping you from his grasp like sand slipping through his fingers. You were gone.

For twenty-eight years, you had been nothing more than a stranger with familiar eyes. Living a life that was never meant to be yours, burdened with memories that were nothing but cruel illusions.

Now, he remembered everything. And you— You remembered nothing. That was the cruelest part.

Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day.

The town buzzed with anticipation—storefronts lined with heart-shaped trinkets, pink and red bleeding into every corner. The scent of fresh roses clung to the air, mingling with the rich sweetness of chocolate. Couples strolled through the streets, hands entwined, faces alight with secret promises. Granny’s was packed with nervous suitors, fumbling over dinner reservations, debating between bouquets and jewelry, drowning in the weight of expectations.

And he—he could do nothing.

He could not reach for you. Could not tell you the truth. Could not so much as brush his lips against yours without risking everything.

For the first time in centuries, he felt like an outsider, standing at the edges of something warm and beautiful, unable to step inside.

It would be so easy to break the rules. To take your hands in his and whisper your real name against your skin. To shatter the curse here and now, just to see recognition flicker in your eyes. Just to hear you say his name—not the false one the town knew him by, but the one you used to whisper against his throat in the quiet of the night.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. So he waited.

And yet, as the hours bled into one another, his mind refused to let you go.

Memory was a cruel thing. It did not fade with time. It did not dull, did not loosen its grip, did not grant him the mercy of forgetting. No—every moment spent with you came rushing back with violent, aching clarity, as if the past had never truly let him go.

Your first meeting. The sharp, electric exchange of words, neither of you willing to yield, the fire in your eyes igniting something in him that he had not felt in centuries. A game of wits, of challenge, of sharp-edged curiosity masquerading as defiance.

Your first argument. The way you had stood your ground, shoulders squared, chin lifted in stubborn defiance, daring him to strike, to lash out, to prove you right about whatever horrible thing you had decided he was. He had not, of course. He had only watched as you stormed away, furious, seething, beautiful in your unrelenting fire.

And the first time he kissed you.

It had not been gentle. It had not been sweet.

It had been a war.

His hands tangled in your hair, your nails digging into his arms, both of you unwilling to break first. He had silenced you with his lips, and you had punished him for it, taking just as much as you gave, pressing closer, deeper, as if you could consume him whole. He had tasted anger on your tongue, defiance in every breath, and gods help him—he had never wanted anyone more.

The memories settled heavy in his chest, pressing against his ribs like the weight of something long lost. He had loved you then. He loved you still.

And the worst torment of all was knowing that, in this world, you were just beyond his reach.

With a slow, measured breath, he turned away from the window, retreating into the dim solitude of his shop. Shadows curled around him, thick and familiar, but they offered no comfort. His fingers traced along the shelves in absent thought, grazing over objects he had long since memorized—each one a fragment of a story, a whispered promise, a debt owed in blood or desperation.

And then, something caught his eye.

A single chess piece.

Small, black, polished to a soft gleam. A white gemstone embedded at its center, catching the faintest glimmer of light. A collector’s item to anyone else—rare, valuable, a relic from another time.

But to him?

To him, it was a ghost. A whisper of another life. A fragment of you.

His fingers curled around it, the weight familiar, grounding.

It had been there the first time you met.

You had broken into his castle that night, reckless and desperate, thinking yourself clever enough to steal from the Dark One. He had let you think, for the briefest, most foolish moment, that you might escape.

The chase had been wild. Furious. Magic had crackled in the air like an oncoming storm, your quick feet leading you through the corridors of his home like a whisper of wind. He had followed, amused, intrigued, letting the game play out longer than he should have. You had knocked over the chessboard in your haste, sending the pieces scattering like stars across the marble floor. Only one had survived the fall.

This one.

Your touch had lingered on it, the faintest echo of warmth pressed into the polished surface—just long enough for him to weave a spell, to track your movements when you had thought you’d escaped. A foolish belief, really. No one escaped him.

But then—then everything had changed.

You were supposed to be just another reckless thief, another desperate soul trying to outwit the Dark One, another fool who thought courage alone could stand against power. And yet, you had become something else entirely. You had become the one who saw him.

Not the legend, not the monster, not the name whispered in fear. You had seen beyond the sharp edges and hollow laughter, past the tangle of shadows coiled around his soul. You had seen him. And you had stayed.

When others had run, when fear had made even the bravest turn away, you had remained. No shackles, no bindings—just you. A presence he had not dared to hope for. A warmth he had not believed himself worthy of.

So he had given you this very piece. A gift. A promise. A symbol of something neither of you could bring yourselves to name. And later, it had saved your life.

That night, when the arrow had been meant for him, you hadn’t hesitated. No second thoughts, no moment of doubt. You had thrown yourself into its path, and for the briefest, most agonizing heartbeat, he had thought he lost you. The world had collapsed in that instant.

But then—your fingers, trembling, had pulled the chess piece from your pocket, the arrowhead buried deep in the stone instead of your heart. He had never felt relief like that before. Never known terror so absolute.

Now, standing in the dim solitude of his shop, his fingers curled around that same piece, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin like an unspoken vow. This small, unassuming object carried the weight of everything—your story, your love, the echoes of what had been and what was now lost.

An idea began to take root. A dangerous one. A reckless one. But for the first time in twenty-eight years, caution did not matter.

He turned the chess piece over in his palm, the cool surface pressing into his skin, solid, real. The curse had taken everything from him—his past, his love, you. It had bound him in chains he could not break, rules he could not defy.

But perhaps…

Perhaps it was time to change the rules.

The next day was Valentine’s Day. Not that it made any difference to you. You went about your morning as usual—woke up to the same alarm, pulled on the same coat, walked the same path through town. There was no excitement, no flutter of anticipation in your chest, no secret smiles exchanged with someone waiting for you at the other end of the day.

But that was fine. You weren’t unhappy. You had a job, a life, conversations to fill the silence. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when expected, played your part in the quiet, unchanging rhythm of Storybrooke.

And yet, something was missing. It was nothing tangible, nothing you could name or point to. Just a whisper in the back of your mind, a quiet ache that never quite faded. Like waking up from a dream you had already forgotten, but feeling the remnants of it clinging to you, taunting you with something lost.

Storybrooke was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Nothing ever changed. The same faces, the same routines, the same streets lined with buildings that never seemed to age. It was safe, predictable, steady. But sometimes, when you let yourself think about it too long, it felt less like a home and more like a cage.

The days blurred together in soft monotony, identical and endless, until you stopped questioning them. But there were moments—small, fleeting moments—where a thought would flicker in the back of your mind, unbidden and insistent.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

But you never knew what that meant. So, you did what you always did. You went to work.

The bank was as dull as ever, drowning in beige walls and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights. Most days, there wasn’t much to do. People rarely needed more than the usual deposits and withdrawals, and time stretched unbearably in the stillness of the office.

Except for him. Mr. Gold. The man who owned the town. The one whose name was spoken in hushed voices, laced with caution and reverence. He came in often, always the same routine—collecting and depositing rent payments from the townspeople. Always polite, always composed, always watching.

You didn’t know why, but he unsettled you. Not in the way a person fears the dark, but in the way one fears the edge of a cliff—aware of the danger, yet inexplicably drawn to it.

Everyone in town feared him. They spoke his name in hushed whispers, their voices carrying that peculiar blend of resentment and caution. They called him ruthless. Dangerous. A man who always got what he wanted.

And yet… you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him the way they did.

Because there was something in the way he moved—slow, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world, his cane tapping softly against the floor like the ticking of a clock. Unshakable. Unbothered. A presence that filled the room without a single word. He never needed to raise his voice. He never needed to remind anyone of the power he held. It was simply there, woven into every measured step, every calculated glance.

And his voice—God, his voice. Silk wrapped around steel, laced with the kind of amusement that never quite reached his eyes. Every word carefully placed, perfectly controlled, like a game only he knew the rules too. But beneath it, beneath the velvet-smooth cadence, there was something else. Something deeper.

And yet, you always found yourself watching him longer than necessary, unable to help it.

