#but I can only hear knitting being so lovingly described for so long before my fingers itch to pick up my needles

[bywandandsword]

You ever be reading a fic and the author is clearly a knitter and gave one of the characters knitting as a hobby, and then the author made two different characters knitting sweaters for the main protagonist as an expression of love and comforting an actually important B plot, and sweaters themselves becoming symbolic of asserting one's bodily autonomy and practising genuine self care, while also symbolizing a desire for physical comfort, which was denied to the main protagonist until the Plot of the fic happened

You ever have that happen to you, when you yourself are a knitter, and go, well I have no choice but cast on a sweater for myself, now do I?

[kumqu4t]

Hi! This is for the Ship description thing from the Group Chat. I’m an Autistic Bisexual Woman, and a Writer and Craftsman who draws, writes, bakes bread, keeps way too many journals tbh, and I’ve recently gotten into smithing and sewing, as well! I’ve been described as many things, ranging from “Merry Brandybuck or Aragorn Vibes” to “Owl-like”, and I know myself very well.

I’m 4’ 11” (149.86 cm) tall with messy brown hair, crooked glasses, light blue eyes, pale skin covered in moles and scabs, with freckles on my arms and shoulders. I always seem to bundle up no matter the season, and I love sweaters and my wool-lined corduroy jacket.

I grew up in the Mountains, and I also have a ridiculously good sense of Intuition to the point where I can feel when it’s going to rain before it even really happens, and I have yet to be proven wrong in my weather predictions. It’s hard to describe, I can just kinda feel it in the air, I guess. My love language is absolutely Gift Giving, as I love making and getting my loved ones things that remind me of them, and I have a habit of collecting books, gemstones and sentimental items. My interests include Writing and Craftsmanship, Ireland, Fantasy and Tolkien, Witchcraft and Spirits, Classical Literature, and certain Aesthetics like Dark Academia or Cottagecore. I'm Excitable, Curious, Creative, Intelligent, Kind, Aloof at times, Introverted, Nervous, Silly at times, “Wise beyond my years”, Oddly Mature for my age, Eloquent, sometimes Depressed, Career-oriented, Largely Focused on self-betterment. Sorry this is so long, but thank you so much in advance!

i ship you with thorin!

headcannons:

* thorin thinks your height is absolutely adorable (even though you aren’t that much shorter than him), resulting in:

* endless forehead kisses

* oh you got a papercut? thorin will carry you to the infirmary

* ranting about your hyperfixations while thorin looks on lovingly “that’s my girl”

* you become great friends with thorin’s sister dís, and she helps you plan your wedding

* thorin and you head to the forge together and spend days crafting together

* (yes thorin takes his shirt off while smithing...👀)

* your weather intuition contrasts humorously with thorin’s lack of direction

* you have so many khuzdul nicknames!!! (his favorite for you is ghivashel- treasure of all treasures)

* thorin loves giving you gemstones he finds around erebor to add to your collection

* he crafts many things for you: jewelry, chainmail, trinkets, you name it!

* you are total besties with bilbo, you go to him to complain about thorin’s hard-headedness

* you write beautiful, romantic poems for thorin and he is blown away every time

* and if he wipes away a tear or two after you’re done reading, well you don’t mention it

* he LOVES to brag about you to anyone who will listen

* since you are queen under the mountain, you get nervous during meetings and such, but thorin is always there to sooth you with secretive under-the-table hand holding

* whenever you get insecure or overwhelmed, you always have a pep talk on hand

* you are amazing, beautiful, intelligent, talented, and more, and thorin never lets you forget that!

* whenever thorin gets stressed about his duties as king, you are always there with sage advice

* you give him the tough love he needs to hear

* when thorin is having trouble sleeping (nightmares, overthinking) you read him tales from his childhood

* thorin tries to learn to knit so he can make you sweaters,, he is not very successful, but hey it’s the thought that counts!

* thorin braiding your hair!!!!!!!!!!!

* thorin finding your love of learning so endearing

* he tells you whatever you want to know about middle earth, dwarves, etc

* you learning khuzdul!!!!!!

* you being a human (with the lifespan difference and whatnot) is a subject of anxiety at first, but after nearly dying, thorin learns that time with loved ones is precious, and he wants to spend that time with you

* “not even mahal himself could keep me from you”

(you’re the only one who can make him smile like this)

[langdvnshepherd]

Outpost!Michael coming home from work early, and to his horror sees reader's clothes tossed around the apt leading to the bedroom where her loud moans are coming from. He immediately jumps to conclusions and begins to panic and thinks she's cheating on him. Only to hear his name being moaned as he's about to kick down the door . . .

Word Count: 1.5k

Creating the new world was a taxing job, meaning Michael making an appearance in his home before sundown was a rare sight. Not even that, really. Most nights, he barely makes it back to his home with enough time to shower, eat the cold leftovers from the fridge, and pass out next to his already sleeping lover. She understands, of course, knowing that the fruits of his labor will soon blossom and they will be able to live peacefully as the rulers of the new world that Michael built.

Today, however, Michael had had enough with the Cooperative. In fact, he was so fed up with the incessant rambling of his colleagues that he up and left in the middle of a meeting, tasking his poor assistant with the rest of his responsibilities for the day. He stopped by the Sanctuary’s garden on the way home with the idea that he’d treat himself and his lady waiting patiently for him at home to a colorful, fresh meal.

The tall paper bag that was filled to the brim with the finest produce the Sanctuary had to offer was balanced expertly in Michael’s arms as he unlocked his front door and teetered into the kitchen. He thought he was in the clear, that was until he almost tripped on his way towards the island. Peering over his shoulder, he looked down to see an unidentifiable black mass crumpled up on the floor.

His brows knit in confusion as he sat his groceries down and inspected the item he’d almost slipped on. When he unfurled the fabric from the hardwood, he realized what he was holding.

Her pants?

Only adding to his confusion, next to the bag of goods he’s laid on the granite tabletop was an empty wine bottle as well two empty glasses, remnants of the dark, maroon liquid pooling at the bottom of one of the glasses near the stem.

Michael calls out for his lover, because she was nowhere to be found in the kitchen or the living room. As he circled the area, his feet brushed against another wad of clothing, this time near the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

Her shirt.

Well, it was Michael’s, but he’d given up ownership after she’d slept in it more times than he did. It was then that he’d heard the first sign of life in his house since he’d walked through the doors just minutes ago.

It was muffled, but it was undeniably her voice. Her moans. The noises she was making sent Michael into a panic. He was the only one that was allowed to hear those sounds, the only one to cause her to make them. As he rounded the corner to follow them, he realized where she was.

Their bedroom.

Light slipped through the cracks of the door, illuminating part of the hallway and shining a sliver of light on her lacy bralette that laid right outside of where the noise was coming from.

Michael’s vision began going in and out as he put the pieces together. The two wine glasses, her discarded clothes, her moans. How could he do this to her? It was just the other night when she’d sleepily told him how much she loved him, and that she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him in the new society that he created.

