#don’t worry tho; Spouse will carry the whole story :))

[mellowwillowy]

If I have to name the strongest (?) yandere then it has to be Yulian.

Mentally stronger than Eleanor or Blue. (because he doesn't live once lol)

Doesn't have a conscience or guilt at all in who he eliminates, be it his own family like his children or parent figures, and doesn't have any real loyalty even to the cartel. (Kaspar for example)

If I must say, he’s just a Gary Stu whose flaw is only Spouse at most times unless he faces strong otherworldly shits like himself. Thank God he’s not the protagonist for Uphill Daisies.

He has 0 morals lol. Even Kaspar, Blue, or Eleanor still has morals. Kasparov may be dirty in his torture method but he still feels a pang of guilt or disappointment.

If they can't value strangers’ lives most times, they can value their own family’s lives for example their children. Yulian does not. And that’s a core character that will (hopefully) never be changed. It makes him more unique in my eyes.

The heavier his love is the lighter his morals are and apparently Yulian’s love for Spouse is immense. The morals have never been there to begin with.

[shardminds]

I picture your hands on me.

“First, I want you to drive us somewhere nice and quiet." "Then I want you to come back here and fuck my brains out.”

Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones Rating: E WC: 3.8K

Here’s some Captain Swan car sex for your troubles.

Also available on AO3

Emma Swan doesn’t get drunk. That’s what she tells herself, all the while giggling and stumbling from the toilet stall into the arms of an equally intoxicated and equally giddy Mary Margaret. In fairness, she hadn’t had the opportunity to get drunk in a while. Nights these days were, more often than not, filled with street patrols and paperwork. Being a cop had many perks but the night shifts were not one of them. 

She couldn’t wear this dress or these boots out on the job anyway. The black faux leather was tight, barely reaching her mid-thigh and the stiletto boots cut off just above the knee. Definitely not regulation uniform. 

Perps would most likely hand themselves over to her if she did wear this on patrol, though. That’s one way to boost her numbers.

When David had initially asked if she wanted to take his wife out for a drink, she thought he’d been joking… evidently not. He had to buckle down on one of his larger cases and it just happened to line up with Emma’s night off. He’d offered to pay her back in bear claws from Granny’s when they were next on duty together and that had sold her. Calories don’t count if someone else buys them for you, right? David had, however, forgotten to mention his wife’s wild side that rears it’s boisterous head whenever liquor is involved. 

Tequila is her drink of choice. No chaser. No salt and lime. Just straight up tequila. Emma hadn’t even downed her second by the time the petite brunette was polishing off her fifth with a belch that would’ve had Leeroy blushing. It all went downhill from there. 

Mary Margaret yanks her out of the restroom, getting a little handsy in the process, and drags them to the less crowded hallway. Emma didn’t even get the chance to wash her hands. She’s chattering on about something or other but Emma can’t focus. Her skin is softly buzzing, the whole world around her a pleasant hum.

Emma Swan doesn’t get drunk, but when she does, it feels fantastic.

Did she have hand sanitizer in her clutch? It seems like a pretty important thing that everyone should carry in case of emergency, right? Especially on those days when your partner’s wife drags you away from the restroom before you’ve been able to take care of your own personal hygiene. It’s not like she’d peed all over her hands or anything. It’s just better to be safe than sorry. A quick rifle through her purse proved fruitless but at least it helped her regain focus… right at the end of her friend’s story. If they weren’t friends before tonight, they definitely were now.

“-and that’s how David got the scar but if you tell him I told you he’ll be so mad, Emma! Soooo so mad!” 

“About what?” It escapes before she can stop it and Mary Margaret just laughs at her. 

“Exactly!” She squeals, wiping away tears of laughter Emma hadn’t noticed before throwing an arm around her friend’s waist and leaning into her side, guiding them to the bar. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

The bartender didn’t even ask what they were having. Simply winking in their direction before setting down two shots and a couple of fingers of rum. Mary Margaret pays with a flourish of David’s credit card, index finger pressed to her lips in a shhh gesture. 

Before she can even think of all the ways David is going to kill her, Emma’s phone chimes. She tries to fight back the smile that comes along with Killian’s name flashing up on her screen, but she lost that battle long ago. They’ve been dating for over a year and he still manages to make her heart involuntarily flutter with every text. No one else makes her heart soften as he does. It had taken time, patience and a whole lot of nudging from David and Ruby for them to even get together in the first place and yet, Emma, with her seemingly endless walls, and Killian, with a metric shitload of his own baggage, managed to make it work. 

She loves him. Wholly. It had taken her forever to admit it but, between his soft kisses and even gentler touches, she’d whispered it against his skin. More a sigh than a declaration, but a promise nonetheless. 

Killian: running late, my love

Killian: nodded off marking… again 

Killian: be there in 5, does MM need a lift? 

