#henry mills angst

[jessmalia]

heartless | 16. rootless

pairing: henry mills x oc a/n: we're back, baby! did not think it had been a full year since the last update, oops. sorry. this is a really good one, though! i love it. warnings: a little angst, one mention of sex, mary margaret being a prude. wordcount: 1378

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“Baelfire is Henry’s dad?!”

With Emma and Henry gone to Manhattan, Killian currently being M.I.A, and no apparent crisis on their hands, Mary Margaret and David had invited Max over to play board games to pass the time. They had been in the middle of an intense game of Ludo when Mary Margaret had gotten a call from Emma and excused herself. A couple minutes later, she’d come back with the shocking news that Rumpelstiltskin’s son was Henry’s father. 

Mary Margaret nodded. “Yes.”

Max let out a really long sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Well, that complicates things.” She just sat there for a long time, thinking, as David and Mary Margaret continued to discuss it. 

“So Rumpelstiltskin is Henry’s grandfather?” 

“Apparently.”

“But I’m his grandfather.”

“You can have more than one.”

David stammered a little before sighing. “So, his step-grandmother is Regina. The Evil Queen.”

“Actually, his step-great-grandmother,” said Mary Margaret. “And she’s also his adoptive mother.”

David leaned back in his chair just like Max. “It’s a good thing we don’t have Thanksgiving in our land, cause that dinner would suck.”

Mary Margaret chuckled. “Or… maybe this will mellow everyone out!”

Max chuckled. Then, just as she’d quieted down, she started laughing again, and soon she was laughing so hard that the two adults were giving her matching concerned looks. “Can you…” she forced her laughter down so she could get her words out. “Can you imagine Gold’s reaction? Finding out that Emma’s had sex with his son?”

Mary Margret gasped. “Max.”

Max rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. I’m fourteen, not five. Also, what’d you expect? I was raised by Hook.”

“Yeah, great environment to raise a kid in,” mumbled David. 

Max tossed him a glare that, ironically, was not well-suited for a child.

–––

It was a few hours later — during which the trio had eaten lunch and switched to playing Monopoly — that Mary Margret got another phone call from Emma. She seemed relieved at the excuse for a respite from the game, quickly excusing herself to the bedroom. Max couldn’t really blame her. She was pretty much the only one having fun at this point. She’d been in the lead the entire game and had watched as David grew more and more frustrated with how poorly he was doing. Mary Margret was doing way better, but she clearly wasn’t a fan of the competitive animosity this brought out of Max and her husband. 

What neither of them knew, though, was that Max had been cheating the whole time by constantly grabbing way more money from the bank than she was supposed to. 

When Mary Margret came back, Max got her answer to where Killian had disappeared to. He’d sailed the Jolly Roger to Manhattan to finally make his attempt on the Dark One’s life when he was no longer protected by magic. It had worked, and Rumpelstiltskin was currently dying of a magic poison.

Mary Margret had clearly been given the job to break the news to Max about how they’d been forced to leave Killian behind and steal his ship in order to save the Dark One’s life — which was apparently high priority all of a sudden; probably Baelfire’s doing — and Max was forced to reassure her several times that she understood. Which wasn’t a lie. Killian was unharmed except for a knock to the head, and finding his way from New York to Storybrooke would definitely be easier than his journey from the Enchanted Forest. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though. 

But the good news, according to Mary Margret, was that this meant that Neal — which was apparently Baelfire’s new name — would be coming along and spending some time in Storybrooke. It seemed like, however this Rumpelstiltskin dying thing would work out, things were really falling into place for Henry. 

“That’s great,” Max said, rolling the dice as an excuse for avoiding eye-contact and moving her piece, the thimble, forward two spaces. 

Henry had always been everything she had loved about the land. He was welcoming and cozy and grounded. He was a place where one could find shelter. Find a home. She envied his roots. His large family tree. 

Max was nothing like that. She was merely a length of seaweed, at the mercy of the tides and of fate, being tossed around from place to place, with no power to change her future. Even when she was launched into a place she actually liked, she knew it would be torn away from her, eventually. That was just how it was.

A sad smile pulled on her lips, trying not to let the bitterness show as she said, “...Henry’s getting a dad.”

David and Mary Margaret froze at that, exchanging looks of concern, and for the first time, David seriously considered how little he knew about Max’s upbringing. The only information he had was that she lived at Storybrooke orphanage, that no one had come to claim her after the curse was broken, and that, somehow, during her entire life, the closest thing Max had found to family was Captain Hook. Which somehow, despite it all, made some sense. 

Despite his hatred for the man, David couldn’t deny just how well he and Max… fit together. They matched. You could tell they were family just by looking at them. Whether it was the black leather, their easy banter, matching smirks, or just that very pirate-like tendency for mischief and rule-breaking that Max had always possessed. They were a set — just as much as him and Mary Margaret.

There was just one thing he didn’t understand.

“Why do you trust Hook so much?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t stepping over a line. 

Max studied him with a little surprise and some apprehension. “Because he saved my life,” she said simply. “At great risk of his own. And not just stopping me from falling off a cliff or saving me from an attack, anyone could’ve done that. No, he saved my soul. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

There was a finality to her last sentence that told David and Mary Margaret not to push her further on the subject. 

–––

Max hung back by David’s truck as he and Mary Margret rushed towards the docs, David helping Neal with a limping Rumpelstiltskin while Mary Margret checked up on Emma. Henry followed the three men as they made their way towards the car, exchanging words that Max couldn’t hear. She tried swallowing down the lump in her throat, eyes fixed on Neal the whole time.

Soon, Henry spotted her and his face lit up. “Max!” he shouted, running up and wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug which Max feverishly returned, though she didn’t remove her gaze from his father.

Neal’s eyebrows had furrowed the slightest bit when Henry had shouted her name, and when he’d helped Rumpelstiltskin gain purchase on the truck, his eyes landed on her and widened, mouth falling open. 

Max pretended not to notice this, instead extending her hand for him to shake. 

“Hi, I’m Max. It’s nice to meet you.”

Neal shook himself out of his shock, clearing his throat and taking Max’s hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he mumbled. 

“Max is my best friend!” Henry clarified. 

Neal raised his eyebrow. “Oh, is she now?” 

Max gave him a tightlipped smile, nodding once.

“Okay, kid,” Emma saved the situation by stepping up behind Neal. “Time for Max to take you home.”

Max was relieved at finally having something to do as she went to pick up the bike Mary Margaret had lent her from the back of the truck, though she could feel Neal’s eyes on her the entire time. 

“Come on, kiddo,” she said to Henry as she put the bike down and got on it.

Henry mistook Neal’s weird behavior for concern, saying, “Don’t worry,” as he seated himself on the luggage carrier and held onto Max’s waist, “I’ll be safe with Max.”

“Uh, okay,” his dad said.

Max tried her best to give him a reassuring nod before she rode away back to the apartment, hoping this new development wouldn't make her tenuous structure of white lies fall apart.

–––

heartless tallest: @bobdylansgf @anonymousewrites

[humblefryingpan]

(Once upon a time au - spoilers for season 3 and I think season 6)

Ngl I kinda loved the Henry/Pan body swap I low-key wish it stayed like that. It probably wouldn't have been great in the actual show but I'd love to see that in a fic/au

Everyone really struggling at fighting Peter because he looks like Henry? Amazing. And I like thinking about if they kept it that way, imagine them trying to raise the kid who looked like their enemy

(this is an angsty and long post)

Rumple looking at his grandson and only seeing his father who betrayed him. Tbh, I don't think he thought of Pan as the same person as his dad in general. Like pre-neverland he only saw him like that twice and it probably would've been more "the boy my dad invented to get rid of me" yk? That's my opinion at least

So Rumpy knowing Henry was supposey fated to kill him and then looking like that guy? He would not have handled that well and I'd have loved to see him having more of a reaction

Killian seeing his stepson and trying to ignore that he looked like the man who killed his brother. Pre-neverland I think he only knew Pan from when he rocked up and tricked him into killing his brother/best friend/only remaining family? So going from that, as well as everything in neverland, to marrying Emma and having to live with someone in Pan's body would've been sad as shit and I'd have loved it. He was dealing with his own guilt a lot when he moved in and I think this would've made it just that little bit worse

Regina and Emma trying to raise their son while looking at the man who kidnapped him. Both of them are definitely "fight first, question later" girls and they would've had to try to unlearn that in order to not hurt their son. Especially since they knew Pan as the guy that kidnapped Henry and the guy that tried to kill them all.