Today was just another day. That’s what you told yourself. Nothing different, nothing new. The kind of day that stretched endlessly, where the minutes bled into one another, thick and heavy with monotony. You had already resigned yourself to the slow crawl of time, flipping through the ledger, scanning numbers that didn’t really require your attention.

It was all so predictable. So routine. So ordinary. Which was why, when the door suddenly swung open, the chime of the bell cutting through the silence, your heart lurched against your ribs.

You looked up, expecting the usual—a customer with a routine request, a neighbor stopping in just to escape the bitter cold.

Instead, it was him.

Something in your chest tightened—not unpleasantly, but not comfortably either, a strange, flickering tension that had settled there without your permission, growing stronger each time he walked through that door. Once, his presence had unsettled you, filled you with something cold and undefined, an instinctual wariness that made you straighten your spine, made you tread carefully, as though stepping too close would pull you into something you wouldn’t be able to escape.

But now, it was different.

The feeling hadn’t faded, not exactly, but it had shifted into something else, something less certain, something that made your pulse react in ways you couldn’t quite understand. There was a warmth creeping up the back of your neck, an awareness that prickled at the edges of your senses, a quiet and insidious thrill that you refused to examine too closely. You swallowed against it, ignoring the way your hands felt too warm against the cool surface of the counter, forcing yourself to fall back into routine.

Except this wasn’t routine.

He was not supposed to be here today. Mr. Gold was a man of habit, a man who ran his affairs with clockwork precision, never deviating from the carefully laid path he had carved for himself. He collected rents on a strict schedule, every visit planned, every movement deliberate. Yet now, he stood before you, dark eyes settling on yours with quiet intensity, the kind of look that made you feel like he was searching for something beneath your skin, as if waiting to see if you would remember something you didn’t even know you had forgotten.

You straightened almost instinctively, smoothing the front of your blouse with a practiced motion, something to occupy your hands, something to steady yourself before you had the chance to waver. A polite smile found its way onto your lips—nothing forced, but perhaps a touch warmer than it should have been.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold.”

His gaze didn’t waver, and when he spoke, your name on his lips was measured, deliberate, as though he was testing its weight, as though there was something about the syllables that fascinated him more than they should. 

You ignored the way it sent a shiver down your spine, pushing it away as nothing more than the draft from the door that hadn’t quite closed all the way.

“What can I do for you today?”

And then, something unexpected happened.

For the first time since you had known him, he hesitated.

It was small, nearly imperceptible, the kind of moment that could have been missed if you weren’t paying attention. But you were. You always were when it came to him. And it was enough to send a ripple of unease through you, though not in the way it should have. Mr. Gold was not the kind of man who hesitated. He was not the kind of man who second-guessed himself, who spoke without knowing exactly where the conversation would lead. He was deliberate in everything he did, in every word he uttered, every step he took.

And yet, as he stood before you now, something flickered in his expression, something unreadable, something cautious, like a decision he had not quite convinced himself of.

He exhaled softly, the movement barely visible, as though settling into something he had been debating internally. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, more measured, as if choosing each word carefully before allowing it to pass through his lips.

“To tell you the truth,” he said, his gaze holding yours for just a fraction longer than necessary, “I’m not here for business today, dearie.”

Frowning, still caught somewhere between curiosity and hesitation, you stepped out from behind the counter, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your blouse, a nervous habit more than anything else.

“…Alright,” you said slowly, the word drawn out, laced with uncertainty. You studied his face, searching for an answer he hadn’t yet given. If he wasn’t here for business, then why was he here?

Mr. Gold didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he let the silence stretch, his expression unreadable, his head tilting just slightly as if weighing his response before committing to it. That alone was strange.

It was as though he were standing at the edge of a decision, knowing that once he spoke, there would be no taking it back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled softly.

“I wanted to see you, actually.”

Your breath caught. The reaction was immediate, instinctive—your body betraying you before your mind could even process the words. He had come here just to see you.

And the worst part—the most impossible part—was that hearing him say it made your heart stutter in your chest in a way you had no control over.

You swallowed, forcing down the sudden heat crawling up your throat, trying to will your pulse back to normal. It was nothing. It had to be nothing. But even as you told yourself that, the words didn’t sit right.

“You wanted to see me?” You tried to keep your voice light, tried to make it sound casual, but even you could hear the slight tremor at the edges of it.

He nodded once, his gaze steady, unreadable as ever.

“I was taking inventory at my shop earlier,” he said, his tone smooth but quieter than usual, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around something in his hand. “And I came across a collector’s item… thought you might like it.”

Only then did you notice the small box he was holding.

Wrapped in soft pink paper, a delicate white bow tied neatly on top, pristine and carefully placed, as though the act of wrapping it had been given deliberate attention.

Your brain stuttered, refused to process what you were seeing.

This man—the one known for keeping his distance, the one who never gave without expecting something in return, the one who people spoke of in hushed whispers, warning each other never to get too close—was standing in front of you, holding out a gift. For you.

The realization sent a strange, unsteady sensation through your chest, something you couldn’t quite place.

The bank was too quiet. Not the kind of peaceful silence that came with an empty room, but something heavier—like a held breath, waiting to exhale. The air pressed against your skin, thick with words left unsaid, thoughts that lingered between you like ghosts.

Your heart pounded, the rhythmic thud echoing in your ears as your gaze darted from the small package to the man holding it. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, resisting the urge to reach for it before understanding what it meant. Why? The question burned inside you, clawing at your ribs. This wasn’t how he operated. His gestures were precise, calculated. He didn’t do spontaneous. He didn’t do… gifts.

And yet, despite the dissonance, warmth unfurled in your chest, spreading slowly, uncontrollably. Because no matter how much it didn’t make sense, no matter how misplaced it seemed, there was no denying what it was.

A gift.

From him.

Your lips parted, your breath shallow as the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Is this… a Valentine’s Day gift?"

The moment the question escaped, your stomach dropped. You hadn’t meant to assume, hadn’t meant to push. But now it was out there, lingering in the stillness between you. And the worst part? You weren’t sure you wanted to take it back.

For a second—a single, fleeting moment—you could have sworn you saw the faintest shade of pink dust across his sharp cheekbones. It was there and gone in an instant, as if the world itself refused to let you witness such a thing. But still, his gaze dropped, a shift so subtle yet utterly revealing.

He hesitated. 

That alone was an answer.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. Your pulse stuttered in your throat.

“I—I didn’t mean to assume,” you blurted, flustered, already stepping back, already regretting the question. “I’m sorry, I—”

"No." His voice cut through the space between you, quiet but firm, resolute. "No, it’s alright."

There was something in his tone, something raw beneath the polished exterior. As if he wasn’t quite sure whether he wanted to reassure you or himself.

But the air was still heavy. Tense. Because no matter what he said, you both knew the truth, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Of course, it was a Valentine’s Day gift.

In a way.

Not the traditional kind, not wrapped in red ribbons or paired with romantic words. But a gesture, carefully measured, meticulously considered. A bridge between the past and the present. A thread tying him to you—the real you, the one buried beneath the curse. The one he had lost.

But he couldn’t say that.

So he improvised.

“Let’s just say,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate, “it’s a gift for someone who means a great deal to me. And leave it at that.”

The words sparked against your skin, warm and electrifying all at once. Your breath caught, a strange mix of dizziness and giddiness flooding your veins. For what? A simple sentence? A few carefully chosen words?

But they weren’t simple at all, were they?

Your fingers curled slightly before, finally, you reached forward, brushing against his as you took the package from his hand. 

Silence stretched. You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you as you slowly, carefully, began to unwrap the gift. Gold watched you.

He studied every movement, his anticipation growing with each tear of the delicate wrapping paper. He had not felt this nervous in a long, long time.

And what if you didn’t like it? What if you found the entire thing strange? What if, after all this effort, you pulled away? What if, what if, what if…

Before he could think too much, before doubt could creep into his mind and convince him that this had been a mistake, you had already finished unwrapping the delicate paper and lifted the lid of the small box. The moment stretched, slow and weighty, as your eyes settled on the object resting inside—a chess piece, a single pawn, black and polished to a soft gleam, its surface smooth except for the single white gemstone embedded at its center. It was not an ordinary gift, not the kind one would expect on a day like this, and for a moment, you simply stared, your expression unreadable as your fingers traced the edges of the tiny figure. Your first thought was surprise, the kind that comes with receiving something unexpected, something that does not quite fit the moment yet holds an undeniable significance. And then, as your fingertips brushed over the cool surface, something deep inside you stirred, a strange flicker of recognition, faint and distant, as though buried beneath layers of fog.