He’s so good to her. To all of them. He’d agreed to pick her up at midnight, making a joke about pumpkins as he’d kissed her goodbye earlier. It’s almost half-past now but she can’t bring herself to be mad. She loves him. Like really, really loves him. It’s scary and exciting and if it had been anyone else she’d have run away by now but it’s him and that makes it all okay. All the tension she didn’t know she was holding evaporates away upon reading his texts. She throws back her drink in one gulp and starts typing.

Emma: i love u.  i will ass

Emma: ask

Emma: fuck

Emma: love u

Killian: haha had one too many, swan?

Killian: i’ll bring you some water x

She didn’t always understand the x’s he sometimes added to the end of his texts. He’d explained it to her once but the patterns his fingers had been tracing across the soft skin of her belly had been a far more pressing focus at the time. 

“It’s meant to be a kiss, love. It’s a common courtesy back home.” He’d said, placing a kiss of his own to the furrow in her brow. The furrow only deepened, which made him smile.

“But… why?” She snuggled closer to his chest, the coarse hair there ticking at her bare skin. Post-coital conversations about British text etiquette were just one of the many reasons she’d agreed to move in with him.

Regardless of her level of understanding, the addition brings a warm flush to her cheeks.

Mary Margaret is still at the bar, no longer drinking (thank god) but, if the way her index finger is pressed menacingly against the chest of a man almost twice her size is anything to go by, Emma’s willing to bet she was about to get herself in even more trouble. 

Behind her, there’s a familiar exasperated sigh. 

“I think it’s quittin’ time for us, Ems.” David yawned, patting her shoulder as he did. He was still in his uniform which must have scared the shit out of the bouncers on his way in. She didn’t mean to laugh but the thought had her chuckling. His case mustn’t have gone very well. His smile is soft and small, not blinding like it usually is. She’s about to ask him about it when a scream rips out ahead of them.

“DAVID!”

The thump as Mary Margaret collides with her husband’s chest knocks the air straight out of him in a dull oof. Without thinking, Emma snaps a picture and hits send.

Emma: mm has a ride

Emma: i’ll take one if u r offering tho ;)

They’re both still laughing, breathless, in each other’s arms before Emma gets pulled into the mix. David thanks her for keeping an eye on his wife with a strong hug while Mary Margaret attaches to her side like a barnacle and thanks her with slurred speech for celebrating her promotion together.

Emma hadn’t even known they’d been celebrating. That’s tequila for you.

“I better get this one home. Thanks again, Ems.”  David smiles her way before looking down to his tiny and drunken spouse who had the widest grin she’d ever seen, pure adoration in her eyes. She happily grips the hand David offers her, still beaming as they walk.

Emma knows that look. She’s had that look before. 

Love drunk (and maybe a bit of real drunk).

“I’ll follow you out.” She adds, falling into step with their rhythm. “My ride will be here soon anyway.”

“I love Killian, Emma. He’s so sweet! And he bakes! David doesn’t bake.” The outburst is followed by a hiccup and a giggle and a scoff from her husband. 

“Gee, why don’t you marry him then?” There’s no malice in David’s comment at all, how could there be? These two have been together since the dawn of time, by Storybrooke standards, at least. Mary Margaret barks out a laugh, using the arm that isn’t intertwined with David’s to punch him softly in the ribs.

“I married you, Stupid. You can’t marry two people. You’re dumb.” 

The rest of the walk to the exit is in relative silence, only the occasional chirp from their drunkest disciple on the way down the stairs of The Rabbit Hole. The crisp autumn air that meets them outside knocks Emma back a little, she hadn’t expected it to be so cold and, in a lapse of better judgement, had not brought a jacket. It doesn’t matter though. She’d already seen the familiar black jeep before her phone buzzed in her hand.

Killian: i see you x

Bidding goodbye to her two companions, Emma finds herself skipping over to Killian’s truck. She can’t help herself. The thought of him sat there waiting for her in all his black leather jacket-y goodness spurs her forward. Maybe she can convince him out of it… maybe– Fuck. She’s drunk but she wants him. Needs him.

Climbing into the jeep and immediately going in for the kill, in hindsight, probably wasn’t one of her finest ideas. Especially considering the accidental punch to the boob it earnt her. The bottle of water he’d promised, falling to the centre console between them. Clearly he’d not anticipated the haste of her advance. 

It’s a good job he’s cute.

“I’m sorry, love!” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners and lips pulling into a toothy smile. “I didn’t expect you to come at me with such unbridled force.” 

“Hello to you too.” Grumbling, she tries to massage some of the pain in her chest away but the ache is already there. Not the ache she wanted either. Killian’s hand finds her jaw and, despite her initial attempt at stubborn reluctance, his fingertips have her melting into his kiss. He’s overly gentle, just a chaste press of his lips against hers in apology. 