If this happened then the way I'd have done it would be someone finding out he was planning the curse and killing him before he could kill Felix (to stop the curse and also bc I love Felix and I have plans for him). Since he was still in Henry's body when he did the curse I would've said they killed him before he could switch places (I forgot how and when they switched back mb, doesn't affect the au too much right?)

So somebody (Rumple would probably work best but readers choice ig) killed Peter/Malcolm while he was in Henry's body and he got trapped in that body with magic so that he couldn't escape. Since the body would've been messed up when he got killed, Henry stays in Pan's body.

And I mentioned I had plans for Felix - he was clearly very devoted to Pan, like he didn't even get that mad when he killed him. I'm willing to bet that if he survived he still would've defended him. But now "Pan" is actually not Pan, it's the boy Pan wanted to sacrifice and I think Felix would've been pissed about that.

So he'd also be struggling with this entire situation. Losing Pan, but still seeing him in this town. Knowing Henry he'd try to talk to Felix too. Felix would either fully isolate himself, seek revenge on anyone and everyone who took part in Pan's downfall or he'd follow Henry around, trying to cling to any remaining part of Pan's existence. Assuming Regina doesn't kill him that is

Or if you want to stick to the canon show a bit more then Rumpy could kill him after the curse was cast but before he could turn back to himself.

And side note- Peter actually looks more like Emma and Neal's kid tbh. Like Henry looks sort of like Regina's son, and I see the snow white in him, but I don't see the Emma yk? So in the "Emma loses her memory again and thinks she's a regular parent" storyline she'd just assume he turned out more like her, Regina could alter her memory into thinking he always looked like that anyway.

And in that version she'd have the two versions of her memory. One where she sees her son as he always was and then getting the memory of who he actually was dumped on her. And struggling even more with seeing both simultaneously, even worse because Henry also wouldn't remember.

Which brings me to the point of - imagine Henry trying to grow up looking like the guy that took advantage of his kindness like that? Every time he looked in a mirror he'd see Pan instead of himself (and there are a lot of mirrors around when you're being raised by the former evil queen).

He'd see everyone struggling to adjust to him, he'd know why, and he'd probably feel insanely awful about it. He blamed himself for Neverland anyway, now he'd blame himself for everyone's discomfort.

And like I said at the start of this lil au infodump, I don't think it would've worked long term in the actual show. I don't think the writers could've got it to work in some of the storylines, but Pan-Henry has been rattling around in my brain like a lego stuck in a jar since I first watched it. Basically I want everyone to be sadder and I want more Pan, the angst potential in this is incredible to me.

[teen-antisocial]

the winner was folklore guys, I'll try and get a one shot posted today!!!

the love interests are in the hashtags below. You may see Percy is tagged. However, I will be basing that one off the movies because I feel uncomfortable writing about Walker because of his age.

FOLKLORE MASTERLIST

[woodandwaxwings]

Glimpse Of Us (Henry Mills x Male Reader)

summary; Needless to say Henry and Y/n have been very close all their lives. But things change, and not always for the best. can be read as platonic or romantic but was intended to be romantic.(It seems like I only post angst or sorta sad fluff lol also my requests are VERY open as long as the character is on my masterlist) Might turn this into a full fic if y'all want me to.

Warnings; reader has black hair, ANGST, strangers to friends to secret crush

Word Count— 1,004

"You're in my spot," The young boy looked down from the stood he was seated on to the other boy around his age. "Henry, that's rude!" The woman next to him spoke as she kneeled next to her son and looked up at the other child as he swung his feet on the stool. "I'm so sorry about him." As she surveyed the boy she realized she had never seen him before, with his tussled black hair and fragile hands, he looked to be only seven, the same as her son. "I'm sorry sweetie, what's your name?" Regina asked as the stranger slid off the stool. "Y/n, and it's no problem, miss. I've got to get going anyway, my mom's expecting me." As he said that she noticed the bag of oatmeal that sat on the counter as the child brought it to his chest. Henry smiled as he climbed into the still-warm seat and his mother watched the mystery child leave. Henry furrowed his brows at the still half-full mug, "You forgot your drink!" He called out and the click of Y/n's black boots halted, "You can keep it." Henry nodded, unable to answer as the other boy's smile gave him a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Y/n sat up on the frozen bench as he was blinded by the lights of a foreign yellow car. He brought his frost-nipped fingers to his eyes to block out the lights as a blonde woman and a hazy boy exited the car to speak with Archie Hopper. Henry looked between this blonde woman and the boy from Granny's before he made his decision to sit next to Y/n. "You running away again?" Henry asked, though he already knew the answer. "I just... needed some air." Henry shook his head, "You're gonna get in trouble again." Y/n let out a scoff through his nose, "I hate that place. And-" Y/n looked at his lap, "And I wanted to visit my mom." The truth was after Henry discovered the book Y/n was the first person he went to. At the time the orphaned boy was still just a stranger, but his page in the book and his unchanged name gave him a feeling that he could help him break the curse. Y/n looks up from his lap over into the doe eyes that were already on him, "You really think she can help us?" Both of their gazes snapped over to the blonde woman, supposedly Henry's mother, as she left Dr Hopper to join them on the bench. "I know it." Y/n smiled as he looked back at Henry, "You're lucky I trust your heart more than mine." Henry smiled at the boy next to him, their conversation ending as Emma joined them.

Y/n stood anxiously at the front end of Killian's ship, knuckles lightening with his harsh grip on the ship's edge. "You're going to fall off if you go any farther up the wall," Snow said as she placed a gentle hand on the preteen's shoulder. "What if we don't make it in time?" He asked the elder woman, his gaze unmoving from the approaching horizon. "We're going to find him, Y/n." He nodded, "I know that. I'm afraid of how we'll find him." His gaze dropped from the golden sandy shores to the mermaid-riddled ocean. "I've been having these nightmares. They- they feel so real." He looked over to the dark-haired woman as he placed a hand below his left rib. "Henry, he- he's different. And then there's this strange pain in my stomach and suddenly I can't breathe. It's like the world is suffocating me in my own darkness." "You've been having visions?" Y/n turned around fully to face Regina. "You're mother had them too." Her shoes clicked against the wooden grain, "The way they're shown to her was very deceiving. They happened, just not the way she expected." Y/n turned back around, "So, you don't think they'll be bad?" He asked. "I think you should have hope that they'll be good." He nodded, their talk ending as the ship reached the shore.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Henry asked as he firmly grasped Y/n's hand. "Our world needs your mother more than it needs me. My soul has been tainted by darkness since I was born, nobody needs me." Henry sighed as Y/n pulled out of his grasp, his e/c eyes meeting his best friend's puppy dog brown ones. He smiled, "I'm not going to die, Henry. I promise," Those were the last words he had spoken to his friend before ending up at the docks in front of the Dark Swan. "You stole my title," Y/n joked as he approached the woman. "Didn't you know, there's only space for one black swan." The elder woman rolled her eyes, sending a wave of dark magic at the teen as he shifted into a swan, flying over the magic and onto the edge of the dock. This game of chase continued as Y/n began to grow tired of wasting time. "Emma!" Regina shouted out, distracting her allowing Y/n to grab ahold of the blade in her hand. The platinum-haired woman trusted the blade forward, the shift pushing him back a step. It wasn't until her son screamed as he pushed past her had she realized what she had done. With a ball of smoke, Emma had returned to her savior self, grabbing onto Henry before he lunged off the edge of the dock. "NO!" He screamed out at the splash of his best friend's body slamming into the sea. "Please, you promised! I need you. I love you," His voice cracked as his knees hit the dock, his vision blurring as his tears hit the surfacing air bubbles in the water. "No," He whispered, looking up at his adopted mother as she placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. "He promised."

[middlemistcs13]

So I actually wrote something again! #huzzah. This is based off the prompt on Tumblr by novelbear. Thanks for the prompt lists, they finally inspired me to write again :).

Any and all feedback is appreciated and welcome, as this is only my second fic posted in quite some time. Also on AO3 if that's more your speed.

Warning ⚠️: this one is angsty, and set during 5×11 (Swan Song - after Killian is killed with Excalibur). If angst isn't your thing, I completely understand and hope you have a lovely rest of your day. If captain swan angst is your thing, read on!!