But the more important question to Michael at that moment was not why, it was who. Who was in there with her?

All he heard was white noise as he stomped loudly towards the closed bedroom door, ready to kick it down and incinerate the man that dare lay beside her in his bed with his lover. Just as he raised his fist to fling open the door, he heard her say something else.

“Michael.”

Her moans intensified, picking up in pitch and volume. They were even needier sounding than before, almost exactly like the noises she made when Michael made her grind her core against his thigh to get herself off rather than bouncing on his cock.

Rather than slamming the door open with force, his fingers danced along the cool, metal knob. He turned it slowly as to not startle her, but though with how loudly she was mewling, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Michael peered his head around the wood of the door, unsure of what in the absolute fuck he was about to interrupt.

An audible sigh of relief escaped Michael’s throat when the scene before him unraveled. His lover was in bed, yes. But she was not with another man.

She was alone.

Legs splayed out in the middle of the bed, her back resting against the headboard. Her eyes were screwed shut in concentration, one of her hands clutching tightly to the plump skin of one of her breasts. Sweat coated her skin as the wrist of her other hand rested on her pelvic bone and her fingers were rubbing furiously against her swollen, engorged clit, hopelessly chasing after a release that she knew wouldn’t come unless she had a little extra help.

“What’s this?” Michael pondered, his voice piercing the sounds of her moans.

It almost made him laugh aloud, to reflect on how worked up he’d been over the fact that she had potentially been cheating on him with another man in his own bed, only to find out that was just, in fact, masturbating. To the thought of him, no less.

Her eyes snapped open, but her expression that followed being startled by Michael was not one of fear or embarrassment. She chuckled when she was greeted by the tall blonde at such an odd hour. Her laughter was both full of the wine that she’d chugged just an hour prior and of relief that Michael had shown up at just the right time.

“Michael, you’re home,” she cheered breathlessly, her fingers still swirling around her heat, occasionally dropping down to slide into her core.

“Mhmm,” Michael hummed, feeling the adrenaline leave his body as he waltzed over to the edge of the bed where she lied.

“I’m not gonna lie, you had me worried for a minute. I thought you were in here with someone else.”

Her movements stopped abruptly, her brows furrowing together in disbelief of what Michael had just said to her.

“You thought I was cheating on you?”

“Well, yeah,” Michael shrugged his shoulders.

“There was the wine, your clothes on the floor, your moaning. I was thoroughly prepared to murder whoever was in here with you.”

He placed his hand across her bare thigh that was still spread across the mattress and stroked it with his thumb lovingly. Words couldn’t describe the relief he felt knowing none of what he thought just moments ago had been true.

She leaned forward and placed her hand over the top of Michael’s that was rubbing circles on her leg.

“Michael, I would never-”

“I know,” he interrupted.

“And I’m sorry for thinking that you ever would. I just couldn’t make sense of everything I saw out there,” he motioned towards the door, where the empty wine glasses and remnants of your clothes lied.

His lover laughed again, recalling how she’d ended up in this position to begin with.

“The wine was for us. I was waiting for you, but I figured you wouldn’t be home for a while so I got a little carried away. Clearly.”

She gestured her hands downward, referring to her exposed, naked body that was glistening with sweat.

Michael smiled at the woman lying beside him, wondering how he’d managed to rope in someone as genuine and bewildering as her.

“Clearly,” he repeated her words, patting her once more on the thigh.

“Wine certainly does put you in the mood.”

“Which is exactly why I’m glad you’re home so early,” she perked up, crawling over to where Michael was sitting and straddling her bare core against the thick wool material of his dress slacks.

“Any why is that?” Michael asked, tenderly brushing the stray hairs that clung to her neck and forehead as she situated herself in his lap.

“My fingers don’t feel as good as yours,” she pouted.

“Think you can help me out?”

She bit her bottom lip coyly with her teeth and peered up at him with doe eyes that she knew could convince Michael to do anything she asked.

Michael placed his hands on her sides, nodding gently before speaking.

“Of course, princess. As long as you do something for me when we’re done.”

Michael’s lover looked up at him perplexingly.

“What is it?”

“Let me cook for you,” Michael laughed.

“That’s the whole reason why I came home so early in the first place.”

She joined in on his laughter, hiding her face in his neck as her cheeks heated up upon realizing how innocent the reason for his visit was.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Langdon.”

Michael pulled her in by the neck for an amorous kiss, then pulled back quickly to whisper in her ear.

“Then get back on the bed and show me that pretty little pussy of yours again.”

Guess he’d be having his dessert first.

[tarysande]

As I'm still suffering some Lucifer feels could you maybe write something with a looooot of cuddling and some touch starvation/aversion if you have time/want to?

Your wish is my command

This one got a little long, so it’s also on AO3.

Sublime

#

Because the sex is great—really great, better than great, great’s not really a good enough word, actually—it takes Chloe a little too long to realize that even though Lucifer looks at her like she (and not he—and yes, sometimes that still breaks her brain just a little) put the stars in the sky, even first thing in the morning when she knows she looks roughly like something the cat dragged in, he's rarely the first to initiate physical contact. When she touches his arm or his shoulder or presses her lips to whatever tantalizing patch of skin is left bare by the collar or cuff of his shirt, he always smiles. His eyes always soften. He often murmurs sweet words or tender words or words that immediately result in larger swaths of bare skin.

But, unless it’s something polite or professional, he doesn't initiate.

At first, she thinks she’s being ridiculous. Like a good detective, she goes looking for evidence. She wears sleeveless shirts, shirts that bare the nape of her neck. He raises his eyebrows and gives exaggerated leers, but that’s nothing new. She pretends to stumble. Of course, Lucifer reaches out to steady her, but as soon as she’s stable he draws his hands respectfully back again, tucking them into the pockets of his suit.

Aggravatingly respectfully.

Finally, when she’s certain she’s not imagining things—her own evidence backed by unspecific but illuminating conversations with Linda and Maze and even Ella—she makes sure she and Lucifer have an evening free where they won’t be disturbed. She knows he’s more relaxed at his penthouse, surrounded by the things he has so painstakingly and specifically chosen to bring him pleasure or joy or comfort, so she meets him there. He sits at the piano, playing a melody she’s never heard before, an untouched glass of whiskey gleaming in the golden light, an unlit cigarette forgotten in a crystal ashtray.

“Detective!” He smiles. His eyes soften. Her heart skips the same beat it always skips when the full weight of having the entirety of his attention sinks home. His powers may not work on her the way they work on others, but he doesn’t need them to make her knees weak. “I wasn't expecting you. Weren’t you meant to have the child tonight?”

“Dan’s got her,” she says, shrugging out of her coat. She’s wearing a loose silk shirt that shifts, impossibly soft, against her skin. One of Lucifer’s eyebrows lifts and the smile turns hungry; she realizes she’s backlit and he can probably see the shape of her body beneath it. Rolling her eyes, she helps herself to a glass of wine. “I just... I guess I wanted to talk.”