A strange sensation washed over you, slow at first, like the whisper of a memory long forgotten but not entirely lost. And then, in an instant, it turned sharp and violent, a sudden, searing pain blooming behind your eyes, spreading like wildfire through your skull, hot and unbearable, making you gasp as your vision swam. It felt as though something locked away inside you had been forced open, like a floodgate breaking under the weight of a storm, and before you could brace yourself, the memories came crashing down, overwhelming and relentless, images flashing in rapid succession, too fast to hold onto but too vivid to ignore. You saw glimpses of a world not made of brick and concrete but of towering trees and enchanted castles, of magic woven into the very fabric of existence. You saw faces—some familiar, some long lost—Snow White, Regina, battles fought in shadows, and curses cast in bitter desperation. And then, like a thread weaving through all of it, a constant presence, a figure that made your breath catch even in the chaos of your mind—him.

"Rumple…" The name slipped from your lips in a whisper, barely more than breath, spoken before your mind could fully comprehend what it meant, and the moment it left your tongue, the weight of it settled over you like a second heartbeat, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

Rumplestiltskin froze, his breath hitching so suddenly it was as though something had reached inside him and torn the air from his lungs. His heart, the very thing people claimed he did not have, slammed against his ribs, aching in a way it had not ached in so long, and for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at you, his pulse roaring in his ears, drowning out every thought, every logical reason why this should not be happening. Had he heard you right? Had you truly said his name, his real name, not the one this world had forced upon him, not the one that belonged to the cold, distant man he had been pretending to be for twenty-eight years, but the one that belonged to him? The one only you had ever whispered in the dark, the one you had once said with love.

His voice, when he finally found it, was hoarse, barely above a whisper, raw with disbelief. "What?" It was all he could manage, all he could force past the tightness in his throat, but it was enough, because when your gaze lifted to meet his, there was no hesitation, no confusion, only certainty, only truth.

"Rumplestiltskin," you repeated, firmer this time, the syllables rolling from your tongue as if they had never truly left, as if they had been waiting, just beneath the surface, for the right moment to be spoken aloud. Your lips curved, the beginnings of a smile breaking through the lingering shock, and in that moment, he knew. He knew. And then, the words that shattered him completely— "I remember you."

Whatever restraint, whatever control he had clung to, fell away in an instant.

Before he could think, before he could question or hesitate or allow the fear of what if to sink its claws into him, you had already moved, your body colliding with his as you threw yourself into him, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as your lips crashed against his in a kiss that held twenty-eight years of longing, twenty-eight years of absence, twenty-eight years of silence. It was desperate, breathless, fierce, and full of everything you had both lost, everything that had been stolen from you. His cane fell to the floor with a heavy clank, completely forgotten, as his arms found their way around you, one hand gripping your waist while the other buried itself in your hair, pulling you closer

, as if he could anchor himself to you, as if letting go for even a second meant losing you all over again.

And oh, he kissed you back.

With everything he had.

With hunger and relief and love, with a passion so deep it made his entire body tremble, his fingers pressing into you as though to remind himself you were real, that this wasn’t some cruel illusion. His lips moved against yours in a way that was both familiar and new, as though rediscovering something that had always belonged to him but had been out of reach for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like. He drank in the taste of you, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way your hands clung to him like you never wanted to let go.

And neither did he.

Tears burned at the edges of his vision, but he didn’t care. He let them fall, let them mix with the emotions threatening to consume him, because for the first time in twenty-eight years, he wasn’t alone.

You had come back to him.

And he would never let you go again.

When the need for air finally forced you to part, you barely pulled away—just enough to breathe, just enough to meet his gaze. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and uneven, his hands still cradling your face as if afraid you would disappear if he let go. His eyes—those deep, dark eyes that had always held secrets, mischief, and something unspoken—were wet, glistening with unshed tears, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a broken whisper.

"You remember," he murmured, as if he still couldn't quite believe it, as if saying it aloud would make it more real, more permanent.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you nodded, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his coat as you clung to him, unwilling—unable—to put even an inch of space between you. "I remember everything," you whispered back, voice trembling with the sheer weight of emotion pressing against your ribs. "I remember you, Rumple. I remember us."

A shaky breath left him, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you against him once more, his arms wrapping around you with such fierce desperation that it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. You melted into him, letting his warmth, his presence, his love wrap around you like a shield against the cruel years that had kept you apart.

He buried his face in your hair, his body trembling slightly, and then, with a raw, quiet, almost broken voice, he whispered, "I love you."

The words shattered something inside you, broke open a flood of emotions you could no longer contain. A sob escaped your lips before you could stop it, your fingers curling tighter around him, holding onto him like you would never let go. "I love you too," you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips with years of longing, of ache, of love that had never died, only waited.

And for a long time, neither of you moved.

You stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, holding on like the world could end and you would still refuse to let go. His fingers tangled in your hair, your hands clinging to his back, your bodies pressed together so tightly that you could feel the frantic, uneven beat of his heart against yours. His tears dampened your skin, just as yours did his, but neither of you cared. There was nothing in this moment but the feeling of finally being home.

He exhaled shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his arms tightening, as if reinforcing a silent promise.

Never again.

Never another separation, never another stolen memory, never another moment spent apart.

You had found each other again.

And nothing in this world—or the next—would ever take you away from him again.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

[poisonappleeater]

currently filled with thoughts of regina from s2 and 3… she was everything

[girzapata6]

So... Why is NOBODY talking about THIS live oneshot???

Like.. THERE IS SOME FROSTBEK RIGHT THERE HADKLASHFSSBFDASBFLS (Min 1:57:00)

Like... It was jut for 2 minutes and mostly because of some fucked up curse, but STILL---

[luna-the-cretar]

Me: we need to finish up the Frostbek oneshot before we can ramble on about Gideon’s whole character for several thousand words

My brain, vibrating: no…must write…character analysis…

[vaguely-concerned]

sitting here with my head in my hands over just how much coalecroux is exactly tfgraves except tf incidentally happens to be a warlock alligator (a minor detail that changes surprisingly little overall tbh). I stand humbled once again before my own immense and unspeakable predictability

[inlovewithgreta]

Reflections — Regina Mills x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Synopsis: After getting the weekend to yourselves, you put your bedroom mirror to good use to give yourself a view that you’ve been dying to see.

Warnings: Praise, fingering, mommy kink, etc…

Word Count: 1.8K

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The weekend was always your favorite part of the week, not only were you free from work but those two and a half glorious days were always child-free.

As of recently, Henry has come up with his own parenting plan. On weekdays he would stay with you and Regina then once the weekend rolled around he would stay over with Emma and Killian.

After certain disputes with Emma died down, Henry took full advantage of the double parenting to ensure everyone got to spend time with him.

He did stay with Mary Margaret and David on occasion but in the wise words of young Henry himself, 'they're too old school'.

It was only a matter of time before Henry got tired of trying to explain to them what a gameboy was and how it worked.

Today however was Friday, which marked the start of a brand new weekend. Everything went the same as usual, take Henry to school, help Regina in the office, grab lunch at Granny's, and last but not least, start spending the entire weekend alone with Regina.

While Regina was dropping Henry off at Emma's, you wanted tonight to be extra special for her.

It's been a while since you got all dolled up just for her and seeing you in her favorite color always made her jaw drop.

Working around the room, lights were turned off, candles were lit, rose petals were scattered, and you were frantically trying to make everything look perfect.

Although, all that was left was for you to slip on a little black dress but the second you saw your reflection in the mirror it's like you were caught in a daze.

The soft reflections from the candlelight had your skin looking like smooth silk. . .

And sheer red lace that barely covered your body seemed to hug in all the right places. . .

Your hands couldn't help but glide down the sides of your body before making their way around the back. With a slight turn, you watched as your hands slid down past the straps of your thong and admired the way it accentuated the roundness of your ass.