AO3:

Prompt: holding onto a stuffed animal/pillow, imaging that it’s their lover in their embrace instead

By: @novelbear on Tumblr

“Misery”

Emma isn’t sure how long her parents let her stay there on the ground, her fingers pressed into the cold Earth, trying-and failing- to ground her in some way. Henry had clutched onto her and wept with her some time ago before Regina took him home for the first “safe” night in Storybrooke since returning from Camelot. As if Emma would have ever hurt Henry, Dark One or not. Snow and Charming take turns holding her and rubbing her back soothingly, but Emma isn’t sure if she will ever be soothed again. The pain radiated from the center of her, expanding into every crevice of her body and every fiber of her being. Finally, her mother eased her up from the ground, having to almost pull her from where she was crouched on the wet grass. Emma can’t feel the dampness of her jeans- only the empty feeling in her chest and the intense aching through her bones.

“Why don’t you stay with us tonight, Emma?” Snow asks softly, as if speaking too loud will somehow make the situation worse. Nothing could make this worse, Emma thinks bitterly.

“I don’t know Mom” Emma starts.

“Emma, it’s just been so long since we’ve been able to have you for the night, and we don’t want you to be alone right now,” Charming speaks up.

“No amount of people in a room is going to make me feel any better Dad,” Emma utters, holding back more tears. God, how could she possibly cry this much?

“We can stop by your place and pack a bag,” Snow suggested, hoping Emma would change her mind.

“Mom, I just- I just don’t think I can do it tonight. He never lived there, but it was supposed to be our home. I just want to be there tonight. I can call if I need you.” Emma said.

“But Emma, you’ve been alone for weeks now, honey,” Snow urged.

“I know!” Emma shouts, stopping in the middle of the street and startling herself and her parents. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I am acutely aware of how alone I’ve been? It’s all my fault, Mom! All my fault! If I would have just done everything differently- he would still- he would…” Emma’s voice breaks and the hot, salty tears again make their way down her cheeks. “Killian- Killian would be okay, and he would be here with me. But he’s not, and it’s all my fault. And I just need to sit with that for a little bit.” David envelopes his daughter in his arms as she whimpers into his shoulder.

“Alright Emma, we’ll be by to check on you in the morning, alright?” Her Dad said as they approached her giant, empty, depressing house. Emma nodded numbly, already dreading the night- and the rest of her life- without him. She gave each of her parents a brief hug, and David kissed her forehead before she trudged up the steps and disappeared into the house.

Emma stopped in the foyer, observing her house, knowing it was supposed to be theirs. He picked it out for you, Emma reminded herself. She glanced at the entrance to the living room from the foyer, where Killian learned his fate as a Dark One. Zelena, Emma thought miserably. She ruined it all. Emma had it all under control until Zelena.

Emma pushes on through the house, trudging up the stairs. Each step feels like a thousand pounds are pushing down on her, and Emma isn’t quite sure how she makes it up the stairs. She stands in front of her bedroom door and takes a shaky breath before pushing the door open. The wood slowly creaks open, something that sends a shiver down Emma’s spine. The wooden creak reminds her of him, of his ship. How will she ever live or breathe again without feeling the weight of the guilt and pain of losing him? He’s dead because of you, Emma reminds herself harshly.

She slowly strips off her clothes- first her boots, then she peels her wet jeans down her legs. She slips her socks off and gently lays her red leather jacket on the rocking chair in the corner of the bedroom. She strips herself of her cream sweater- it somehow still smells faintly of him. She lays that in the chair as well, before unhooking her bra and opening a dresser drawer. She lets her fingers run over the fabric in the drawer, before selecting a soft gray t-shirt to sleep in. She pulls the shirt over her head over Killian’s ring, before drawing the covers of her bed back, and crawling into it.

Emma’s exhausted- she hasn’t slept in actual weeks due to her predicament as the Dark One. Despite the exhaustion creeping onto every muscle in her body, Emma’s sure she won’t be able to sleep. Hell, she can’t imagine ever sleeping peacefully again. She thought she would toss and turn in the bed, but the mental and physical exhaustion nearly paralyze her. As she lays in the middle of the mattress, Emma reflects how this was supposed to be their bed, their bedroom, their home. He picked it out for her, but she ruined it all.

He never got to enjoy it with her. Their future is over. It never even started.

She hears gasping breaths echoing in the bedroom and realizes she’s sobbing again. The deep, weeping sobs wrack her body, and she reaches blindly for an extra pillow. She pulls the pillow into her embrace, squeezing it with all the strength she has left. Emma brings her knees closer to her midsection, locking the pillow in her grasp. After several minutes of deep, shaky breaths, Emma clutches the pillow closer to her chest, hoping that the pillow will somehow be him- will somehow ease the pain that will never go away. Her last thought before her eyes drift shut, destined for fitful sleep, is of Killian, telling her that he loves her. She hopes when she wakes up that the nightmare will be over, even though she knows this is only the beginning.

[withgirl-sq]

Next SQ idea

So for this one, I’m not really sure that it can make a full story but I would have loved to see some consequences from the wraith attack

So I’m thinking that Regina does actually lose her soul and she kind of becomes catatonic but is technically ‘alive’ so Henry thinks that she has been ‘vanquished’/he assumes she’s faking it 

Emma would be trying to bring her back but when Henry starts having his sleeping curse dreams, he meets Regina in the burning room because it turns out that is where the Wraith takes the souls.

The only scene I have a clear idea for is Henry finally going to see Regina in the hospital and finding out that she is burned so he gives her his pendant to protect her and then when he goes to sleep he is able to talk to her again, but that’s sort of all I got

[multifandomfix]

I Never Promised You A Rose Garden — Regina Mills

Summary: You’ve always loved Regina, but her actions as the Evil Queen finally become too much to bear. Will she see the error of her ways in time or will it be too late to make her amends?

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: Angst, grief, no happy ending

You’ve always loved Regina.

You were there before Daniel, before the eventual heartbreak that followed in the wake of his death, before she became the Evil Queen. From the moment you met her, you knew she was special. She was kind, passionate, and full of life. When she fell in love with Daniel, you saw her happiness and swallowed your own pain, choosing instead to support her.

You remembered the first time you saw her with him. The way her eyes sparkled and her laugh rang out, pure and unrestrained. It was a beautiful sight, even if it broke your heart. "He's everything to me," she had confided to you one day, her smile brighter than the sun. You nodded, forcing a smile and hiding the turmoil inside you. You told her you were happy for her. In part, at least, you were.

When Cora killed Daniel, you were the one who held Regina, comforting her through her grief. "I can't go on without him," she had sobbed, clinging to you like a lifeline. You wanted to whisk her way and protect her from the world’s cruelty then, but before you’d had a chance, Leopold came with his proposal, and she was drawn into a grander life that you couldn’t follow her into. "I have to do this," she'd said to you, mere days before she was to depart, and this time it not only broke your heart, but hers. Cora had made this decision for her, and no matter what you said, you knew her fate was sealed.

When Leopold died, Regina found you again, asking you to be an adviser in her court. It wasn’t an offer you could refuse, not that you had wanted to. You were happy to be by her side once more, even though something felt different. In private, she was still your Regina, soft and caring, especially with you and her father, Henry. But around others, she had become the Evil Queen, cold and ruthless. It was a dissonance you struggled to reconcile.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked her one night, after a particularly harsh punishment to one of her guards.

"Because I have to be strong," she replied, looking away. You thought to argue that there were other ways she could be seen as such, but you could tell by her demeanor that she would hear none of it.

You, along with Henry, tried to dissuade her from casting the curse you both knew was coming, but again, she wouldn’t listen. "This isn't the answer, Regina," you pleaded. "You can't build your happiness on others' misery."

She looked at you, eyes hard. "Happiness is a lie," she snapped. "Revenge is all I have left."

Watching the woman you so ardently adored become this cold, unloving and merciless queen had hurt you more than you imagined. You debated leaving more than once, but your devotion to her and the person she’d been stopped you each and every time. You still thought you could get through to her.

However, her sacrificing her father to enact her dark curse was the breaking point. You couldn’t hold back any longer. "Regina, stop!" you shouted, rushing to her side. "I can't let you do this."

She turned to you, eyes cold. "You don't get to tell me what to do," she said. "Not anymore." You could tell the last part wasn’t meant for you specifically, but Regina was so lost in her own hatred, she wasn’t being rational.

"This isn't you," you cried, tears streaming down your face. "I don't recognize you anymore. What happened to the woman I loved?"

Regina's eyes widened in shock. "Loved?" she repeated, incredulous. "You... loved me?" For a moment, you glimpsed the Regina you used to know.

"Yes," you said, voice trembling. "I've loved you all these years. Even when it hurt, even when you pushed me away."