Because she’s turned to face him again, she catches the flash of something she can only name terror cross his face.

“No,” she says at once, crossing to the piano. “Lucifer, no. Not like that.”

And though the smile returns almost before she notices it was gone, his eyes remain wary. She doesn’t miss the subtle stiffness in his posture or the way his fingers twitch before reaching for his glass. She’s seen children with that look. She’s seen beaten dogs with it. She hates seeing it on one of the faces most precious to her.

“Oh, Lucifer,” she breathes, almost a sigh, as she feels tears sting her eyes. Before he can shift completely into the protective concern she knows so well and loves so deeply and absolutely does not want to set the tone of tonight’s conversation, she moves to his couch and sits, tucking her feet up underneath her. Instead of asking him to join her, she waits for him to decide he wants to. Of course he does. And though he sits and immediately crosses his legs and faces toward her, almost leaning into her space, she notes the hand’s breadth he’s left between them.

“Detective?” he asks, the vulnerability so palpable her breath catches again and she has to swallow hard.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

He blinks at her, expression turning the kind of quizzical she can only describe as adorable, even though she knows how galled he’d be if she used the word.

To clarify, she says, “Not will you hold my hand. Do you want to?”

Again, an expression she knows too well from seeing it on frightened children waiting for the shouting to start, waiting for the hand in the dark or the sound of glass breaking, briefly shatters the composure he works so hard to maintain. As if worried she’s testing him—which, of course he thinks she’s testing him, oh, Lucifer—he says, “You... forgive me, Detective. Is that what you wish?”

Because she doesn’t want to hide behind her wine glass, she sets it on the table and faces him fully, palms open on her thighs. “Lucifer,” she says, careful not to let anything he might misunderstand as rejection color her tone. “I love you.” This time, she can't quite banish the tears before she blinks and they fall. “I know you love me.”

“Never in doubt,” he agrees. “Detective—”

Inhaling deeply, she says, “Yesterday, when I was standing at the bathroom sink, I saw you reach for me. I think you were going to touch the small of my back or rest your hand on the curve of my waist. I also saw you drop your hand and step back instead of doing it.”

“Did I?“ Genuine confusion knits his brow.

Gently, so gently, she continues, “This morning, at the station, your fingers brushed my wrist as you were reaching for a file at the same time I went for my coffee. You apologized.”

He drops his eyes. “If I’ve not been adequately attentive—”

“Lucifer,” she says, inching forward so their knees touch. He doesn't flinch or pull away, which she considers a win. She puts a hand against his stubbled cheek and feels the tension beneath her fingers. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s really not. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. It’s about what you want. It’s about what you desire. Because... because I think you want things and you... stop yourself.”

“That’s hardly accurate,” he retorts, a little sharp. Defensive. She wonders how it took her so long to see the hurt beneath the acid, the innuendo, the armor. “I’ve always been quite open about what I desire. Shall we retire downstairs to see the evidence?”

She doesn’t protest or admonish him or rise to his bait. Tipping his glass back, he empties it in a single pull. She doesn’t think the high color in his cheeks is from the alcohol. A war rages within him as he decides whether he’ll stay on the couch or retreat to the bar for another drink; she can see it so clearly now that she knows what to look for. After a moment, he sets his glass down next to hers. “Of course I want to hold your hand,” he says, words still clipped and precise. “I always want to hold your hand, brush my fingers through your hair, kiss the curve of your collarbone.”

She nods. “Okay.”

His eyes search hers and he says nothing. His closed hands open, flatten. His shuddering intake of breath is audible as he abruptly closes the distance and takes her hands in his. She smiles encouragement and squeezes his fingers briefly. She’s close enough to see him swallow. After a moment, his thumbs brush the insides of her wrists. Remarkably, the gesture’s not at all sexual even though there’s no denying the frisson of sensation the light touch sends through her. Because he’s looking down at their hands, she can only see the sinfully long fringe of his eyelashes and the curve of his cheeks as he smiles.

It’s so intimate she can scarcely breathe.

She’s aware of the strength in his hands. They look so human, skin and bone and blood, but they’re also perfect. Genuinely. They’re the hands made by a God who wanted his child to pull music from any instrument he touched, both literal and metaphorical. They’re hands made by a God who left his child in the dark for eons, bereft of music, bereft of touch. She bends at the waist and kisses the back of one hand and then the other.

His thumbs pause, coming to rest against her pulse. “I never,” he begins, voice breaking a little on the final syllable. He clears his throat. “It is incredibly important to me that you never feel… used. Taken advantage of. I could not—I could not abide it.”

“Hey,” she replies. “Why not let me worry about that?”

Dampness shines in his eyes and leaves tiny stars on the ends of his eyelashes. Lifting one shoulder in a shrug she says, “When have you known me to let you get away with anything? We’re partners. Give and take. For both of us.”

A single exhaled ha is almost a laugh, though it could just as easily be a sob, and she knows it. One hand leaves hers and he cups her cheek as she’d done for him earlier. She doesn’t look away from his searching gaze, doesn’t blink, and wills him to see whatever it is he needs to see.

“I do not think,” he says with wonder, “human language has invented a word sublime enough to describe you.”

As his thumb begins the same rhythmic stroking, this time of her cheekbone, she leans into his touch.

“I—it’s...” His confusion is as adorable as his quizzical was earlier. “Very strange.”

She asks the question with her eyebrows.

“I think I would like—” Here he does laugh, a little self-deprecating, perhaps, but not self-flagellating. She's relieved to hear no secret loathing in it. “I would simply like to hold you, if I may. Chloe.”

He uses her name so rarely it always catches her off-guard. It’s music, every time; a song he sings only for her. A star, tiny and delicate and lovingly wrought, that he drops into her hand, into her heart.

She’s loath to give the God who left a son with a heart as tender as Lucifer’s alone to punish himself for eons any credit, but she does have to admit she fits into the curve of Lucifer’s body as if she was designed for it.

#

In the morning, Lucifer brings her a mug of coffee just the way she likes it. She smells buttered toast and bacon, decadent. As she murmurs a sleepy thank you, he kisses her forehead. The brush of his lips is warm, easy.

“Thank you,” she says again, and not for the coffee, as she opens her eyes.

“Thank you,” he echoes, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”

[cursivebloodlines]

37 dahlia&doug

37. Things you said while you stroked my hair.

Today is a tough day.

It’s barely a day, dawn only just breaking with the sun peeking through the blinds of early morning, but Dougie feels like shit, for lack of a better word to describe it.

The night before, he struggles to sleep, is kept awake by the sound of his best friend’s voice haunting him. How could you – why would you do this? Why would you do this? Why would –

Except it isn’t his best friend, for Mike was missing and has not returned home in months. It’s his subconscious, the sound of his voice invading his dreams instead making him fear sleep. A pain in the arse though not unexpected since insomnia is a common thing he struggles with, on top of everything else. Poor man is already a walking disaster at the best of times.