“I’ll kiss it better once we’re home, Swan. Don’t you worry about that.”

Feeling them against her lips, his words light a fire deep in her. The slow burn she’s been tending since she left their apartment earlier now seems an all-consuming need. She kisses him again, harder and deeper, a calculated move on her part, knowing he’ll take the bait and follow suit. 

The growl it pulls from him is borderline feral and Emma can feel it shoot straight to her core. Fuck, he’s such a good kisser. Every slant of his mouth over hers, every slip of his tongue, has her breathless and needy, wanting to only ever be further consumed. He always knows exactly how she needs it with very little prompting, reading her body language better than she herself could, sliding his free hand up her bare thigh until it slipped beneath the hem of her dress.

She can’t wait, she wants him now. 

“Fuck going home.” She sighs, letting him pull away only slightly so they can lean their foreheads together, his hand still continuing its path beneath her skirt. 

“What do you mean, love?” He knows exactly what she means. He always does. The smirk in his voice coats his words like syrup, sickly sweet and so wonderful. 

Pushing him away is torture, but worth it to hear his reaction as Emma crawls into the backseat. Arse in the air as she squeezes between the front seats and into the back. The firm smack to her behind has her fumbling through the gap, catching her moan as she tries to get her bearings. She’s not ashamed of it. It’s well-known that she loves a good spanking. Red palm prints all over her ass and thighs the next day are the best kind of trophies. Ones she’s proud to wear for him and him only. She’s not even ashamed at how almost uncomfortably wet she is just from thinking about it, thinking about him thick and heavy inside her, encouragement coming in the form of firm slaps.

If he wants a tease, she’ll give him a tease.

Turning to face him, she slips into the middle seat. Shimmying her dark panties she’d chosen earlier that evening down her legs with minimal effort. Killian’s eyes follow the path they take and, when they come to settle at her ankles, she offers him the scrap of fabric with the heel of her boot.

He groans when his fingers come to contact with damp lace, the faint squish as he rolls the fabric between his thumb and index finger is almost too much. The way he reaches for her is pure instinct, she can tell how her actions are affecting him by the way his eyes are half-lidded and all traces of smiles and smirks from earlier are gone. She presses her boot to his shoulder, forcing him to keep his distance and trusting him to do so before removing it. The sharp point of her stiletto catches on his collarbone on its descent, causing him to hiss. 

“First, I want you to drive us somewhere nice and quiet.” Settling down further, her legs part, faux leather peeling back from her thighs as they do, until it’s plainly visible how much she wants this. Her unfathomable confidence is definitely dutch in its origin but she can’t help herself, warm flames of arousal threatening to take over. It’s delicious and agony all at once. “Then I want you to come back here and fuck my brains out.”

Seeing his eyes slip closed at her words sends a heady wave of something straight through her. Car Sex: 1, Killian: 0

“As you wish, Swan.” His voice is deep and raspy, so very clearly fucked and Emma loves it. She loves him. Every part of him. From the way his hair always looks like he’s just woken up, no matter what time of day it is or the way his shoulders tense as he turns away from her now to focus on the road ahead, pulling off from the street with white knuckles clutching the steering wheel. Most of all, she loves knowing that he’ll give her what she wants, over and over again, rough and hard.

To everyone else, Killian is well mannered and reserved. The mix of ex-naval captain, local history teacher and baked goods connoisseur tending to subconsciously command the respect of those in his presence. 

To Emma, he is so much more. He’s soft in ways she’d never had a partner to be before, so open and forthcoming with his adoration of her while still allowing her space to grow into the person she’s always wanted to be. He’s sarcastic to a fault but, then again, so is she. He’s so unapologetically passionate about the things he loves, which usually results in them binging TV shows together until the early hours of the morning on a school night and falling asleep tangled together on the couch.  

He’s everything she never knew she needed and he’s changed her for good.

Oh, and he’s also an incredibly good shag. His word, not hers. When he says it, it sounds filthy, whispered against her body in a way that brings her out in goosebumps every time. When she says it, it sounds… not like that. 

She can’t wait much longer, heat throbbing between her legs at the thought of him. She hadn’t even realised until the slow drag of her fingers through slick folds and across her clit caused a moan to erupt from her throat, that she’d been touching herself this whole time. 

Glancing up to the rearview mirror, she caught lust darkened eyes staring back.

Fuck.

Without thinking, she brings the fingers to her mouth. Salt and lust thick on her tongue. It’s a sharp sweet taste and Killian always waxes poetic about it; telling her how damn edible her cunt is, how he loves the taste she leaves on his tongue, how he loves making her taste herself from his lips. He’s always been able to make her fall to pieces. 

Daring to maintain eye contact, she sucks them between her lips.