And just like that it was gone, that lightness in her eyes darkened once more and Regina snapped, refusing to believe you. To her, the only happiness was making Snow White suffer. Your confession was seen as a weakness, an obstacle in her path to revenge. "You're lying," she spat. "You're trying to weaken me, to stop me from getting what I deserve."

"No, Regina, please," you begged. "I'm telling the truth. I love you."

But it was too late. She had her guards seize you, and you were left to watch as she prepared to cast the curse. "Get out," she ordered, voice breaking slightly. "And don't come back."

It was too late for Regina to turn back. "I can't stop now," she whispered to herself, tears in her eyes as she moved to complete the curse. "I can't."

*****

For twenty eight years in Storybrooke, she thought about you, regretting the day that she let you go and longing for your presence. With no magic in this land, she couldn’t track you down. She didn’t even know if you’d made it here when the curse covered the land. She had no way of knowing for certain. Not unless she saw you. And for all twenty eight years, she’d not even seen you in passing once.

Finally, when Emma broke her curse, Regina disappeared to her vault and cast a spell on a necklace of yours that she had kept for all these years. The spell led her to a spot in the back of her garden where a bush of wild roses grew. Confused, she went to Gold, who gave her a potion to show the last memories of the person she thought about.

Once safely home, she drank the concoction down, damning any side effects that may come with it. She had to know where you were. Her vision clouded over and a scene played out in her head.

It was back on the day she cast the curse, you had broken free from her guards, the ones she’d ordered to take you away from her. You tried to reach her, in one desperate last chance to stop her. If you’d made it to her, you still would been too late, somehow she knew that, but as she watched you run, trying to make it back in the castle, she felt an ache grip her chest. And there it was, you, stumbling up the stairs in your hurry and alerting some of the castle knights. Thinking you were an ally of Snow White and Prince Charming, they pursued you, catching you easily enough after your fall. And Regina collapsed onto the floor when she witnessed one of them stab their sword through your chest.

As the fog of the memories lifted from her eyes she realized, if her house here in Storybrooke represented her former castle, then the bush of wild roses in her yard marked the very spot where you died.

Regina was completely broken by the vision and by your loss, but she made a promise to herself. She hadn’t been able to protect you in life, but she would take care of those roses until her dying breath. The bush grew there at the back of her garden because you had almost reached her when the curse was cast. Now, the place of your death had become a silent testament to her loss.

Every day, Regina tended to the roses, pouring her love and regret into their care. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to the blooms. "I was blind and foolish. I should have listened to you."

As the years passed, the roses flourished under her care, a living memorial to the love she had lost. Regina would often sit by the bush, talking to the flowering bush as if you could hear her. "I miss you," she would say, tears glistening in her eyes. "I wish I could reverse it all, make things right."

In her heart, she vowed to honor your memory, knowing that she had been too blind to see the truth when it mattered most. The roses became her solace, a reminder of what she had once and had lost, and the depth of her own folly. And as she tended to them, she hoped that somehow, somewhere, you could feel her love and her regret, and forgive her.

For @annalestern

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Regina Mills: @dancingwith-sunflowers, @riveranddoctorsong123, @the-disorderly-writer, @ladysc, @reginassecretlover, @sarah-paulsons-bottom-lip, @ejcoolgirl, @xscarlettxbelovax, @iciclesandsnow, @the-bearr, @akeldamasemele, @geekyandgay98, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @academiagaymess, @lady-darkswan3, @babygirlscout, @myfriendtuvok, @axel-barnes

[rems-writing]

Alternative Remedies

Pairing: fwb idol!San × witch gn!reader

Summary: One fuck up after another and the youngest Mills child is officially fed up. Good thing San is in town. And he has certain ways to make his lover relax

Warning(s): Cursing, yelling, a teeny bit of violence, mentions of stress, cockwarming, size kink, homeboy is playing with your ass a lot lol

Genre: Angst with a supposed fluffy ending and definitely smut

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Thank you to @bunnliix for giving me the drabble title

Done.

That's what you were.

Just utterly fucking done.

You were just supposed to relax and help Mr. Gold and Belle take care of baby Gideon but nope! You had to go on a small quest with Snow White and David Charming. Emma and Hook were taking care of baby Neal and you couldn't use Henry as an excuse to opt out of this quest since the young boy was with Zelena. She wanted to bond with him a bit more and Regina volunteered to take care of baby Robin. So now here you were.

Sitting in the back of a cop car

With the Seven Dwarves

And they were yapping about such damn nonsense. You forgot your earbuds at home so you couldn't ignore their endless bickering about whatever the fuck they were on about. When it was time to catch the bad guy, you teleported out of the car and in between Emma's parents.

The quest was easy. You took out the bad guys with ease. So why were you so fed up? Simple.

Dopey swung his pickaxe and tried to hit the bad guy but they dodged at the last second and the tip of the axe slashed your arm. What was worse was that it was laced with magic.

Light magic.

And you dealt with dark magic for the main part.

When you screamed, or screeched in pain, random bursts of spells were expelled from your palms and everyone was blown backwards.

Which leads us to now.

You were yelling at Dopey for being stupid and not paying attention to where the axe was thrown and Grumpy stood up for him. Poorly may I add.

Snow and David swore they say smoke come out of your ears as you cussed out Grumpy. The angry dwarf remained stoic but the couple could tell he was afraid for his life.

"SCREW THIS! SCREW ALL OF YOU! FUCK THIS SHIT! I'M DONE!"

You threw Dopey's pickaxe to the side and teleported out of the forest in a puff of smoke. You were now in your apartment, sighing to yourself as you laid on the bed. Then, a notification appeared on your phone and you were about to tell whoever texted you to fuck off when a look of pleasant surprise appeared on your face.

San: Hey, baby

San: I'm in town

San: Well, technically I'm in New York lol anyways

San: My group finished the first concert for our American tour and I told them that I was gonna stay behind since they wanted to go out. Told them I wasn't feeling too well.

San: Wanna come over? We don't have to fuck. I just want you close to me.

You didn't think twice about responding back. Choi San was definitely someone that could help you with your stress. It's even better since he knows you're a witch so you didn't feel the need to cover up your words if you were going to rant to him plus you can poof in front of him anytime you'd like

You: Sure. I'll be there in a bit. Lemme get ready.

San: I'm in the same hotel as last time. I'll be waiting, kitten.

And that's how you ended up in his room, straddling him and kissing him fiercely. He matched your ferocity and grabbed your ass a lot. He squeezed your hips and played with both of your cheeks for a bit before pulling away.

"Bad day today?"

"Oh you don't know the half of it, Sannie."

As you ranted about your day, he mindlessly played with the hem of your jacket and listened to your words tentatively. He cradled your face and kissed your forehead softly.

"I know you put a spell on this jacket so your memory doesn't get fucked up since you're outside of Storybrooke. But may I remove it for now? I want to feel you." He asked gently. "I thought you didn't want to have sex." You were confused. "I don't but still. I need you with me. Do you catch my drift?" He clarified and it dawned on you. "Yeah you can remove it for now. I need you as well." He smiled at your confirmation before slowly shrugging off your jacket and setting it on the nightstand. You took off your leggings and San brought you into a deep kiss before licking his fingers and plunging them into your hole. While he was doing that, you took off your shirt and so did he.

You forgot how wide he was and you almost came on the spot.

As you were admiring his strong build, he sunk you down onto his equally thick cock and you moaned loudly. He chuckled smoothly and leaned in to nip, kiss, and lick at your neck. He missed marking you up. You tried your best not to squirm around since you were just cockwarming him, but with the way he was smacking and grabbing your ass, you couldn't help but wiggle in his strong hold. He pressed you against his semi naked form and just held you. He may have been shirtless, but his sweats and boxers were just pulled down to the middle of his thighs.

You mindlessly ran your hands over his broad shoulders and gawked at his firm chest, tiny waist, sculpted abs, pretty collarbone, muscular arms, and his face.

Oh his face was to die for.

Sharp jawline, sharper eyes, a pretty nose, pretty lips, high cheekbones, and

Was that an eyebrow slit?

"Nice brow slit." You commented randomly and he smiled. You found it endearing when his smile made his eyes crinkle and almost close up. "Thank you. I wanted to try something new." He explained. "Well you look nice."

For the rest of the time, you were just sitting on his cock, moving every now and then to keep him firm so he doesn't go limp and slip out. You definitely needed this. You felt all your stress wash away and you sighed in content as you looked down at the man that was holding you down onto his cock.

Choi San will be the death of you.