But he can’t rid the image from his head. He must have been asleep for all but half an hour after deciding upon an early night. Yet even now, hours later the image is still burned in his head as though someone’s tattooed it across his brain, ingrained into his skull: Mike, waving an accusatory finger at him, blaming him for everything - his disappearance, throwing everything back in his face after years of friendship, for ruining everything he ever had with Dahlia.

Dahlia. He’s unable to get her out of his mind, and quite honestly, he doesn’t want to. He would never have been able to power through these past few months without her. Maybe it’s wrong to depend on someone, but he depends on her and now it feels as though the feeling is mutual. She’s the reason he can summon the strength to get out of bed in the morning and try to function like a normal human being. He’s willingly given his shoulder to her since the beginning and she’s done the same: gladly, openly, earnestly. And in the midst of all of this, their feelings have blossomed far beyond the realms of friendship, as discovered in spoken confessions, heated kisses and wandering hands that developed into something much more than that. For the first time in a excruciatingly long time, things feel right. Like the weight on their shoulders is lighter, like he has finally remastered the ability to breathe after drowning for so long.

“Course you’d come bulldozing my bloody dreams when things are starting to get a wee bit better. Jesus,” He speaks without realising that he’s voiced his thoughts aloud. It’s only when he feels the slight shift in the bed, stirring next to him, against him, that  he remembers where he is. Squeezing his eyes shut like it will bring him back to reality, he shifts slightly, opening his eyes again; suddenly, it feels too bright,as though the sun has decided to amplify its shine just to spite him.

A soft smile curls his lips when his eyes are met with Dahlia’s, a vaguely puzzled expression on her face as though she’s querying him talking to himself. He desperately hopes she didn’t hear the content of his words. If she did then she didn’t say or question it. For that, he is eternally grateful.

“Ignore me, I’m just talking a load of gibberish; didn’t get much sleep, I’ll be babbling on for Britain now,” He chuckles, though the smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, knowing precisely what he said. It’s not long before he brightens up properly though, knowing that she was here and unlike the ghost of his best friend, she was very much real. Alive and real and wanting him like he wants her.

And with every day that passes, he is falling for her. Dougie often questions his place in this… relationship, if they could call it that. Not because of her by all means; she makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. He’s placed his fragile heart in her hands and she cradles it like she’s holding the world. He trusts her, more than anything. The person he doubts is himself. Self deprecation is his fatal flaw, always has been. To him, everyone is superior. He thinks she can do better; she did when the person he respects and admires the most was still here. Now she is stuck with him.But he is always plagued with the constant question, ‘what if?’ Like…What if, in time, he finally discovers that he is only there to fill as Mike’s replacement? A downgrade, he muses, albeit would not dare voice it. What if he’s not enough for her? What if he can’t give her what she deserves?

All his thoughts weighing him down, Dougie does not realise when she speaks. His expression is vacant, and he blinks to bring him back to reality just as she finishes her sentence. “Mm,” He mumbles, hoping that whatever she said wasn’t a question. Despite swimming in his thoughts, he is content, knowing he is with her. Lying on his back, his arm settles perfectly around Dahlia, his other hand running absentmindedly through her silky, brunette locks of hair. His thoughts continue to swarm him, a heavy pressure on his skull and before he can stop himself, he murmurs, “What will happen if he comes back?”

This is not what the question he wants to ask. Dougie freezes as soon as the utterance tumbles out, pressing his lips into a tight line as he mentally curses himself. Stupid fucking idiot. Despite the question, his fingers comb through her hair softly, tenderly, lovingly, like he can do this all day. He probably can, he probably will.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips, his eyes averting to the ceiling as he continues the motions, feeling like stroking her hair would bring him a sense of ease. Potentially reduce the guilt piled upon him. “What if he’s not… what if he comes back? I don’t know I -” Douglas pauses, a lump in his throat as he stares blankly at the ceiling, too afraid to search Dahlia’s eyes for a reaction. Why does he have to ruin a perfect moment? “I know he’s gone, I know,” He says then, voice barely as whisper as he starts to backpedal on his words for a moment, his brows knitting in confusion. “I just–” Doug almost sputters the truth about his nightmares, of the spiteful words of hate Mike would spew at him in said nightmares. But he stops. He doesn’t want to go there, or do this. Not right now. “I can’t stop thinking because there’s… there’s a part of me. This - this uh - this gut feeling. It’s like - I don’t…I don’t know. I feel like he’s still here.” His words are soft as he rambles excessively, almost wavering like his voice is about to crack.

He smiles weakly like he is trying to shrug it off. Instead of staring at the ceiling, he fixates on the lock of her hair he wraps around his finger, then unravels, his thumb caressing gently against it. “I’m sorry,” Dougie breathes shakily, clearing his throat a little as he lifts his head up a tad so he can press a gentle kiss on her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Mind’s been a whirlwind all night - probably ‘cause of the lack of sleep ‘n’ all.With the hand that’s not playing with her hair, he rubs circles into her arm and he’s unable to tell if he’s comforting her or himself. Berating himself for discussing this, for dumping it on her, even.

By all means, he regrets nothing with her. At all. Nothing he has said will change the way he feels about her. But he worries, and is always wondering the worst possible situation, then hates himself more for even considering it a ‘worst possible situation.’ The chances of Mike coming home are slim, and now… Now he’s found a home in Dahlia, he doesn’t plan on moving away any time soon.

Giving her a gentle squeeze, he elicits a soft sigh, pulling her in closer to him. “I think we should have a lazy day today,” He mumbles tiredly, attempting feebly to stifle a yawn. “I’m tired, and you’re comfy. And I think we shouldn’t move. Yup. That’s the best idea, I think.”

( THINGS YOU SAID MEME | ACCEPTING. )

[starlight-adventurer]

TLNM Headcanons

This is the first time I’ve actually shared headcanons (and they’re really dumb). These are for the movie just because I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but I have ones for the series if anyone is interested.

Other than Nya and Kai, Cole and Jay have known each other the longest. They used to be neighbours before Jay's parents moved to the outskirts of Ninjago City.

Kai and Nya don't have parents. They both have jobs to be able to afford their apartment, although Kai insists he could just work two jobs so Nya has more time to study and focus on her grades.

Nya and Zane get the best grades out the group, across all of their subjects (the two of them have a friendly competition going whenever big tests come up, which the rest of the group find terrifying). Jay comes next with pretty good grades, especially in science and IT, then there's Cole and Lloyd (they get roughly the same) with middle-ish grades, Cole does best in art and music while Lloyd's better at english and foreign languages. Kai has the worst grades of the bunch (but not bad grades, he just gets Cs mainly), he's better at hands-on subjects like woodwork.

They often have movie nights at their base. Jay likes romance and sci-fi, Cole and Kai enjoy action movies, Lloyd prefers things with deep stories and morals, Nya likes monster movies and horror (she has nerves of steel) while Zane enjoys kung fu movies as well as animated films.

They argue over who had the most fans. It got to the point they did an online poll about it. Turns out Lloyd had the most fans, he was kind of smug about it for weeks.