"Fuck. . ." You heard from an oh-so familiar voice.

You gasp sharply as your head whips towards the doorway to see Regina leaning against the doorframe with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

"I thought I was coming home to dinner. . ."

Regina kicks off her heels, instantly making her way towards you.

"But it looks like we're headed straight to dessert."

Her lustful voice got deeper than usual, just before her signature red stained lips collided with yours in a fiery kiss. Hands carefully cupped your cheeks while yours slid to her back in search of the zipper to her dress.

Regina giggles when she feels your fingers fumbling to pull the zipper down.

She walks you towards the bed and gently pushes you down onto the bottom half of the lush mattress.

You lift yourself up on your elbows and watch as she stands between your legs slowly gliding the zipper down.

You couldn't help but admire the way her lightly tanned skin was glowing under the candlelight.

Her dress falls to the floor revealing a matching black lace set that fits her body perfectly. Garters with little bows on them sat tightly against her thighs holding up her sheer black stockings that ended with a pair of black high heels.

Regina steps out of her dress, kicking it to the side, before climbing onto the bed above you.

She straddles your hips and instantly brings her lips back to yours. This time they felt even needier than before. . . more hungry.

Her hands reach around to unclasp your bra, sliding the straps down your shoulders and tossing it randomly behind her.

Breaking free from the kiss, Regina sends small kisses along your jawline and starts making her way down, leaving red lip stains in their wake.

Soft moans escape as she nips at your collarbone before heading straight towards your breasts.

She flicks her tongue over your hardened nipple.

Teeth slightly grazing across the sensitive bud.

"Mmm, mommy. . ." Your voice was just barely above a whisper.

Her dark chocolate eyes snap up to meet yours, caught off guard by the name slip.

She raises an eyebrow and brings her head back up to hover just inches in front of yours. Regina did her best at hiding the smirk begging to show across her face.

"Mommy, eh?" Her thumb swipes across your bottom lip.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry," Regina quickly cuts you off.

"I find it rather. . . hot." She chuckles deeply before giving you another kiss on the lips, reassuring you in the best way she can.

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

"You do?" Your bright eyes look into hers lovingly.

"Of course I do! You're just the sweetest little thing. . . call me whatever you like, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good girl. Now, is there anything you'd like mommy to do for you? Any requests while we resume our activities?" Her hand gently stroking your left cheek.

You contemplate for a moment, using your fingers to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Eyes quickly darted to the mirror that stood behind her.

Regina turns her head to follow your eyes before looking back at you with her other eyebrow raised this time.

"What do you want? Use your words."

"I want—" You take a deep breath as you begin, cheeks glowing red as you're embarrassed by the fact she's making you be so forward. "I want to watch you fuck me in the mirror."

Regina looks taken back at your request, not expecting that sentence to ever come out of you.

"My little Angel doesn't seem to be so innocent anymore. . . I love it." Her nose scrunches as she finishes her sentence and gives you a quick peck before she moves herself to sit next to you with her legs spread.

She pats the empty space between her open legs, Regina now facing the floor length mirror that sat across from the bed.

"Come."

You sit up and take her hand as she helps you climb into her lap, both of your bodies facing the mirror.

She moves your hair behind your back and completely exposes your neck.

Tender eyes meet yours in the reflection.

"Is this what you wanted?" She asks, kissing your neck softly.

"Yes," You shudder when she reaches the spot just below your ear and tilt your head to give her better access.

Her free hand slides all the way down your side to reach your thighs and uses gentle force to spread your legs wider for her to achieve better access.

"Look at you, already so wet and we've barely even started." Regina chuckles at the prominent wet spot against your panties.

You hum when her warm hand reaches your center, playing with you through the thin fabric.

Her free hand slides across your chest to toy with your breasts and slightly pinches your nipple between her fingers.

You lean yourself as close as possible to her. Her breasts pressed heavily against your back.

You watch through the mirror as her fingers tuck beneath your fabric and move it to the side. The cold air hitting you sends a long chill up your spine.

"Open," She demands when she brings two fingers to your lips.

There was almost an immediate response to your mouth opening and Regina slowly sliding them in.

"Now suck for mommy."

You do as you're told and swipe your tongue along the length of her fingers and gently sucking at the tip before she pulls them back out.

Brown eyes scanned your nearly naked body as her now wet fingers slid back down to where it was prominently more wet.

Slim fingers toy at your entrance, almost teasing you along your folds before they easily dip inside.

A small moan slips from your mouth as she fills you. Your eyes watch through the mirror when Regina's lips return their attention to your neck.

She sucks and kisses along your neckline and across your shoulder while her pace steadily grows faster along your cunt.

Heat immediately spreads throughout your body at the pleasure of the slight curve of her fingers along with the subtle pinches against your nipples.

"You like this don't you?" Regina questions.

"You like it when mommy plays with you." She whispers lowly in your ear.

"Yes—God yes."

She watches as your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head at the full curve of her fingers. The different areas getting pleasure was almost too much to bear once she added the palm of her hand to your clit.

Moans of ecstasy filled the dim room around you along with the sounds of her palm gently smacking against your skin.

Expert fingers hit just the right spot with every skillful thrust.

"You're doing so good for me, darling."

Your legs couldn't help but twitch as you felt yourself nearing your release, fighting to keep your legs from closing.

Dark eyes were glued onto yours through the reflection when she heard your moans increase in volume.

"I want you to look at me when you finish, can you do that for me?"

"Y-Yes!"

Your head leans against hers as your hands claw their way at the sheets.

"Oh my god—" Your voice nearly catches in your throat as you finally reach the climax you've been running towards.

Your bottom lip gets roughly pulled between your teeth while Regina releases your tit to lay her hand atop your own that's grasped against the sheets.

Her movements soon turned gentle as she helped ride out your high.

"That's my good girl." She proudly speaks out, both of you still eyeing each other down in the mirror.

Your eyes immediately lighting up at her praising words.

She slowly removes her fingers and almost instantly brings them between her lips, quietly humming when she finally gets a taste of you.

Her fingers quickly get sucked clean.

"Stand up real quick my love so we can clean you up."

You do your best to stand so the two of you can clean yourself in the restroom. She sets you atop of the bathroom counter and swiftly cleans you with a wash rag, throwing it in the hamper when she's done.

"How about we put on a movie and order some of your favorite takeout?" She offers, knowing neither of you are now in the mood to cook.

You nod your head excitingly which puts a precious smile across her face.

"Okay then it's a plan," She chuckles and gives you a peck on the lips just before you return to the bedroom.

She opens her drawer and takes out two oversized button up shirts, tossing one to you and putting one over herself.

The two of you end up spending the rest of the night laying in each other's arms across the leather couch after a quick meal, easily falling asleep to one of your favorite movies.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Just a little ficlet I came up with to celebrate Christmas! And yes, all of the information mentioned in this fic is truthful to the best of my knowledge! [now on ao3!]

taglist: @accidental-spice @kanerallels @ouatnextgen @booksteaandtoomuchtv

"Um, actually..."

"Uh oh," Hope said with a smile as she walked across the room to her boyfriend.

"Something wrong?" Gideon asked.

"Not at all," Hope rested her elbow on his shoulder, despite how much taller he was. "You're under the mistletoe."

"Yeah?"

"So that means I have to kiss you." Hope said, booping his nose with her finger. "You know how those silly little traditions are."

"Not really," Gideon said. "In actuality, the earliest roots of the tradition only related to ladies standing under the mistletoe. There's no historical record of if anything happens at all if a gentleman does."

"You're really killing the moment here, Gid."

"And also, the tradition didn't even require the men to kiss women who found themsleves under the mistletoe, it just said the women aren't allowed to refuse if they do choose to kiss them."

Apparently, the time-honored Christmas tradition of using a decorative plant as an excuse to do something you wouldn't mind doing anyways was no match for the time-honored Gideon tradition of frustrating Hope's coquette advances with oblivious intelligence. This one needed a more direct approach.

"Well, would you refuse if I chose to kiss you, Gid?" She asked, with a playful batting of the eyes.

"Of course not." Gideon said, then looked down at her with a surprised smile. "Are you gonna kiss me, Hope?"