[bunniebubbleswrites]

More than Friends

Regina Mills x F! Reader A/N: I am back once again to give Tumblr more Regina x reader fics because it's lacking Warnings: Angst with fluff? Words: 950

When you got the call from Regina that Henry was in the hospital you rushed over there immediately, but your boss was nowhere to be found. You had been Regina’s secretary for as long as you can remember. 

You paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room near Henry’s room. How would you tell Regina?

Both Emma and Regina came running into the hospital as Dr. Whale and Mother Superior came out of the room looking grim. You glanced up at Regina, you knew what had happened but you weren’t sure how to say it. She looked hopeful, like Henry had possibly already woken up. 

“We did everything we could.” Dr. Whale’s voice was filled with remorse 

“I’m sorry. You’re too late.”  Mother Superior's voice cracked just slightly. Regina looked distraught

In a dase, Emma walked into the room and I tried to pull Regina off to the side but she went into the room shortly after Emma did with Whale and Mother Superior. You followed not too long after.  When the realization hit Regina she turned to you and you took her into your arms as she started to sob. 

Emma walked over to Henry, taking his small hand in hers. You held Regina’s head in one hand and ran your other hand down her back. You wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but how would everything be okay? Henry is dead. 

Emma placed a kiss on her son’s forehead, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.  You let Regina go from your grip as she turned around a wind brushing both your faces and Henry woke up. Regina gripped your hand with a smile on her face. Henry was okay, her son was okay. 

“I love you, too.” Henry looked at Emma as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“You saved me.” You had your memories back and you weren’t sure what to do. You wanted to stay with Regina, like you promised you would. 

“You did it!” Regina said, just happy that her son was alive. Some nurses started filling in the room and then it hit her. 

“No.” She looked around in a panic, you were supposed to protect her, that was your job. 

Henry told Emma that she had broken the curse and when Blue went up to them saying that it was true love's kiss, you knew that the both of you were in danger. 

“No, No.” Regina looked at you, you couldn’t do anything, not without your magic. 

“If I were you two, I would find a place to hide.” Blue said, giving you both a warning. 

Regina walked up to Henry, you were unsure of what she was planning to do. Both of you were helpless without your magic, well you not so much. 

“Henry, no matter what you think, no matter what anyone tells you,” Regina’s voice started to crack “ I do love you.” All Henry did was glare at her and in that moment your heart broke just a little. You pulled Regina away by grabbing her hand and started running. 

Once you reached her house, you locked the door. You had heard Regina run upstairs, to Henry’s room no doubt. You weren’t sure what to do, you weren’t someone who had to deal with this often. You had listened to her rants and everything else when she would talk to you for the past 28 years, but now; now you weren’t sure what to do. 

After about 3 minutes of fighting with yourself, you went up the grand staircase and spotted the open door to Henry’s room. You went over and leaned in the doorway debated on how to go about this. 

“Hey, Regina,” She looked back at you as you walked into the room. “Henry will be okay and we will find a way to get him back.” You sit down next to her taking one of her hands off the pillow she was holding and into your own. 

“Why are you so good to me?” The question startled you. You couldn’t just tell her that you’ve had feelings for her since you started working for her back in the woods. 

“Because, I-” You didn’t know what to say. Your face flushed and you pulled your hand from hers so you could cover your face with both. 

“It’s embarrassing, and it’s not just because I work for you.” Your voice came out muffled and you heard Regina let out a small chuckle. She pulled your hands off your face and pushed your hair behind your ear. 

“You’ve stuck with me through everything, it can’t be that embarrassing.” She’s smiling at you, that genuine smile. You took a breath and told her. 

“Regina, I’ve been harboring feelings, romantic feelings for you, for some time.” You tried to pull your hands away but her grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make you stay.  

“Well, that’s good, because so have I. Why do you think I made you my second in command?” You pulled your hands from hers and went to go wipe her wet cheeks and put her forehead against yours. 

She put her lips against yours and you didn’t hesitate to kiss back letting your arms fall round her neck. When she pulled back, you both were breathing heavily. You felt a grin form on your face and you giggled just a little. 

“I’m glad we can be more than friends.” 

“I’ve always wanted to be more than friends.” Regina said as the sky grew slightly. You both went to the window and saw the purple smoke covering Storybrooke, magic was returning. You both wouldn’t go down without a fight.

[moonlight-prose]

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 03. WICKED NIGHTS

a/n: honestly i didn't expect to take a year to ever post about this fic again. if i'm being honest i figured this would become an abandoned series. solely cause the inspo for this character completely left my head. but i couldn't let go of our reporter and their love story with this bat. so while the updates may take time, i'm ready to keep going with this. enjoy.

summary: halloween was always been your least favorite night of the year, but circumstances make it so much worse.

word count: 8.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, fluff, awkward beginnings, a small bit of romance, murder, death, crime scenes, grief, gratuitous prose about the darkness of gotham.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Halloween. Your least favorite night of the year.

The city streets were crowded with people; a sight not unusual to the dark pit that Gotham transformed into. But that didn’t mean you had to like it. Even getting to work was a struggle due to the overcrowded platform of the subway and the scarcity of cabs. If you had your way you’d wish everyone would suddenly vanish—giving you a chance to find some reprieve before the onslaught of darkness that plagued this night every year. Although you were foolish enough to hold out hope. Foolish enough to believe that things would be different; that nothing wicked would befall this night.

If only you’d known.

Work was filled with people milling about, some in costumes, some not. You wore your usual black coat—a pair of boots accompanying your look. If someone were to ask you’d claim you were dressed as you were every other day of the year—as a reporter working yourself to the bone. It would be sure to get a laugh from a person or two in this office.

It always did in the end.

Only this time…you weren’t laughing.

The interview you had with Bruce Wayne yesterday continued to bounce around in your mind; the thought of how to write it, still missing. You didn’t want to sound like every other magazine that sprouted nothing but gossip. There’s a reason why you chose to work at the Gotham Gazette. So you could get into the nitty and gritty of the story—no matter how dark it got in the end. To you this was either a story people would talk about forever, or it would remain a forgotten piece that would later wind up in people’s trash cans come morning the next day.

“Day.” Henry leaned against the doorway of his office. A pencil behind his ear, his glasses propped on the end of his nose, and a cup of crappy coffee in his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

You hoped you would have at least five minutes of time to breathe before you were called into what you liked to claim was the equivalent of the principal’s office. But it seemed that Henry Goldfinch decided to pick on you this week more than anyone else.

The interview notes you’d jotted down during the night were crammed into your small black notebook—nearly burning a hole in your pocket. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d ask you about them; intent on seeing a full story by tomorrow night.

“Look Henry I did the best I could with the guy, but he barely even spoke—” You were cut off at the look on his face. “Am I in trouble?”

“I just got a call from Mr. Pennyworth.”

Shit, you were so fired.

“If he wants to retract any statements then I’ll work with what I've got, but you were the one who gave me this story and I think I can do a damn good job on it.”

“Would you let me talk?” Your jaw snapped shut, cutting off the remainder of your ramble; or what you’d like to call reasons why he shouldn’t fire you. “Don’t unpack your things.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently you caught Mr. Wayne’s eye,” he said, settling down in his seat. “That call was Mr. Pennyworth giving me notice that Bruce Wayne is heading down to The Gotham Gazette today.”

“What?” you exclaimed, nearly falling into the chair behind you. “What the fuck for?”

“He wants to take you to lunch, kid.”

You fell into the chair, staring wide eyed at Henry who regarded you with a smirk.

Bruce Wayne wanted to take you to lunch. He was coming to your work in order to…pick you up.

Any way you tried to string it together, the news still remained hard to comprehend. Still you caught on to Henry’s words from before. You’d caught Bruce Wayne’s eye and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences of that. This would be the first time in years since he’d left Wayne Tower to do something as mundane as go to lunch. Let alone with someone like you.

“What do I do?” you croaked, trying not to panic as the reporter in you attempted to take over. Was this only a social call? Or did he want to do a follow up interview?

Henry leaned forward, the damned smirk still on his face. “You go to lunch with him. Maybe he likes you.”

“Likes me,” you scoffed. “I’d no sooner learn the identity of The Batman before Bruce Wayne admitted to liking me.”

You wanted answers like any sane person would, but the idea that Bruce Wayne possibly liked you left words unavailable to you. That was the farthest thing from the truth, except coming up with some other alternative left you with nothing yet again. What the fuck were you being called to lunch for? You hoped it was just him personally asking you to rip up the notes you took from yesterday while he watched.

“They’ll be here soon. I’d get your ass moving.”

“Right.” You stood slowly, a feeling of unease spreading through you with every step towards the door. “Did—um—Mr. Pennyworth…did he sound upset?”