They have a team fridge which they all keep food in. It used to get raided during the night so they set up a camera to see who it was. Turns out it was Wu in his sleep.

When they stay late at base after a battle to hang out and work on the mechs they take it in turns to get the food. When it's Kai or Nya they usually get takeout, Cole buys whatever he can find at the local store, Zane cooks for them on this portable stove he has, Jay brings some of his mom's cooking to share and Lloyd gets pastries from the nearest bakery.

After Koko found out about the ninja thing she started visiting their base often. She makes sure they all do their homework, are getting enough sleep, are eating properly and brings them snacks. It embarrasses Lloyd so much.

They have gaming tournaments sometimes. Usually the finalists are either Kai, Jay or Nya. If it's Kai and Nya the sibling rivalry is so thick you could cut it with a knife. With Jay and Kai there's a lot of playful shoving which ends up with one of them falling off the couch. Then when it's Nya and Jay it's a lot quieter, just super tense.

They have found fanfiction of people shipping the ninja together. Most of the time it's pretty funny, except when they ship Kai and Nya together. Kai actually passed out when they first found out, and he didn't wake up for an hour. They were worried they'd broken him.

No matter how old they get the Ninja will always go trick-or-treating. Kai insists they do it, and no one has the heart to tell him no because of how excited he gets.  

After the movie the group decided to look after Meowthra, they take turns feeding them and giving them belly rubs. It's basically their mascot now.

Movie Kai -

He's super athletic. It doesn't matter what sport it is, he's tried it at least once. Sometimes it isn't even a sport like dance or cheerleading.

Speaking of cheerleading, Kai tried out for the team at the start of the year since he thought it would be fun. He did a routine to something positive like 'Stick Together' (he didn't make the cut because he was friends with Lloyd (he didn't mind though)). P.S. The idea of cheerleader Kai is my jam!

He tries to get into what his friends are interested in, like he got into music when Cole started talking to the group about it or online videogaming when Jay said he had no one to play with.

He wants to make his friends happy no matter what. Seriously, Lloyd once texted him at 3am saying he was sad and Kai at his apartment in 10 mins panting, holding a shopping bag full of ice cream ready to chill with him.

Kai is incredibly clingy, especially when someone's upset. If he sees someone crying he will hug them for 3 hours straight and refuse to let go.

Clumsy is definitely a word to describe him. No one wants to be his lab partner thanks to what was lovingly dubbed the 'Storage room incident' (they still haven't repaired all the damages).

Despite him loving being a ninja, he's always worrying if something bad is going to happen to his friends. It keeps him up at night most of the time (it's the reason he sleeps in class so much).

Due to his irregular sleeping habits the other ninja have found him asleep in weird places. Such as: His mech, his locker, their double-decker couch, their regular couch, under his desk, the janitor's closet and the fridge (it was summer at the time).

He owns the teddy bear backpack (like from the concept art). He brought it to school a couple times but it got taken by some bullies, who his friends had to restrain him from beating to a pulp, and he hasn't taken it since.

He cares about his hair a lot. He carries around a hair brush with him at all time, as well as hairspray and dry conditioner. Kai also knowns how to do loads of different styles, including multiple kinds of braids.

Like his series counterpart, Kai is afraid of water and cannot swim. The group went to a waterpark once and he had to wear armbands and a floaty ring to go on the slides.

Movie Zane -

Zane has been called 'Mom' by each of his friends at least once, Lloyd does it the most.

When he sings he sounds like a vocaloid (if you don't what this is, look it up).

Speaking of that, he would probably enjoy listening to that music. He finds it relatable and nice to hear a computer singing.

He enjoys really mild food and can't process sugar that well, so he has flavourless food a lot (like his water flavoured popsicles)

He has a vlog about the ninja that they have all featured on more than once. His most popular videos are fail compilations he makes of their battles

He has the best handwriting, like he could a calligrapher it's that good. Jay cried when he looked at it the first time because he thought it was beautiful.

When he first started school he had no idea about personal space. He still doesn't get it now and so he's fine when Cole leans on him a lot.

Zane enjoys when winter comes around. He can't feel the cold that much so he often lends his scarf to Kai when the other is shivering. He can also ice skate which the others found amazing the first time they went to a rink together.

He doesn't sleep that much so he often stays up late messaging Kai on his phone (they talk about the strangest things)

He names every piece of tech he owns. His phone is called 'Yuki'.

During the first month of the ninjas being friends none of them saw Zane eat, since he doesn't need to that often. Until Kai had enough and took him out for ice cream, because he was sure he was going to eat it out of anything else.

Movie Cole -

He listens to music to help him sleep at night, even though he knows it's bad for him.

Cole has no sense of taste, like he'll eat anything, and he can handle really spicy food like it's nothing

He wants to have a song for every occasion, no matter how weird it is, since he thinks life should have a backing track. He constantly asks the others for situations so he can check if he has music for it yet. (He still hasn't found 'being bitten by a snake that was bitten by a spider' for Garmadon, but he's trying).

He will listen to music in other languages, sometimes he looks up lyrics if he's really curious but most of the time he just enjoys how other languages sound.

Cole knows how to play at least 10 instruments, including but not limited to the violin, the guitar, the drums, the flute and the piano.

He often forgets to brush his hair. When he and Kai started being friends Kai almost had a heart attack when he found out. Now the fire ninja makes sure he always has it brushed in the morning, even if he has to do it for him.

When he has to have classes without his headphones on, because the teacher took them or something, he starts humming or taps his foot. Anything to make noise, he doesn't like quiet all that much.

He can imitate phone notification noises. He does it in class when he's bored to see how many people move to check their phone (he caught the teacher out once, and couldn't stop laughing).

Cole's actually blue-yellow colour blind. He sometimes mistakes Jay for Lloyd and vice versa when they're in their ninja uniform.

Movie Jay -

Videogaming is way of life for him. He plays anything. Retro, PC, co-op, shooters; It really doesn't matter to him.

He listens to music while he games sometimes if he doesn't like the game soundtrack or if he needs to get pumped up.

Everyone knows about his crush on Nya, except Nya and Kai. The former because he hasn't told her yet and the latter due to the fact no one knows how he'll react to the news.

Gets sick a lot. It annoys him to no end. His mom is constantly sending him to school with thermoses of noodle soup for colds, and tons of medicine.

He gets stressed a lot. Jay has a habit of overthinking things to the point it hurts his head to think about. He's starting to drink herbal teas from Wu to help with it.

He has kitten sneezes. Everyone thinks it's the cutest thing ever.

He owns like a million scarfs, and they're all knitted by his mom. He refuses to get rid of any of them because of how long she spent on each one.

He is terrified of Furbys, he thinks they're creepy and shouldn't be given to kids.

Jay can actually knit for himself but only makes stuff for other people as gifts.

Movie Nya -

Her grades are the most important thing in her life, besides her bike.

She hates getting ill, because she thinks it makes her look weak and she doesn't want Kai to miss school to take care of her. Even if he insists he can afford time off school.