"If it'll get you to stop ruining perfectly fine holiday traditions with all your stupid facts."

"Well in that case," Gideon smiled in his own understanding of the assignment, "did you know that, despite being widely regarded as one of the most beloved Christmas carols, Joy to the World is not actually about Christmas?"

"Yeah," Hope said, stepping up on tiptoes so her nose brushed against his, "ones like that."

He leaned down just a bit, closing the distance between their lips and sealing it with a kiss.

Hope pulled away and saw a smug smile on Gideon's face.

"Jingle bells isn't technically a Christmas Carol either." He said. "It's about Thanksgiving."

Though Gideon didn't always get her hints, she understood his perfectly, and gave him another quick peck on the lips.

"You know," Gideon said, "by definition, a carol is a song where the choruses are sung in Latin, but the verses...."

Hope sighed and rolled her eyes. As much as she loved his rambling, she loved stopping him from rambling all the more, and her preferred method of doing so: she grabbed his collar and interrupted him, not with words, but with another kiss, this time one that lasted a little bit longer.

[heliads]

like a heartbeat, drives you mad

From the moment you first dream of Neverland, you know that it's a home unlike any other. Waking up is terrible every time, but what if you were able to find a way to stay there forever?

masterlist

You are always alone when the thoughts catch up to you. When you’re with other people, it’s different, easier to convince your mind to race to better, safer topics. You don’t have to think about the fears or the worries, you just have to keep up with the conversation or do your best to not seem like the person you’re terrified you truly are. Everything hinges on the one other person there, distracting you from the relentless parade of thoughts, keeping you firmly in reality.

When you’re alone, though, you can’t hide anymore. You wave goodbye to your friends to head inside, and with your hand on the knob, you think, did they really want to see me? And, was that laughter genuine, or were they faking it the whole time? Worse, was it at me?

Things get worse once it gets dark. You lie awake at night thinking that you’ll fail at everything, that no one will want to associate with you after that, that everyone on this earth is going to live and die and no one will ever remember you again. You don’t like thinking along such dark lines, but the self-hatred is strong and won’t let you go. You’ve tried before, shaking it off, but it always comes creeping back when you want it the least.

Life is not the best, but at least the fall of dusk upon the streets and surroundings of your hometown brings you the blessing of finally being able to go to bed. You can push off schoolwork until the next day, chores until forever, just so long as you can shut off your mind and crawl under your covers and everything will go away.

Tonight is one of those nights when you want it most of all. It’s been a long day, followed by a long week, chased by an even longer month. You can only tell yourself that it’ll get better soon for so long before even that familiar lie loses its charm. It’ll be good to rest tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow will make you happier. You close your eyes and try to sleep, all but begging unconsciousness to fall over you and carry you away. Your waking life is horrid enough. In sleep, at least, you will be alone, but–

In your dream, there is a boy. He was not there before. He is, in fact, nobody you have ever seen before. This should not be a problem. Dreams are rarely perfectly photographic, but this boy is, indeed, perfect. He’s absolutely in focus, blurred by none of that dreamlike haze that most figures cling to in your subconscious. It’s like a memory, but it’s never happened. It’s like reality, but you are still definitely asleep.

You stare at him for longer than is perhaps polite, but he does not go away. You can feel this dream in a way that should not be possible– the carpet under your feet, the cool of the air conditioning. You’re in your room, standing by the door. He’s perched on a chair, eyeing you with interest, and as bizarre as this dream is, you cannot shake the absolute certainty that this is his fault.

The only thing to be left, then, is to get some answers. You work up the confidence to speak, and your voice sounds exactly as it should, not distorted by dreams or anything. “Who are you?”

The boy chuckles. “A friend of yours. Hopefully, that is. I’d like to get to know you.”

Having gone a record number of years of your life without any hyperrealistic boys disrupting your dreaming schedule, especially ones who specifically wanted to meet you of all people, this only adds to your confusion. “Why?”

The boy shrugs liberally. “I’ve been encountering fewer and fewer dreamers around. Yours are the most vibrant. I was curious.”

You fight the odd urge to laugh. “A lot of people dream. Maybe you’re just bad at looking.”

This is, of course, the most rational thing you can do, immediately pick a fight with some guy currently terrorizing your brainwaves. Luckily, he doesn’t seem offended by your need to argue, and he just grins. “See, you’re right, but most dreams are nothing more than surface level. Yours are deeper, richer, stronger. In all honesty, that’s the sort of thing that makes me more powerful, so I wanted to see what it was about.”

You scoff. “Sure thing, magic boy, you, like, eat dreams or something. Weird of you, but okay.”

He smiles again. He shouldn’t, but he does. “You don’t believe me? I can show you.”

He stands, holds out a hand to you. You’re certain this guy’s nothing more than a figment of your imagination, but still. You hesitate. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Peter,” he says, “but magic boy works too.”

It makes you laugh. Shouldn’t, but it does. Just enough to shake loose your hesitations– what could happen here, after all, in the confines of your own dreams? You take his hand and something sparks behind his eyes. Pride, maybe. Or justification of some sort. Either way, you get the feeling that he’s just proven himself right.

Peter walks over to your window, throwing it open abruptly and climbing out onto the ledge. “You have to trust me,” he tells you, “or this isn’t going to work very well.”

You want to argue with him that you have absolutely no reason to trust him at all, but for some reason you’re already crawling out the window before you can get the words out. Your body trusts him, even as your mind doubts it. Strange, but nothing about this makes sense, anyway.

Peter straightens up slowly, bringing you with him. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” You ask, concerned.

His eyes dance with mischief. “For this,” he calls out, and he pulls you from the ledge.

There is a terrible moment of falling, when the only sure thing is his hand still wrapped around yours. You are plummeting towards the ground with dreadful speed, but then you’re not, and you’re leveling out again, the two of you pulled through the air as if by some invisible string.

The wind whips through Peter’s hair as the two of you soar through the air. “How is it?” He shouts over to you.

You laugh delightedly. “Fantastic.” It’s almost a pity it isn’t real. The fact that it feels so true but isn’t is almost more heartbreaking as if nothing had felt like reality in the slightest.

Before you know it, you and Peter are well beyond the reaches of your town, or even your country. Dark waters skim by underneath you, the waves of some foreign sea. Thousands of stars twinkle above you, Peter points out a few, shouts, second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning, that’ll get us there. You frown at him, call back, where? And he laughs, delighted in the thought of all that you have soon to experience, and screams, Neverland! at the top of his lungs.

It sounds like a joyous place. It is, from the moment you step foot on its pearlescent beaches, and later still, when you’re striding through the lush forests towards a campsite. It’s all a blur from that moment onwards, a swirl of new faces running towards you and laughing at your jokes, the clash of swords without a trace of fear, promises that you’ll love this even better, or that, or everything.

It is paradise. You do a hundred things and never tire. The Lost Boys who meet you, take you by storm, and obviously enjoy the company of a newcomer. Throughout all of it, Peter watches, tucked into the shadow of a tree trunk, arms folded across his chest with that satisfied smile on his face again. He does not approach until earlier into the morning, once dawn starts bleeding out beneath the blushing fingers of the rising sun.

“We have to go back,” he tells you at last, slipping out from his hideaway to step carefully to your side, “Or, you do, at least.”

The memory that none of this is real comes crashing down upon you, and you can feel the ecstasy of this whole night leaving you in a flash. “Right,” you say, “This is just a dream. Forgot about that.”

The thought that you’ll have to wake up and go to school and exist again as a normal person without any of this wonder that you’d just experienced makes you feel sick and saddened. Peter shakes his head, eyes soft. “You don’t necessarily have to wake up, but you should. You can come back soon, though.”

You laugh bitterly. “Of course I can, dream boy. I’m going to forget all of this by morning.”

He frowns. “Do you want to?”

“No,” you insist, “but I don’t think I have a choice.”

“You do,” Peter tells you, “You always have a choice. Always.”

With that, he takes your hand, and pulls just so. You stumble forward, caught off balance, and when you look up again, you’re in your room. Same four walls, same ceiling, same everything. You know somehow that this is the dream no longer, even without mysterious boys or wonderful islands in front of you.