Henry scoffed, taking a sip from his coffee. “And here I thought you didn’t give a shit if you pissed people off Day.”

You felt the switch flip in your mind. A reminder of who you truly were on the inside coming back like lightning cracking across your body, and you stood taller in your place. You didn’t care. You never had.

“I don’t.”

“Atta girl.” He tipped his cup slightly your way, watching as you walked back out into the office—the straight set of your spine once again returning.

You didn’t come to Gotham to make friends. You came here to work, to build a career that would outlast you if you were determined enough. Pissing off Bruce Wayne had never been on your list, but you figured it was bound to happen eventually. It was either now or later in life. Thankfully everyone had their hands full worrying about The Batman and the election—so you pissing off the Prince of Gotham would go unnoticed.

Grabbing your bag, you did a quick sweep of your desk to make sure that everything was accounted for before you left. You weren’t sure how long this lunch would take, but you didn’t intend to come back later.

The elevator doors opened once again with a loud creak, thankfully revealing it to be empty. Your heart thrummed in your chest a mile a minute, the tension still in your shoulders as you walked towards what might be the end of your career. While you knew the possibility of this simply being a social call was high, you couldn’t ignore what might very well happen. The ding of your stop brought you out of your daze enough to get out and head towards the front doors.

Glancing up towards the sky you saw the gloominess still remained—a reminder of where you were, what this city was reduced to. While you may have called it pollution of the environment, others would call it weather. After all there was always a difference in opinion when the opinion came a bit too close to the actual truth.

A sleek black car sat directly outside of the doors, a man in a black coat was hunched beneath an umbrella leaning against its side. You recognized him the second he raised his head, his blue eyes practically singeing your skin. Henry really wasn’t kidding when he said Bruce Wayne himself was coming to pick you up from the Gazette. People stopped and stared at the spectacle that was this man. By all means he was considered a hermit from the rumors that spread through Gotham like poison, and yet there he was, meeting with an unknown woman—a reporter nonetheless.

“You don’t seem like the lunch date type of man,” you said, standing far enough under the awning of the building where you didn’t get wet from the rain, but still felt it splatter against your coat.

His lips twitched, eyes skimming your figure before flicking up back to your face. You wanted to ignore the flutter in your chest from that simple gesture, but your body wouldn’t let you. It seemed that whoever Bruce Wayne was…he had an affect on you—a hold that refused to be severed.

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Scoffing, you turned to glare at a man who stood only a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“So you aren’t here to have lunch with me. You’re simply here by the orders of Mr. Pennyworth,” you retorted.

“Alfred,” he said, finally standing to his full height for the first time since you met him. He was taller than you actually anticipated. “He thought it would be a good idea.”

“He thought going on a date with a reporter was a good idea?”

He shrugged slightly, the tension in his shoulders made the movement awkward. “Would you call this a date Miss…”

“Day.”

“Day,” he repeated quietly, his lips forming around the word as if it was already familiar to him. “Interesting name.”

“Nick-name,” you replied.

He nodded slowly, his gaze so intense you found you had to keep looking away. “Your real name isn’t printed on any of your bylines.”

You smiled albeit rather ruefully as you stepped close enough to be underneath his umbrella with him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to earn my real name Mr. Wayne.”

Again you watched—entranced—as his lips twitched slightly. Almost like he wanted to smile, but forgot how exactly to do it. He’d been in pain so long, suffering the grief of losing those he loved most for nearly his entire life, and not once had he learned what the true meaning of happiness was. For some unknown reason, you wanted to be the first one to show him.

“Okay,” he murmured, turning towards the passenger seat door and opening it for you. “And it’s Bruce.”

The words were accompanied with an outstretched hand to help you into the car, his hold simultaneously gentle yet firm as you sat. Your eyes met his briefly, something flickering to life between your gaze, before the door shut entirely and you were left in silence for a few brief seconds. It gave you enough time to catch what little breath you had in your chest—the interaction far too electric for someone like you.

Get some fucking sense.

You weren’t the type of person Bruce Wayne would fall for. One day he would find someone as wealthy as him, someone who knew his life due to shared experience. You hated those fucking words with a burning passion. Shared experience with people never went over well in your line of work. For a reporter, shared experience meant you had nothing original to say. It meant that you were the same as everyone else around you and to you that was damnation itself.

“Where would you like to eat?”

The question was barely loud enough for you to hear over the traffic and rain, but his soft tone caught you in its hold until you were solely focused on him. Once again that unfamiliar spark of energy crackled in the air. You were afraid that if this continued, you’d walk out of this lunch date with a newfound crush on Gotham’s Prince. That thought alone was enough for you to tear your gaze away—settling in the seat and staring through the front window.

“You invited me, Mr. Wayne. Why don’t you pick?”

He fell silent, hands shifting from his lap to the steering wheel and back again. “I don’t know many places to eat around Gotham anymore.”

Of course Bruce Wayne of all people would eat at home day in and day out. Thus was the luxury of having a personal chef in the Wayne Tower. Although you couldn’t stop the small grin from forming at how funny you found all of this.

Going to lunch with this man. It should have been absurd—almost laughable—but there you were. About to tell him to drive into the heart of the city just to take you to your favorite diner. Reporters would murder you just to stand in your spot. To spend mere moments with him. Yet it seemed that all you had to do was exist.

Rather than dwell on the moment any longer, you told him where to take you and it seemed that he knew the city a lot better than you expected. Pulling out of the spot with ease, he swiftly swung the car around in a rather illegal u-turn before making a quick right turn. You had to hand it to him…he knew how to handle a car. Part of you wanted to call it sexy, but you killed that echo in your head before it could manifest into something else.

Feelings were dangerous in your line of work—having seen the pain several reporters went through when they fell into bed with lethal people. You wouldn’t wind up like them. All you could allow in your life was friendship, nothing more. A friendship with Bruce Wayne wouldn’t hurt you. Not when he refrained from speaking to anyone, let alone the worst of the worst that roamed Gotham.

He turned another corner, the rain getting worse the further you traveled into the city. Driving in this weather would have stopped you from going, but it didn’t seem to phase him. He took it in stride, focusing intently on the road with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting between you. It would be so easy to pick it up, to run your fingers over the lines in his palm. And for a moment you indulged. You imagined what being with him would actually feel like.

Would he treat you the same way? Or would you suddenly become special. You couldn’t picture him treating anyone in a loving manner, let alone you and that’s where the fantasy died.

“That’s it,” you said, pointing to the flickering sign out front that only read DEM as opposed to its usual bright DEMETER’S TABLE name.

“Is it closed?”

You laughed, barely a puff of air, but you knew he heard it. Opening the door you ignored the downpour that threatened to soak you down to your very soul, and patiently waited until he got out himself. The expression on his face caught you slightly off guard as you watched him get out. You would have figured it was nothing—having seen him wear a grim expression all throughout your interview with him—but this looked different.

“I know it’s not the best place, but the food is—”

“I could have opened the door for you.”

That killed the worry filling your chest in an instant. He wasn’t upset that you brought him to what looked like the shittiest diner in all of Gotham. In fact, he could care less about that. He wanted to open the door for you…like a gentleman.

You nearly laughed in his face, but the rain was starting to seep into your shoes, causing your whole body to shiver and he fared no better. It caused his hair to stick to his face, the coat doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry.

The sign from the diner cast a luminescent glow across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones. You found yourself wanting to brush your lips across them. Though it was daytime and the sun remained stuck behind the clouds somewhere, you still felt as if night encased you in its cold embrace. Yet standing there with him in the rain, keeping his stare, you felt warmth flicker in your chest. As if he had placed a piece of the sun in your heart.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” you said softly, turning away before you grew too attached to this odd man.

The bell above the door rang throughout the building, alerting her of your presence. Your friend Dem stood behind the counter, her graying black hair wrapped up in a loose bun—a pen going directly through it to hold it in place. She looked up at the sound, a broad smile pulling at her wrinkled cheeks and bringing to light the soft lines around her eyes. When you first moved to Gotham she was the person who practically took you under her wing.

“Day! You are soaked hun. You shouldn’t be out in this weather.” She walked around the counter, immediately handing you a hot steaming cup of coffee. “Especially not since you just got over pneumonia. What are you trying to do, kill your…”

She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as the bell rang again and Bruce entered behind you, looking worse than you did. You knew the shock she was feeling, having gone through it about thirty minutes ago yourself, and did your best to drag her back to the present.

“Got a free table?” you joked, knowing the diner was practically empty.