Was voted: 'Most likely to get away with murder', by her classmates. She wears the title like a badge of honour.

Out of all the ninja she's definitely the most intimidating. Anyone who calls her 'harmless' has regretted it.

Nya enjoys reading in her free time. She likes all types of stories, including manga, comics and visual novels.

She pulls pranks more than most people would expect. It's the reason she didn't get invited to many 'girls only' sleepovers as a kid, due to drawing on people’s faces among other things.

When she found out Koko was Lady Iron Dragon it took her a week to build up the courage to ask for her autograph. (Which is currently framed on her bedroom wall.)

Usually forgets to eat breakfast in the morning, so Zane started bringing her snacks before school so Kai won't worry about her health.

She's super supportive of all of her friends. She's usually the one cheering the loudest for them and patting them on the back for a job well done.

Her dream is to travel the world after they graduate. She wants to see everything the world has to offer, but she always insists her home base will be Ninjago.

Movie Lloyd -

When he's sad he eats sugary food, especially ice cream. It worries his mom so he doesn't do it that much nowadays.

He's a closeted fanboy of anime. Like he has posters and stuff all over his room, which his mom finds adorable, but he refuses to show any of his friends. Kai found out about by accident and started watching shows with him.

Much like his series counterpart, when Lloyd was a kid he had a bowl cut. Cole found a picture of it in a yearbook, they have it hanging up in their base on the fridge.

Up until his eighth birthday he sent Garmadon an invitation to his party just in case his dad actually wanted to come. It broke Koko's heart every time he didn't and Lloyd locked himself in his room.

Jay once said he looked like Link from Zelda. It stuck with him to the point he dressed up as him for Halloween. Everyone thought it was great.

His sense of humour is like 40% self-deprecating and 60% sarcasm, no one knows if he's serious most of the time because of it.

He's jokingly been called Kai and Nya's 'sibling' before because of how protective the two are of him, they don't mind and take it as a compliment. When Koko heard it for the first time she started crying and said she would love to have Kai and Nya as part of the family.

He has tons of mini cacti in his room, because he thinks their cute. They each have unique pots and names. He talks to them when he's lonely and thinks no one is listening.

He sometimes steals food from the team fridge and blames it on someone else (no one has actually caught him yet).

[johnhardinsawyer]

Rules of the Road

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

10 / 4 / 20

Exodus 20:1-21

“Rules of the Road”

(Into the Unknown – Part 5)

We’ve been having some interesting conversations in our car over the past few months.  Our three-year-old has gotten very good at recognizing red lights and green lights – when you’re supposed to stop and when you’re supposed to go.  One of the things that is causing some confusion, though, is whether or not it is okay to turn right on red.  You see – depending on where you are – sometimes, it is okay to turn right on red.  But, if you do, you need to be able to explain why to a certain passenger who is trying to understand the rules of the road.

It is good to have some rules governing traffic and other things.  We might not like all of the rules – especially if we’re in a hurry – but better safe than sorry.

Keeping us safe is one thing that rules do, but rules also help us function together as a society.  If we have an arrangement that I’ll follow the rules of the road and you’ll follow the rules of the road, too, then we have a relationship that is built on some common ideas and ideals.  This common understanding – whether you want to call it a social contract or a covenant – is the foundation upon which nations and peoples are built and brought together.  If we all know the rules of the road – literally and figuratively – and agree to follow them, then we can live together.  If we don’t and won’t, then we’ll fall apart as a people.

The people of Israel – the people who escaped slavery in Egypt and crossed the Red Sea and suffered hunger and thirst in the wilderness – had been pushed to the limit.  They were about to fall apart.

They did have some things in common:  common ancestors – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  And they had a common story – that Jacob’s son, Joseph, had gone down to Egypt, and that Joseph’s family had eventually moved there, too, and that over the generations, Joseph’s people had been enslaved by the Egyptian people, then, they escaped.

There are times when common ancestors and a common story can hold a people together.  Sometimes, those things are all you’ve got, but when the family system comes under stress and strain during wilderness times – difficult times, pandemic times, election times, times of coming to terms with the uncomfortable past, times of looking into an unknown future and wondering what will happen next – it gets hard to hold it all together.  By the time today’s scripture reading comes around, the Israelites have been forced to rely – solely – upon the God who has rescued them from the Egyptians, and gives them food to eat and water to drink every day.  Without the powerful, humbling, presence of this God, the wheels would have fallen off the whole venture.  The people would have been dead long ago.  But God has brought them out – alive – and is keeping them alive.  For what, though?

Moses, the leader of God’s people, has brought them out into the dry and inhospitable wilderness to the slopes of Mount Sinai.  If they are wondering why they have been brought to this place, it starts to become clear when God shows up.  There is the sound of a loud trumpet and thick clouds cover the mountain and the sound of the trumpet gets so loud that the people tremble.  Right before today’s passage, we read, “Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently.”  (19:18)  

And then, God speaks:  “I am the Lord, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”  (Exodus 20:1)  “You are my people.”  God goes on from there. . .

Now, I don’t know what the people are expecting God to say, but I imagine that it might have surprised them to get this list of rules – Ten Commandments.  You see, God wants this ragtag group of former slaves in Egypt to be God’s own people – a new nation.  But this new nation doesn’t have a place to call home, yet.  They are about to spend many years on the road.  And if you’re on the road – heading into the unknown – it might be good to have some rules of the road – something that the people will be able to hold in common as a founding document of sorts, so that everyone will be on the same page. . .  or the same stone tablet.  These rules that God gives the people in today’s story weren’t just for wilderness wandering long ago, though.  They were (and are) for all time.

Now, so much has been written about the Ten Commandments that it could fill libraries.  And, so many sermons have been preached on the Ten Commandments, that you might be wondering, “Can anything new be said about them?”  Some of you might even remember a simpler time in the not-too-distant past when people were arguing, openly, over whether or not the Ten Commandments could or should be posted in courthouses and in the public square.  I don’t want to belittle any of those arguments from twenty-five years ago, but I just think it’s interesting, and kind of quaint, that that’s what used to get people all fired up.  It would seem that the issues that divide us have only grown more complex since then.

The Ten Commandments can be divided into two main sections:  commandments about God and commandments about other people.

The commandments that govern our relationship with God go something like this:  God says, “You are my people.  You belong to me.  Now, let me describe what this belonging looks like:  you are not supposed to worship anything or anyone but God; no, really, you are not to worship anyone or anything but God; you are not supposed to talk about God in disrespectful ways; and you are supposed to rest on the Sabbath, because remember:  God rested.”[1]

The commandments that govern our relationships with one another go something like this:  “Show respect to your father and your mother.  Don’t kill.  Don’t commit adultery.  Don’t steal.  Don’t lie about your neighbor.  Don’t desire your neighbor’s stuff in ways that could harm your relationship with your neighbor.”[2]

A few books of the Bible later, all of these commandments get summed up into two basic commandments:  Love God.[3]  Love your neighbor.[4]  These are words that Jesus uses in his own teachings when he is asked what the greatest commandment is:

‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’  This is the greatest and first commandment.  And a second is like it:  ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.  (Matthew 22:37-40)

Love God.  Love your neighbor.