A dreadful sigh leaves your lungs, carrying only heartbreak and misery. What a pity, to have such a magnificent dream and then have to leave it. Knowing that none of it was real is perhaps one of the worst agonies you have ever encountered in your life.

Or– was it not real after all? There’s something clenched in your hand, and you raise it slowly, uncurling the fingers one by one. What falls neatly onto your lap is a stone, polished to perfection by centuries of tides. It’s like no stone you’ve ever seen around here, shiny in a way that nothing natural is. It’s dark and lovely and– and it’s exactly like the ones on the shores of Neverland when you first touched down. There was no way you could have gotten it anywhere but there. That means that you were there after all, and that it’s real, it’s all real.

You go throughout the day in a haze, barely able to focus long enough to remember where you’re supposed to be going. None of it matters, though, not even the snide comments of your teachers or the questioning looks from your peers. Nothing matters, because the second the day ends and night creeps back around you, you know it’s time.

You have a brief moment of terror just before you fall asleep when you wonder if you can get back after all, that perhaps that was just a one time thing. No, you decide firmly, I want it. I’m going.

And, when you open your eyes to that same slightly uncanny feeling of the dream before, you know it, you can get back. Peter isn’t here this time, but that doesn’t stop you from racing to your window and throwing open the sash. You leap out into the air again blindly, reaching for the stars even before your feet leave the threshold. You won’t get hurt, none of this is real. All of this is real, that’s why you can fly into the air again, caught by an unseen hand. Second star to the right. Straight on until morning. You know the way. You couldn’t forget it if you tried.

The beaches of Neverland are empty, but you charge forward anyway, nearly tripping over tree roots and loose plants as you hurry through the forest. You can just see the lights of the camp, and then, yes, you’re into the clearing, and you’re greeted by shouts of glee and joy. Peter’s waiting for you at last, slowly clapping with the rest of the boys.

“You made it,” he says, evidently proud, “We wanted to see if you could.”

“Of course I can,” you tell him, laughing, “I made that choice.”

“That you did,” Peter says, and the celebrations begin.

It is quite possibly the best time of your entire life. You repeat this process day after day, slogging through your daylight hours with the end goal of being able to fall asleep and go back to Neverland, back to your Lost Boys, back to Peter. Nothing matters but the island. They all get along with you better than any friend you’ve ever made on the mainland.

The journey takes a shorter and shorter time, gone in the blink of an eye, and half the time you just wake up on the shores anyway, so familiar is the destination to you. You learn archery, throw knives, spar with the boys, shriek and shout and spin around the campfire. It’s fantastic, all of it, but that only makes the morning even worse in your opinion.

For, no matter how excellent of a night you had on Neverland, you always have to go back. Always. Peter takes your hand and he gives you that same look, that expression of regret and acceptance, and promises to see you later, to see you soon. Then you’re back in your house, and every time, the storm of homesickness and grief at no longer being on your island pulls you under.

It makes you think, though. On your first night on Neverland, Peter had said something strange about how you didn’t necessarily have to wake up. Perhaps it fits in with what he’s been telling you about how everything is just a choice. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to want that choice, the one to live here forever. It’s one you’d make in a heartbeat if you could only do it.

Curious, though, you start looking around at the other Lost Boys. They had to have gotten here somehow, right? One night you see one of them arrive, ferried over by a strange shadowy thing that looks far more terrifying than the whirlwind flight you’d had with Peter.

You ask one of the Lost Boys about it that night, interested to know why you were brought by Peter and this newcomer wasn’t. Apparently, though, you were the anomaly, not this boy.

“Usually Pan makes his shadow bring newcomers over,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly, “but I guess he wanted to impress you or something.”

You frown. “Why?”

The boy lifts a shoulder, evidently unbothered by the whole affair. “You’re the last of the dreamers, I guess he wants to keep you around or something.”

It’s an unhelpful answer, all things considered, and basically just what Peter had told you in your dream bedroom that first night. Still, the story is consistent, at least, and it makes you even more certain that Peter wants you to stay. You’re one of the dreamers, right? Why wouldn’t he want you to stay here forever, at least to keep his magic strong if not for the obvious friendship the two of you have had since the very first time you met?

You resolve to bring it up to Peter the next night. You’ve barely been on Neverland for an hour or two before you pull Peter aside and tell him what’s been on your mind for the longest time.

The breath out of your lungs is shaky, but you’re determined to get this right. “I want to stay in Neverland,” you tell him. “Forever, I mean. Not waking up. I want you to bring me here in real life. You always say that we have to make choices, and this is mine. I choose Neverland.”

Peter nods slowly, and you’re almost getting up your hopes that he’ll be accepting when he starts to speak. “That certainly would be an important choice. I would have to choose to bring you, though.”

You incline your head once. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you now. I mean, we’re friends, right? You and me, and the rest of the Lost Boys get along with me, too. I belong here, you know that. You brought me here in the first place, at least let me stay.”

He’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? After too many minutes, Peter sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Dreaming is one thing. Actually living here is something else entirely.”

“I know,” you say, starting to get impatient, “I’ve thought about this a lot, trust me, but I feel more alive on your island than I have in the real world. This is my home, Peter. You made it my home.”

Peter stares at you, the ground, his hands, and back to you. “No,” he says at last.

It feels as if you have fallen off of a tall cliff, condemned to tumble down forever in endless emptiness. “What? Why wouldn’t you– you’ve let me come here every night for months, but actually being on this island for good is too much for you? Peter, was any of this actually real to you? Was I just here as a temporary thing while you tried to harness the power of a dreamer or something?”

Peter shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It wasn’t about that. You’re as good as one of my Lost Boys–”

You cut him off, feeling the horror build in your chest with every passing second. “But never actually one of them, right? I can hang around during my nights but I will never be one of them, because you don’t really want me here. If you did, you would have brought me like all the others.”

You want to scream and cry, perhaps both. You’ve trusted him and, hell, even loved him, more than anyone else. Peter was the one thing in between you and complete melancholy. He’s turned your whole life around, given you reason after reason to keep going, but he does not want you around for good. Maybe he doesn’t even want you around at all.

He’s trying to say something, come up with some excuse that’ll somehow exempt him from your heartbreak, but anger is quickly outweighing sadness in your mind and you won’t let him. “No,” you say shakily, “If you never intended to keep me, I won’t waste our time. Why have me here at all?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Wait, please–”

You never hear the end of his sentence. You’ve woken yourself up from this glorious dream enough to be able to do it all by yourself, and you do it now. When you open your eyes, it’s still dark outside, several hours from morning, but it’s over now, it’s all over.

You know that with certainty. You’ll never be going back. If Peter does not want you, and it is suddenly crystal clear that he does not, or he would have already taken you to Neverland and never fought it, then you will not trouble him with your presence any longer. This is what he wants, even if it destroys you. 

It’s funny, realizing how much being on Neverland transformed your life. Your waking hours suddenly seem longer, the days filled with more dread and dullness than they ever had before. You had been miserable before you dreamed of Peter and the Lost Boys, and now that misery is back in full force. You compel yourself to forget him, to forget everything that had happened on that island, but picking up the pieces is a far harder task than you had ever anticipated.

Days pass. Weeks. Months. At first, you have to force yourself to wake up from that dream again and again, catching yourself with the image of second stars to the right even as you promised yourself that you would never think of it again, but it gets easier as time goes by. That hurts more than it should, but you have no other choice. Peter does not put himself in your dreams again. You do not show up to Neverland. Everything is exactly as it was before, but worse, because now you have those memories of a time that was far better than this one.

You’re walking home from school one day when you’re reminded of Neverland again. It’s a strong memory, forcing itself to the front of your mind. Green trees, the leaves waving overhead. The breeze whipping at your face. You can’t imagine why you’d be thinking of it again, and then you turn a corner and he’s there in front of you. 

Peter.

It’s impossible. You’re not dreaming, so he shouldn’t be here unless– unless he actually came here. You stand stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, and Peter looks back at you, just as shaken even though he’s the one who came all this way.

“I miss you,” he says slowly, unsteadily. You’ve never seen Peter hesitant, or ever show any sign of a lapse in his typical cocky confidence. Not until now, that is. Truly, he has no idea how you will treat him now that you’ve already left once before and gotten away with it.