That seemed to do it. The smile—though hesitant this time around—was back as she gestured to the second booth by the door. “I’ll be right with you sweetie.”

“Thanks Dem.”

You slid into the old brown booth, feeling your clothes stick to the fake leather. “Here.” You pushed the mug of coffee his way. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“I’m okay.” He reached up to push it back, but you held it in its place.

“I’m not asking Wayne.” Smiling, you leaned back. “Besides…can’t have one of the most important people in Gotham getting sick on my watch. I’d definitely be fired for that.”

Without another word, he lifted the mug to his lips, placing them directly where yours were mere moments ago. The spark flared to life again, cracking like a familiar bolt of lightning through your body and burning you to the core. Looking away, you clasped your hands together in an effort to seal in any heat that might try to escape your body. You weren’t sure if you liked the feelings that were causing your body to go haywire. For all you knew, you could have been imagining this entire thing.

You wouldn’t put it past your mind to play tricks on you as you sat across from him.

“Why this place?” Once again, his question caught you off guard.

“What?”

He set the mug down, pushing it your way. “Why this diner?”

His blue eyes were fixed on your face, as if attempting to see past the shield you wore day in and day out. When a person suffered enough pain to last an entire lifetime, they tended to become closed off. You were that person and from what you could see…so was he. The temptation to ask him how he survived through the pain, how he managed to come out of it at the end somewhat of a person, was on the tip of your tongue.

But you figured it was better to stay silent—keep it to yourself until the right moment came up.

“It was the first place I came to when I first moved to Gotham. I used to live a block away from here.” Sipping on the coffee, you tried to busy yourself to avoid his piercing gaze. “Though, I had to move because my apartment got broken into while I was sleeping.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? No…something else.

Clearing your throat, you continued in the hopes of appeasing your now racing heart. “Anyways. Dem took me in, she took care of me and it felt nice. So I stayed.”

Before he could reply, Dem arrived with two plates in her hands. You smelled the burger before she even placed it on the table—your stomach clenching with hunger. Her specialty that you first ordered when you came here. It made your heart warm seeing her place it in front of Bruce, her smile kind and welcoming. No matter who he was, Dem always saw the good in people. Saw what they needed and willingly gave it to them without question.

She was a mother to the strangers that wandered into her diner.

“More coffee?” she asked, staring at the single mug that sat empty in the center of the table.

You noticed she didn’t ask if you’d like a second cup, her body language telling you enough. She thought this was a date. You weren’t sure if you should correct her or not.

“Please,” Bruce said, interrupting your thoughts. He handed her the mug, never asking for an extra one, but seemingly happy to share with you.

Once again your heart fluttered and this time…you let it.

“Dem’s burgers are possibly the best thing to be created.”

His lips pulled up in a small barely there grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should,” you replied, smiling around a bite of your fry. “As a reporter all I have is my word.”

You didn’t catch the way he looked at you, his eyes shining with something that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Instead you focused on gazing out the window at the rain. The way it transformed the city into something dangerous. Yet even through the darkness you could see it. The small hints of the light seeping through the clouds and shining down on an otherwise grim place.

Carole King played on the old speakers—a favorite of Dem’s you learned early on—and it created a soft symphony of warmth as it mixed with the rain. You wanted to stay there forever. In a place of comfort and love.

You’d even include Bruce in it too.

He bit into the burger, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as the taste burst across his tongue. The sight caused your heart to lurch in your chest, warmth spreading up your neck and into your face. And you tried your best to shove it down. How ridiculous of you to find the sight hot, but there you were. Speechless, watching as he enjoyed one of your favorite meals.

Dem’s voice humming to the song snapped you out of your ogling; you looked to her to find something else to focus on. Except the small knowing smile she wore on her face and the wink she threw your way did nothing to help your situation. Rather than dwell on it, you began to eat. Content to remain silent until the both of you finished.

The singular cup of coffee was set down in between you two, dragging your gazes back to one another. You glanced at the mug, then back at him. As if that was the defining factor of whether or not this was a date. He chewed thoughtfully on a fry, his eyes still on you, while you mulled over whether or not you could magically turn the one mug into two.

It turned out to be an impossible feat, but one you found you didn’t mind.

“So tell me—” You pried your trench coat off, draping it over the back of the booth. He’d discarded his thirty minutes ago, his black button down now rolled to his elbows. “What’s Bruce Wayne been up to?”

His eyebrow quirked, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “This isn’t a second interview is it?”

You shrugged. “I’ve gotten enough for my article already. This is me asking.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, hands clasped together and hair falling back into his eyes. “And who are you exactly?”

The smile you’d been fighting for an hour came through. “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

The coffee mug had been refilled three times now, your energy coupled with the spark of attraction (you were still denying) between you brought life back into your body. While he didn’t disclose much about himself—saying bits and pieces here and there—you still found yourself engrossed in his words. You wanted to know more, to see the man behind the mask that was Bruce Wayne.

Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d show you his true self one day. For right now you were content to remain just as you were.

A reporter who shied away from any aspects of love, sitting with a man who was discovering what the meaning of joy was all over again.

“I can wait,” he murmured, his eyes no longer resembling the cloudy skies outside. You could see the lightness in them—the shining blue unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You glanced down at the mug, seeing something in it you hadn’t before. For whatever unknown reason Bruce Wayne—the man who had been reclusive his entire life—trusted you. Even though he didn’t say it outright he didn’t have to. You saw it well enough and something told you…he knew you could see it. He wanted you to see it.

Time was slowly ticking away, reminding you that you had a job to get back to, but you still remained. Sitting with your elbows pressed to the table—unconsciously trying to get as close to him as possible. Maybe if you never left the world would melt away. If you became a permanent part of this diner, the city that happily ate away at every resident would leave you be. You’d be forgotten in a place that thrived on the lost and forlorn.

“Why me?” you inquired after the beat of silence threatened to swallow you whole.

The soft lilting notes of Billie Holiday echoed in the empty diner. Dem was nowhere to be found and the only two remaining customers were you and Bruce. Still sharing that singular cup of cold coffee. It had created a ring on the table, your lipstick a slight stain on the white mug. The color smudged off from where Bruce had placed his lips. Sharing a hint of a kiss that would never be.

He leaned back in the booth, no longer stiff—the nature of a man who had hid from society for years now traded in for someone different. His body language was enough to make you stare. Transfixed on the way his shirt continued to hug his figure even though it had dried an hour ago.

“Why not you?”

You huffed. “Answering my question with another question. And here I thought I was the only reporter in the room.”

“I’ve had my fair share of interviews.”

“None that I’ve read.” You slid your plate to the side and clasped your hands together in the hopes of looking as intrigued as you felt. “Do tell Mr. Wayne.”

The tension was beginning to set in his shoulders again. A small overlay to the man that lingered beneath. As if he was bringing up a mask he constantly carried with him. He hid constantly day in and day out, but right now he didn’t sit before you the Prince of Gotham, but instead a man who was trying to relearn how to live. Whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not…Bruce Wayne was like you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

“Alfred keeps them from printing.” The admission alone was enough for you to change the subject, but he continued to talk—cracking open yet another small sliver to the impenetrable armor he wore. “People they don’t…they always look for something wrong.”

You nodded, digging your nail into your palm. “Flaws are sometimes easier to sell.”

The sad truth of being a journalist is more often than not people weren’t looking for the truth. At least not in Gotham. They wanted something to sell. A piece of the person that one would deem too vulnerable to be shown to the rest of the world. They wanted to satiate the greed that clawed its way to the front. Rarely was the truth their only reason for writing a story.

“You’re not interested in flaws.” His eyes grew softer, hand splaying on the table to trace a random shape as he watched you. Saw through the facade you wore. He dug right down to the depths of your persona and dragged it to the surface—a relenting and brutal act.

Yet you wanted it to happen all the same.

“I like the truth.” You distracted yourself with the shape of his finger, the length of it as it shifted. “It sounds better.”

For a split second you allowed your eyes to flicker up, to meet his in the dim lights of the diner, and you finally caught hold of that niggling emotion. The one that held you captive in your own right. You liked him. Despite only meeting him yesterday, you found yourself drawn in by his haunted eyes. The same ones that practically burned a hole in your skin, until he was forever a part of your form.

Bruce Wayne felt familiar to you.

Not in the way that a stranger finds a face in the crowd familiar. Not even in the way an old friend would feel seeing someone from their past once more.

He was familiar in the way two souls separated beyond time and space were familiar. You couldn’t quite explain it, but somehow you knew these eyes that traced the lines and curves of your face. Committing you to memory. You were two distant beings made up of different particles of the universe. Yet there in that diner you found one another—as if gravity had dragged your cells together all along.