These words might seem simple, but it is amazing to me how difficult they truly are.  We never get them right, do we?  We fall short all the time.  I mean, if we’re really trying, we might get close the “Love God” part OR the “Love Neighbor” part, but rarely both.  There are those who claim to love God so much that they end up hurting their neighbor.  And there are those who claim to love their neighbor so much that they forget to love God.  To top it all off, no matter who we are, we all have a tendency to take Jesus’ words out of context, hearing only “. . . as [you love] yourself” and making that our selfishly self-centeredly sinful default setting.

The human tendency to sin is something that we hold in common.  We share this trait.  It is part of all of us.  It threatens to undo us. . . to break us apart.  And some days, we see this all-too-clearly – in others and in ourselves.  But God did not make us just to watch us fail.  God made us and saves us and sustains us because God loves us.  God’s love is what holds us in common with everyone who has ever lived.  God knows that we are more than the worst parts of ourselves and God is always about the business of seeking to knit us back together and make us whole.  

There is so much that is unknown about the world at this moment – so much that is unsure and shaky and risky and frightening.  If you’re going into the unknown, like we are, God does give us some rules of the road – some rules to gather us together, that lead us to be more than the worst parts of ourselves.  As Old Testament scholar, Walter Harrelson, writes,

. . . [loving God and loving neighbor] identifies the way that leads to life and peace and wholeness. . .  [we] can have no real life, no real freedom, no real joy in life save as [we] lay aside the kinds of actions that destroy the very things [we] are seeking. . . [5]

In other words, if you want to have life and peace and wholeness and freedom and joy, God lovingly offers these things – freely – but only as much as we then lovingly offer these things to our neighbors.

Lord knows that we’re not there yet – as people, as a society, as a global family – but as Harrelson writes, hopefully, “. . . we are being drawn forward to the day when people will indeed. . . love God and neighbor.”  We are on the way – being led by the Holy Spirit into a promised land, of sorts, a place of promise where God dwells with us and we with God.  The road to this place of promise is fraught with pitfalls and roadblocks and detours that try to stand in the way of love, but there is also grace that can be found on this road, in places where love and community and practices of peace and wholeness are shared.  We catch a glimpse of this, here, at this Table.

On this World Communion Sunday, as people, the world over, all gather – in Spirit – around the Lord’s Table, the bread and the cup that we share is one thing that we hold in common, the sign of God’s new covenant in and through Jesus Christ.  At this Table, God’s love for us and our neighbors is on display – a signpost that reads “Love is the rule of every road” – every relationship, every interaction, every twist and turn, because God has given God’s own self to us.  And, as we gather around the One Table from which this love flows, may this meal be a uniting meal, revealing God’s love for each and every one of us, showing the world what it means to love God and love one another.

God has given us Love:  the rule of the road that we are on, together.  May this be the one rule that we follow, the one rule that leads us wherever we may go.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

-------

[1] Exodus 20:1-11 – Paraphrased, JHS.

[2] Exodus 20:12-17 – Paraphrased, JHS.

[3] Deuteronomy 6:5.

[4] Leviticus 19:18.

[5] Walter Harrelson, The Ten Commandments and Human Rights (Macon:  Mercer University Press, 1997) 160-161.

[hookedonapirate]

Tangled Up In Blue ‘Deleted Scenes’

Chapter 2: The best form of therapy is you

Summary: Killian gets a massage from Emma. Fluffiness ensues.

Notes: Set sometime before Emma goes into labor and based on a combination of prompts.

Prompt 1: What about Emma giving Killian a nice massage once, as a reward to his very sweet effort to take care of her all the time?

Prompt 2: Now I would like Killian enjoying touching her belly like singing to her baby etc

For those of you waiting for an update of A Helping Hand, it will be next, I just had to get this one out of my system first.

Rated: T

Deleted Scenes: 1

Read From the Beginning: Tangled Up In Blue

Also Available on: AO3 FF.N

Killian came home late from a really long day at the clinic. He was sore, his whole body aching, there was a wobble in his step and he was just overall exhausted. The thought of a good, satisfying sleep sounded like heaven as he threw his keys on the counter and trudged through the house.

The warm light in the family room illuminated through the doorway, so he walked in, finding Emma sitting on the couch knitting. She looked absolutely adorable in her white tank top and pajama bottoms, her pregnant belly protruding underneath the scarf she was working on. His sister-in-law had gotten Emma into knitting a couple of weeks ago and it gave her something relaxing to do when she wasn't working.

He stood there watching her, a smile struggling to make it's way across his lips as her eyes lifted from her task. Her beauty alone made his whole body dissolve. He wanted to hug and kiss her, and give her his undivided attention, but he was afraid that he just did not have it in him to do so.

“Oh goodness, I didn't even hear you come in,” she breathed, a bit struck as her hand went to her heart.

“Sorry, love. Didn't mean to startle you.”

She was smiling but her features fell when she scanned him up and down, studying him intently. She immediately set down her knitting supplies, holding her belly as she pulled herself up from the couch. “You look exhausted, baby. You poor thing.” Her words were soothing as she walked over to him, eyes glowing with a mixture of concern and love.

“I'm fine. Just a little tired and sore, that's all.”

He could tell she wasn't completely buying it as she cupped his cheeks in her hands, gracing him with a soft smile. Her touch was warm and instantly helped him to relax a bit. “Are you hungry? Dinner’s in the refrigerator. I can get it for you,” she murmured softly before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Not really. Just mostly want to sleep,” he assured her, his hands finding her waist and wrapping around her as he pressed another tender kiss to her lips. Since they've been living together, he would normally come home to a warm meal when he wasn't so late, the house was always clean by her hands, even though he insisted that she leave it to the maid. And she would take care of him and help him to bed when he was too tired to do anything but rest.

Killian attempted to offer a smile but it hurt too much for even the small gesture and when she gently rested her hands on his shoulders to remove his jacket, he winced.

He could see Emma’s motherly instincts kick in as worry washed over her features and once she pulled his jacket from his arms and draped it over the sofa, she came back to him, tugging on his hand. “Come on. I think the doctor needs some good doctoring.”

He allowed her to pull him out of the room, without a whine of complaint. Killian didn't like to ask for help but if she was offering, he supposed he would let her. She was unyielding as she led him upstairs to the bedroom while he groaned from having to force his legs to make the trek.

When they entered the room, she gently pushed him backwards, urging him to sit on the bed. “Let me take care of my baby,” she cooed, her hands loosening his tie when he slumped down into the mattress.

“Love, you already have a baby to worry about. I’ll be okay. Just need to lie down is all,” he assured her.