“I know,” you tell him, “I know.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, trying to get a read on you. “Did you miss me?”

You take a step to the side, looking at the nearby scenery, anything but him. “Yes. Parts of it. I missed running with the Lost Boys under the trees. I missed the bonfires and the dancing. And yes, I think I missed you. But I hated feeling like you didn’t want me there, and for a while, that was enough to make me think I didn’t miss you.”

Peter’s eyes are wide, twin emeralds twinkling in the quiet air. “And what about now that I’m here? Can you miss me now?”

“I can,” you decide at last. You do. You have, and seeing him again has ripped open a fresh wound you swore had already healed. Blood is oozing around your fingers, but for some reason being with him still takes away the pain of such a grievous blow.

Peter holds out a hand to you. He’s trembling slightly, far less sure of himself than he’d been in a dream of your bedroom many months ago. Still. He wants you even now.

“Come back with me,” he says, “Back to Neverland. We all need you. I need you. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. It was always your home, I didn’t realize it before. It could be your home again.”

You look at him. It’s been a long time. You’ve grown up in the time since you last stepped foot on the island, but strangely enough, you think he has too. That’s why you’re able to take his hand at last, and trust that he will not let you down again. He needs you, just like he said. As it turns out, you need him too.

Peter’s smile is radiant. “Shall we go back, then?”

You allow yourself to smile back at last. “I think we will.”

ouat tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

[justanoasisimagines]

Fluff Alphabet

Hey my lovelies back with another fluff alphabet, my requests are open and my guidelines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

A = Affection - How afectionate are they? Do they like recieving affection etc?

Killian is an extremely affectionate person. Physical Touch is one of his love languages. He also likes you to be affectionate with him. Killian can be quite cheeky with his affection. Sometimes being affectionate to get a reaction out of you.

B = Bathing - Do they like to bathe or shower alone? What's it like to share a bath or shower with him?

Killian prefers showering with you. Killian witnesses bathing as an opportunity to relax, to talk about your days, to allow you both to soak off the week. A shower is another opportunity for Killian to roam his hands over your body, perfect for kisses and intimate moments. Being in a relationship with Killian means rarely showering alone.

C = Cooking - Can they cook? Do they like to cook? Would they cook for you? What type of dishes would they like to cook?

Killian is not the best cook in the world. In your relationship, you would do the majority of the cooking. Killian would not be eager to learn how to cook, he knows the basics, and he can get by. However, he doesn't enjoy the process.

D = Dates - What type of dates would they like to go on? Do they like to plan dates? Be taken on dates? How frequently is date night? etc

Going on dates is something Killian isn't used to. He knows how to court someone, but the modern idea of dating is confusing to Killian. You would have to teach Killian about all the activities you could do for a date. It could be quite fun, Killian would be happy with it too. It gives him an excuse to spend time with you.

E = Effort - How much effort do they put in? How do they show their efforts? Are they either an all out or all in kind of person?

Killian is an all-in kind of person. He's never going to do anything half-arsed. He knows early on if he wants to put effort into your relationship. Killian shows his effort by giving you his quality time being affectionate and merging his world with yours.

F = Family - Do they want to have children? What would family life look like? How many children do they want? etc?

Killian wouldn't be opposed to having a family, however, he's in no rush for it. He'd want his children to enjoy life on the sea as much as he does. He'd be a stern parent, wanting the best for his children. Killian would also love telling them stories.

G = Gentleman/Lady - How much of a gentleman/lady would they be? Would they hold out doors for you? Pull out your chair? Walk on the road side? etc

Killian is a gentleman in his own loveable rouge way. He's not going to be sweet, but he is charming and protective. No one is going to hurt you and get away with it. He will keep you out of harm's way. He'll open doors out for you, only to whisper something in your ear.

H = Honeymoon - Where would they like to go on honeymoon? What would it look like? etc

Killian would like to spend his honeymoon with you on the Jolly Roger. He'd like to travel across the oceans with you taking you to all his favourite spots. The length of the honeymoon would depend on you both. Killian wouldn't mind if you went away for a few days or several days to a couple of months. Only providing it's just you two.

I = I love you - How long would it take them to fall in love with you? How would they confess? Is it a big deal to them etc?

It takes a while for Kilian to fall in love with you. He doesn't expect to at first, Seeing it as nothing more than playful flirtatious banter yet it unexpectedly blossoms. Telling you is a big deal to Killian, he searched for the right moment. He fails on several occasions. He wants you to know he's serious and committed to you, so for Killian, the moment has to be just right.

J = Jealously - How easily do they get jealous? What makes them jealous? How do they react when your jealous? etc

Killian is a jealous person. He doesn't take too kindly to approaching you or flirting with you. He's naturally a possessive person. He has two forms of approach, direct and non-direct. Either way, he's not going to let it slide.

I've got a jealously headcanon here which goes into more detail.

K = Kisses - What kisses are they more likely to give? What kisses do they like to recieve? etc

Giving; Neck kisses, passionate kisses, come back to bed kisses, possessiv kisses,

Recieving; Good night kisses, good morning kisses, passionate kisses, sleepy kisses etc.

L = Love Language - What's their love language(s)? What languages are they most receptive to?

Killian's love language which he's receptive to and one of his love languages is physical touch. He prefers to show his emotions rather than have an emotionally deep conversation with you. Killian's secondary love language would be gift-giving. He'd surprise you with random things he'd found on his journeys to give you.

M = Marriage - Do they want to get married? What would being married to them look like? Do they want a large or small wedding? etc

Killian wants to get married more than he lets on. He wants you to have his last name. He wants to bind you together forever. When Killian marries you, there is no going back for him. Killian's not fussed over how big or small the ceremony is as long as he gets to marry you.

N = Nicknames - What nicknames would they use for you? Do you give any to them?

You; Love, Sweetheart, Darling, My Sweet, Beautiful,

O = Obvious - How obvious are they? What gives them away? Their face or actions?

It's difficult to tell if Killian likes you or not. He's naturally flirtatious and charming, it's difficult to tell if he's being serious about you. Even others around you can't tell if he's doing it because it's naturally him or because he likes you. Killian does have to be blunt with his intentions. Being more physically affectionate etc. In the end, Killian does have to have a conversation with you about his feelings and his intentions.

P = Public Displays of Affection - Do they enjoy PDA? How comfotable are they with PDA?

Killian loves public displays of affection. He does it in a kind of possessive way of telling everyone around, you belong to him. He also can't get enough of you. He's affectionate because he wants to me, if not being a little bit cheeky at times. Killian's always pushing boundaries of what's suitable in public.

Q = Quality Time - How do they like to spend quality time with you? How do they make time? Can they communicate effectively when they need quality time with you?

Killian loves traveling with you. He loves spending time with you on the Jolly Roger exploring the world together. It's his favorite way to spend any time with you. Kilian is not the best communicator, so when he needs to spend time with you, he'll eventually drag you away from whatever's taking up your time.

R = Romantic - Do they consider themselves romantic?

Killian considers himself to be romantic. He knows how to make you swoon. He knows what you like, so he'd considered himself to be romantic. Although, he finds himself learning about confusing courting methods. He's not going to follow all of them because he thinks some are odd. He does like to bring you flowers and chocolate from time to time.

T = Tease - Do they like to tease you? If so, how?

Yes, Killian does love to tease you. he likes to see you caught off guard when he whispers something into your ear. Killian feels powerful with the knowledge he can get a reaction out of you. It's usually by whispering something provocative in your ear.

U = Umbrella - Would they hold an umbrella for you? Would they kiss you in the rain? Dance with you in the rain?

Killian doesn't understand the point of umbrellas. It comes from spending so much time on the ocean, that he's experienced rough seas. There's not much you can do and it's only a little water. However, will he kiss you in the rain? Absolutely, he doesn't need the rain to find an excuse to kiss you. Dancing? He doesn't dance, and he doesn't want to lose his reputation, but if you ask him enough, he will just for you.

V = Vanity - How do they see themselves? Positively or negatively? What's their favourite part of their body etc?

Killian likes what he sees in the mirror. He sees himself as rugged and handsome. His favorite feature is his face. He believes that is the body party that attracted you to him in the first place.