He fucking moans at that. Deep. Guttural. Emma can feel it in her chest and, before she can even comprehend what’s going on, he pulls the jeep up to a halt. They’re parked somewhere she doesn’t recognise, tucked between two buildings shrouded in the dark, and she has no time to worry about anything else because Killian is out of the driver’s seat and crawling into the back through the passenger door. 

He had been wearing his leather jacket before and she absentmindedly wonders where it’s gone before her brain short circuits with the smash of his lips against hers. It’s wild and rushed and the weight of him crushing her into the seat below has whines slipping out between their kisses.

“That was dangerous.” He purrs, moving his mouth across her cheek, down to her jaw, her neck. Nipping where his teeth graze and sucking soft marks into her flesh. Looks like it’s high necked sweaters for the rest of the week. “What did I do to earn that delicious torture?”

Emma hums at his ministrations, warm buzz settling through her at his touch. Better, more electric than the subtle tingle of intoxication from earlier. This woke up every nerve in her body, slowly, bringing them alive and with wisps of an earth-shattering orgasm building deep down already. “The tit punch wasn’t totally appreciated if we’re being candid.”

“Candid’s not the word, love.” His lips leave her neck, leaning up to view his masterpiece and very clearly satisfied with the mess he’s made and his smirk pushes her over the edge. She reaches for his hips, fumbling around for the zipper on his jeans. He joins in, working together to free the erection she’d been hoping for. Killian was never one to disappoint her in that department. “This is downright indecent.”

“Just shut up and fuck me.” 

She throws one booted leg around his hip pulls him closer until he nudges against her centre. 

There’s no preamble. No disclaimer. Sex for them is like coming home, a practised rhythm they’ve had down for what seems like aeons. As if they’d been destined for each other before they ever met. It’s perfect. Always is. He’s as thick and full as she’d been hoping, stretching her in the most delectable way and it drives her mad when he drags out slowly, angling himself in a way that has the head of his cock catching on that rough spot he usually finds only with his fingers. Clawing at his biceps as he fucks torturously slowly into her seems like the only option at this point. 

“Killia– fuck! Harder.” Is the only thing she can say. All other thoughts being variations of Fuck, Yes and Please.

He burrows his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent and she can feel the smirk on his lips searing into her skin. The whimper has barely left her lips before it’s cut off with a moan as he hammers into her. While one hand holds himself up, the other shoves her dress up higher around her waist before snaking down across her stomach, through the smattering of hair at the apex of her thighs and further, finally coming to a halt just shy of her clit. 

She’s grateful Killian had been able to find somewhere secluded for them to undertake their activity because, had they been in the centre of Storybrooke, people in a three-block radius would definitely have been able to hear the scream that rips out of her with his touch, back arching off the seat as he teases her clit with his fingers.

“First, you’re going to come.” His voice is way calmer than it should be. Deep and ragged but calm all the same. Emma doubts she could even string a sentence together with the barrage of pleasure he’s putting her through. Not that she’s complaining. The look on his face as she flutters around him more than makes up for the fact that he’s still got full use of his speech, even if he is using it to spew filth. “Then, I want to fill you up– fuck, I’ve been thinking about this dress all night, Emma. Do you know what you do to me?”

How can she even respond to that? He continues to fuck her deeper, laving kisses across her collar bones. Adjusting the angle, the pressure, the speed to keep her always on her toes. Bringing her almost to the edge and then dragging her back. She wants to be mad about it but she can’t bring herself to feel anything other than pleasure coiling low in her belly. Killian knows her too well. He knows what she likes, how she wants to be fucked and how to take care of her after. He knows she hates being teased but he also knows that she comes so much harder when she’s had to work for it. 

As she said, he knows her too well.

“I’m close.” She sobs, arms thrown around his neck. Her call spurs him on, fucking into her faster and deeper while he strokes relentlessly at her clit with his thumb. It’s only a few seconds before a tsunami of an orgasm washes over her in full force, wave after wave of pleasure settling over as she’s fucked through it. Gentler now than before. She can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears but she doesn’t miss the telltale grunts of her name as Killian follows shortly after with a few staccato pumps of his hips. True to his word, he comes deep inside her. The feeling of being so full warming her from the inside out. 

He collapses against her chest with a huff and she laughs, not able to resist running her hands through his hair. She loves him. From his grunty sex noises to the way he can’t seem to hold himself up once he’s spent. She loves all of him.

“Brainless yet, love?” He mumbles against his gifts from earlier. There’s a dull throb as he kisses one of the hickeys and Emma hums, wrapping him in her embrace. She doesn’t want to move, despite how awkwardly they’re tangled together and Killian growing soft inside her. If David catches them on his patrol in the morning, they’re screwed. Well, she is. He’d hold that over her for eternity. 

Pulling him tighter, she sighs. 

“Completely.” 

She’d have to ask Mary Margaret about that scar story again, for blackmail purposes.