“Ah-ah, you always pamper me with massages, it’s my turn to do the same for you.” Her voice was stern as she started unbuttoning his shirt. He opened his mouth to protest but he really didn't have the strength to stop her. Besides, if the lass wanted to undress him and put her hands on his body who was he to argue? Emma pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor before patting a spot on the pillow. “Come on, lay on your stomach. And I'm not asking.”

“Yes ma’am. If the beautiful lady insists,” he managed to flirt with an intrigued brow. He could see the effect his words had on Emma as she blushed, her flinty lips cracking into a small smile.

“That's more like it. Now lay down.”

Normally her demanding voice would turn him on, and honestly it did, but his bones were too weary to act on anything at the moment.

Killian did as he was told and sprawled across the middle of the bed on his stomach. His back, tight and tense, instantly felt relaxed and he let out a long, weary sigh as he tugged the pillow towards him and turned his head on his side to watch her. Emma moved determinedly as she removed his shoes from his feet and pulled off his socks.

Once he felt her cool, slender fingers on his tough heels, he easily became unwound and sank into the mattress. “That’s it… just relax, babe.” Her words were much more gentle as she worked on each foot, applying just the right amount of pressure, her thumbs making circles into the rough calluses of his skin. After being on his feet for most of the day, his shoes and socks cramping his feet, Emma's hands felt like pure heaven.

She spent an adequate amount of time on both of his feet before leaving the room and coming back with a bottle of massage oil in her hands.

Emma popped open the cap pouring a generous amount in her palms before setting the bottle on the nightstand and rubbing her hands together. He waited in high anticipation, deciding that he would very much enjoy the treatment she so lovingly offering. She climbed on the bed and straddled her boyfriend so her knees were on either side of him.

The instant Emma's hands were on his shoulders as she leaned over him, Killian buried his face in the pillow, emitting a deep audible groan from his belly.

Emma giggled as her hands worked firmly into his muscles, instantly easing the tension from his shoulders. “You're not the only one who's good with their hands,” she teased, continuing to work her magic with her wonderful fingers.

Killian smirked into the pillow, not arguing one bit. “Mmmmhmmmm,” he hummed into the silk material against lips as she pressed the heel of her palms firmly into his skin, easing out the knots in his muscles. He already knew her hands were capable of amazing things. She often gave him fantastic rubs in other places below his belt and drew orgasms out of him without even using her mouth. Even with Emma being pregnant, she made certain that he was never left unsatisfied.

Killian exhaled deeply, his body visibly becoming more unwound and molding into the mattress as Emma moved her hands to the center of his upper back for a few moments.

As she offered him soft, gentle words, her fingers wandered to the back of his neck and found another bundle of knots. He shifted and groaned, his muscles slowly relaxing underneath her touch.

She eventually continued on to his lower back, her hands pressing sharply against him and at one point Killian had to steady himself, deterring a certain part of his body from being aroused by her ministrations. He pushed out a long breath, feeling the hard pressure along his back and groaned a deep rumble, the sound muffled into the pillow.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?” she offered warmly, maneuvering her palms firmly into his skin and working her way back up.

He whined in protest at the thought of work.

She laughed, the sound vibrating through his body as he felt her body above him. “That bad, huh?”

He tilted his face away from the pillow to answer her. “Just very busy.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I can imagine. You work hard and deserve to be spoiled,” she murmured softly and her hands never relented from massaging his back so brilliantly.

Killian smiled softly at the sentiment. He was worried that she might not be completely agreeable with everything his work entailed. It was his job to give physical exams, having intimate parts exposed to him, but that facet of his career didn't seem to bother her. He made sure time and time again that he only had ‘non-medical’ eyes for her.

“I'm just glad to be home with you and the little lad, my sweetness,” he purred. Her hands were now warm, setting his body on fire as she continued the treatment.

“We’re both glad to have you home, too. We missed you.”

A broad grin crawled across his lips at her words. “I missed you both, too.”

Emma swung her leg over and settled next to him, laying on her back, her green eyes sparkling as she looked over at him. He turned on his side, facing her as he lifted his hand to her belly and laid a soft kiss to her cheek. “I think about you and the wee duckling all the time,” he whispered earnestly. “It's what keeps me going throughout the day.”

Emma smiled amicably, her eyes glistening as she cupped his cheek in her hand. “Well, knowing that you're coming home to us is what keeps me going.”

His heart started doing somersaults as he gently captured her lips. At the same time, he felt the baby kicking in her belly, making both of them laugh against each other's mouths. He lifted her shirt above her stomach and looked down, watching the visible movement under her skin. He loved seeing and feeling her baby kick, it was a wonderful sensation he couldn't quite describe. “Love, do you mind if I sing to the little lad to soothe him?”

Emma arched a brow, surprised. “I take it you’re not too tired?”

“No, I’m feeling much better thanks to you.”

“Then no, of course I don't mind. I think he would love that very much. It will let him know that you’re going to be the man in his life taking care of him.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, her words filling his heart with warmth.

“Sing for us,” she encouraged, excitement buzzing in her eyes. He chuckled, plopping a kiss to her nose before moving to her stomach and getting comfortable at her side as he soothingly ran his fingers up and down his girlfriend's precious belly.

“This is a song my father used to sing to my brother and I whenever we were scared of the dark and thought there were monsters in the closet,” he laughed.

“Let's hear it.” Emma relaxed her head into the pillow, waiting in anticipation.

Clearing his throat, his words were soft and gentle as he started singing. “Close your eyes. Have no fear. The monster's gone. He's on the run and your Killian's here.” Emma laughed a little and he pushed her shirt up a bit more, dropping a kiss to the middle of her swollen belly. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy.” He paused for a breath, looking up at Emma and seeing the gentle emerald eyes gazing upon him as he continued. “Before you go to sleep, say a little prayer. Every day in every way, it's getting better and better. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy.” Killian could feel Emma's body melting into the mattress, reacting to his gentle touches and tune. She ran a hand through his hair, combing her fingers through his dark locks.

Expelling another long breath, he began again. “Out on the ocean sailing away, I can hardly wait. To see you come of age. But I guess we'll both just have to be patient. 'Cause it's a long way to go. A hard row to hoe. Yes, it's a long way to go.” Killian could no longer feel the baby kicking as he continued caressing her belly with soothing circles. “But in the meantime, before you cross the street, take my hand. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy.” He ended the song, pressing more sweet kisses to the center before peering up at her again. A tear had rolled down her cheek as she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his.

“That was beautiful. Thank you.”

“Of course, love,” he graced her with a soft smile, laying a kiss to the back of her hand, then pressing one to each of her fingers.

He lowered his head again, covering her exquisite belly with kisses, grateful for the precious cargo it contained. Even if the devil had a hand in creating him, Killian would love the little lad as much as he loved his mother. He came up to her, wiping away the tear from her cheek with his thumb before leaving a kiss there.

The thought of getting this chance to be a father was almost overwhelming, but he was very much looking forward to the future with Emma and the baby. And also the possibility that one day, her son would call him Daddy.

~~~

Notes: In case you're curious, the song that Killian sings is "Beautiful Boy" by John Lennon.

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