W = Whole - When you're apart do they feel like part of them is missing? How do they deal with being apart from you?

Kilian can handle being away from you, it doesn't mean he likes it. He doesn't like being away from you for too long. A couple of days at most. While you're away life continues as normal, however, his mind flickers to you frequently.

X = Xtra - An extra headcanon

Killian keeps a picture of you in his pocket. He doesn't like most modern technology, however, cameras have proved to be useful. Now he can keep a picture of you wherever he goes. He can look at it whenever he pleases.

Y = You - What do you they like most about you? Favourite body part etc?

Killian's favorite of your body would be the whole thing. There is not a part of your body he doesn't like. His favorite part of your personality would be your ability to keep up with him. He needs someone who can keep up with him and the fact you do makes him even more eager.

Z = Zzzz - Sleeping headcanons

Killian likes to be the big spoon. He also sleeps by the door, if someone is going to attack you while you're sleeping, he wants to be the first person they make contact with. Killian doesn't sleep with his hook on, but his sword is placed beside his bed.

[miralines]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (In Space) - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Jonny d'Ville & Rose Red Clone(s) Characters: Jonny d'Ville, Rose Red Clone(s), nastya and briar both briefly appear but not enough to tag Additional Tags: POV Outsider, Canon-Typical Violence, not described super graphically though, Sleeping Beauty (Song), the fall of fort rapunzel, The Reality Of Clone Soldiers With Zero Human Rights, Timeskips, the character death is of two of the pov rose reds Series: Part 15 of One Thousand and Three Summary:

A man strides lazily out of the bushes, hands up and well away from the old-fashioned revolver on his hip. He’s dressed oddly, not nearly warmly enough for a norm in this climate and wearing too many belts. Unlike most of the norms 593 has met, he doesn’t look the least bit intimidated by her.

Three times Rose Reds were completely unprepared to encounter Jonny d'Ville.

[thestorybrookeclocktower]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan Characters: Emma Swan, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Violet Morgan (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: in qualche modo ci sono anche Cait e Vi, Caitlyn and Vi are in Love (League of Legends), and so are Emma and Regina, tutti sanno che sono canon tranne loro ovviamente, TWO IDIOTS, Oil and Water - Freeform Summary:

Henry organizza una festa di Halloween in ritardo e costringe le sue madri a travestirsi da Caitlyn e Vi di Arcane...

[poisonappleeater]

Regina x Trans Male Reader !!

regina mills x trans male reader (reminder that this is just in relation to my personal transmasc experience, everyone’s can be vastly different!!)

prompt: regina helping you out w/ dysphoria after rumplestiltskin says some crazy transphobic shit (takes place in storybrooke)

i also tried to not actually trigger anyones gender dysph lmaooooo so i do not get specific about it

Rumplestiltskin looked you up and down with a cold stare.

“I believe that you’re to use the women’s bathroom, dearie.” You felt your face go hot with frustration (and maybe even some embarrassment). God dammit. You just wanted to wash your hands in peace. To be quick and quiet was the best option, so you took a deep breath and scrubbed the soap off your hands with much more vigor and velocity than you had just a few seconds before. The water scalded your hands and turned them a little pinker. Mr. Gold scoffed through his nose.

“Even your low pain tolerance agrees that you are not a man, and it’s likely that you never will be.” Silence no longer felt like your best option. You’d come to Storybrooke as soon as your best friend, Aurora had told you that it would be easier to live as yourself, as a man, in a more modern realm. You didn’t consider that Rumplestiltskin would be trying to get under, well, your skin.

You spoke, as lowly as possible, “What would you know about being a man? You sacrifice your relationships for power. What does that make you?” His gaze faltered, and you felt like you had gotten to him. You also felt just a bit concerned for your safety. Gold took a steady breath and a thourough pause.

“I think that makes me a powerful man. At least more powerful than you. Correct? I recall you coming to me for guidance.” You scoffed, but your lip auivered. Seeking help from Rumplestiltskin back in the Enchanted Forest didn’t make you any less of a man. Everyone had at least once looked for help from the Dark One. Before a salty tear could escape your eye, you fled the men’s restroom and stepped foot back into the welcoming, red-and-blue ambience of Granny’s Diner. You released a shaky sigh and looked for your girlfriend.

Regina. There she was. Even the thought of her made your cheeks warm, despite your prior encounter with Gold. She was chatting comfortably with the Charming’s. Your need for your girlfriend’s warmth made you nearly start running towards your table. She spotted you instantly and smiled genuinely. It was clear you were equally enamored with one another.

“Hey, Y/N,” Regina greeted warmly. She noticed how fast you were walking.

“Hey, hey, slow down, it’s okay.” The well-dressed woman placed a hand on your back and guided you to sit beside her in the booth’s cushiony seat, with your leg touching hers. Regina laughed a little at the sight of you adorably speed-walking to the table. Taking a second glance at you, though, she could tell something bothered you. Your girlfriend’s face darkened with concern.

“Did something happen in the bathroom sweetheart?” Her arm wrapped further around you. Her line of sight travelled behind you when Rumplestiltskin came out of the bathroom.

“That son of a bitch.” Gina was livid. She tried to fathom how Rumplestiltskin could have possibly threatened her boyfriend. He could be up to literally anything. The vein above her right brow bulged so severely you thought it’d burst. You had to admit, her anger was hot. You felt her starting to stand up.

“No, no, Gina. It’s really okay,” you reassured. “No magical threats or sketchy deals were made. Promise.” The woman with burgendy lips looked into your eyes to ensure that you told the truth.

“Okay.” She sighed and crossed her arms, then sat down to kiss your cheek. You leaned in happily. The rest of dinner with the Charmings allowed the two of you to forget about Rumplestiltskin.

…

You locked the front door behind you and Regina and were suddenly too aware of your own body. Friendly chatter from Emma, Killian, David, Snow, and Henry filled your ears just minutes ago. And now, the quiet of Regina’s home flooded your mind with the words of Runplestiltskin.

“Hey, Y/N, baby?” Regina had both hands around your cheeks. You were sitting on the couch. You don’t remember moving at all since getting home. “I was asking you about a movie you wanted to watch, but-“

“Yes! Yeah, I’m sorry. We wanted to watch that movie. I’d love to,” you blurted. You gave your lover a half-smile.

“No. Gold said something to you. He’s plaguing your pretty little head,” she cooed. She sat down beside you and provided you with space to talk with her properly. You smiled at the gesture.

“It was nothing new. He said that I’m not a man. I can’t do anything about that. I feel like a man, but I don’t have the parts.” Regina intook your words with great conscience. Her glossy eyes looked into yours. She spoke after contemplating for a moment.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from this realm, it’s that rules that we used to abide by back home were not laws of nature. They were laws made by people. And people can be so stupid, my love. That means that we, as smarter people, are allowed to live by rules that fit our logic. And according to my logic, you’re a man, sweetheart, regardless of what body you have. I know that because that’s what you’ve told me, that’s how you truly feel, and that’s how I think of you. You are whatever you think yourself to be. I love you for it, my sweet boy.”

“I love you, Gina. Thank you.” She took her time to memorize your handsome face for the thousandth time.

“Can I come close to you?” your lover asked, gently. You nodded and placed your head in her neck. she took you into her arms and stroked your hair.

“I still want to kill him,” Regina confessed. Her sharp words contradicted the gentle pets that she gave you.

You laughed. “Sure, Gina, just not today.” She couldn’t be upset when you were so calm and cute. Regina kissed your head and chuckled into your ear. You loved the sound of her laugh and the smell of her shampoo. Apple. So fitting.

“Okay, not today,” she sighed lightheartedly. “How about that movie?”

…

Soon, you had both showered and gotten ready for bed. There was no better feeling to you than being clean, on the couch, with your girlfriend about to watch a movie. You laid atop her chest while her legs entrapped your middle. Rumplestiltskin’s comments remained forgotten, and you and Regina remained content.

—

Hope this was okay!! Feel free to comment on anything, if anyone sees this. I’m kinda new to actually writing ff

[blackbrd]

Masterlist

Criminal minds

Yellowjackets