Two halves of a celestial being finally forming to be one.

You almost wanted to laugh at the notion that Bruce Wayne and you had anything in common. Let alone that there was any physical attraction between you.

But there it was. The truth you’d been searching for all along.

You could almost laugh at how fucked it all was.

How horrifically beautiful.

Night was beginning to settle over the city, calling to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. Prompting them to finally emerge for the one night where fear ran rampant in the streets of Gotham. Being scared on Halloween wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but this year things felt different. You could practically taste the blood that would run through the grime filled streets come morning. The same one that you would later have to report on.

Bruce stood beside his car next to your apartment building. You had directed him here after another hour spent in Dem’s diner barely speaking yet saying more than you would have liked. For some reason he was able to unearth more about you than you had found out in the entirety of yesterday’s interview with him. If being a Wayne didn’t wind up working out for him, he’d make a killing out of being an investigative journalist.

You told him as much before you left.

“Got any plans for tonight?” you asked, already knowing the answer you’d receive.

He looked up to the slightly darkened sky, at the way that the clouds did nothing to allow even slivers of the sunset to break through. You had to hand it to the city. There was some irony in the way even nature plagued the city in darkness. As if its legacy was always meant to be this. An abyss that drowned everyone within.

A barely there quirk appeared on his lips. “I’ll be out of the city tonight.”

Convenient.

The thought crossed your mind of asking him to join you for a lonesome dinner and half a bottle of wine. But the line had been drawn in the sand long before you agreed to accompany him for lunch. An invisible border you couldn’t cross. He was a Wayne. A part of a world you could only reach through second hand stories and gruesome aftermaths.

If the lunch had been more than strangers sitting across from one another, you would have joked about your house being Capulet and his Montague. But something told you irony wasn’t his strong suit. Nor would it favor you being able to see him another time. That is…if he even wanted to see you. For all you could tell this was merely a social call placed on his shoulders by Alfred—the man you came to see as Bruce’s father figure.

“Well…”

“Would you—”

You smiled, feigning being professional for the sake of your giddiness. “You go first.”

He cleared his throat. “Would you be available in a few days?”

“Oh…” Rather than take it easy on him, you decided that the best course of action was to jab at his wall just a bit. Just to see if something would crumble even further. So with a smile you stepped closer, watching the rise and fall of his chest quicken just a bit more. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred speaking.”

A heavy breath left his lungs—washing warm across your skin. “It’s not.”

“So this is you asking?”

He nodded, probably irritated with the way you were clearly teasing him. But that’s the thing. He let you tease him. He gave in to your small ruse and let it play out until you felt like you were finished.

If you could get away with this, who knows what else you’d be able to get away with. Perhaps calling him a stupid nickname. Or even getting to know his favorite color.

Something told you it was brown.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His eyebrows rose, mouth parted slightly as if you’d thrown him for a bigger loop than anyone had before. And much to your own surprise…he answered. Honestly.

“Black.”

Ah…you were close.

“Tuesday. The rush of Halloween will be over and my paper should give me some free reign. I’ll be available then.”

Another solemn nod as if you just informed him that you were attending a funeral for a recently departed loved one. You learned to realize that his nods were simply a part of his personality. Eventually you would be able to decipher what each one meant, what they were attempting to say without using words. His voice seemed to be an afterthought—actions speaking louder than words could say.

“Tuesday it is,” he replied with a soft hesitant smile. You wanted to see it again, ask him to never frown again, but this was merely a fleeting moment in the grand expanse of things.

He stood there for a minute more as if leaving was the last thing he wanted. Then got into his car, turned the engine once, and drove down the street. And you watched him disappear into the already dark horizon. The day never existed to begin with, but the storm wouldn’t stop the chaos of the night. So you gave one last glance to the street before heading inside, ready to hole yourself in your locked apartment til sunrise the next day.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone startled you from your small nap on the couch. A throw blanket that was a mishmash of colors was thrown over your body, a half empty wine bottle on the coffee table and the book Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde face down beside it. Ever since finding it in the Wayne tower, you began to look through the old text. With the silly hope that you would find pieces of Bruce Wayne in the words.

“What?” you grumbled, rubbing a hand over your face to rouse yourself from the groggy state of sleep. Your brain was sluggish, body content to remain on the couch for many more hours, but Henry’s grim voice startled you awake.

“The Mayor’s dead.”

You sat up. “What the fuck do you mean the Mayor’s dead Henry?”

A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearing the middle of the night. The noise outside still persisted though. People always partied the worst on this night. Especially in this city.

“If this is a joke—”

“Shut up and listen will you.” Your mouth clamped shut, eyes falling to the book. “They found him in his home. And it’s gruesome. Whoever did it was a right fucked up person, but I can’t get there at this time. The streets are too packed.”

The breath caught in your throat, even as your eyes stung with exhaustion. “And I’m closer to the scene.”

“It’s a favor and it’s a big one Day.”

You sighed. “I’ll leave in ten. Who’s on the scene?”

“Gordon.”

Good. Gordon never gave you shit for being a reporter like the other detectives did. Many wanted your kind out of Gotham all together simply because of how good you were at getting your nose into places it shouldn’t be. With Gordon there at least you would have a chance to do some meaningful reporting—or at least help where you could in figuring this out.

Henry listed out a few details they told him, what was going to occur within the next few days. But all you could think about was Bruce. You’d miss your chance to see him Tuesday after all. Too stuck in the midst of a city wide crime scene that would take up more or less all of your time. Which left him on the outs. You scribbled down in your black notebook a note to call him and ask for a rain check.

At least then one good thing in your life wouldn’t disappear without a trace.

You grabbed your coat, shoved your arms in the sleeves, and locked up your apartment as the weight of the news rested heavy on your shoulders.

With the death of the Mayor came an investigation. One that would no doubt lead to more bloodshed in the streets and leave a city divided amongst itself. You had heard about shit like this happening in Gotham, but you were never around to see it yourself. Yet there you were. Right in the thick of it with no other option but to see the chaos through.

People filled the streets. Some drunk, some not. Which didn’t make getting to the scene easier. You fought through the crowds, managed to catch a train down there, and somehow came out unscathed. And above in the night sky…his sign hung like a full moon. It called out to the chaos of the night, and made a promise to those who liked the cover of darkness that they would only be safe for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, feeling the rain strike against your cheek. It stung as you crossed the street.

Police cars lined the sidewalk, sirens blaring and bright, and for a moment…there was light in Gotham. You could barely see in front of you, but at least they illuminated the pathway to the front entrance. Many of them were taping off the building, others standing around and gazing at the sky—probably asking themselves if he would show up.

“If it ain’t Miss Day!”

You felt the weight lighten as you reached the top of the building steps. “Officer Martinez. Funny seeing you here.”

“You come to talk to me tonight?”

The smile was involuntary on your lips as he let you head in with him, holding the door open for you. Martinez always had a soft spot for you when things like this befell the city. After all he was usually around when it came to Gordon and with a job like yours, you ran into cops a bit too often for your liking. But Martinez was the exception. He brought you coffee on long nights at crime scenes, cracked jokes at the worst times, and even drove you home if he was around.

“Of course,” you said with a grin, bumping his shoulder. “I’m here to write a piece about the greatest cop in the city.”

He scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere chica.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Another flight of steps revealed even more cops scattered around the place. You could see the flash of a camera in the distance, whispered voices filling the air as you entered. Several cops gave you nasty glances, scoffing to themselves at the fact that you were allowed to enter. A reporter. Someone beneath them. To them you were the vulture that came to pick apart the mess they were left to clean.

“All I know is what Gordon told me. And even that’s not much.”

“Where is Gordon?”

Martinez shrugged. “Went out to fetch someone. Figure another detective.”

One more step into the room and you felt it. The pressure in your chest, the pinch of pain in your side where you were still healing. As if crime in Gotham called to crime. A horrid likeness that permeated the air. When Henry said the scene was gruesome he wasn’t kidding. You were ready to bolt the second you could smell the blood—the sight nearly too much for your stomach to take.

“Fuck,” you murmured, eyes wide and body wracked with fear.

“It’s not easy to see.”

“He’s…oh fuck.”

You didn’t need words to know Martinez was concerned about you. His eyes told you enough. They lingered a bit too long, tried to see past your mask you quickly pulled up when it came to scenes such as this. If you were lucky you would make it out tonight without any nightmares.

You were rarely lucky.

Someone called his name, causing him to leave you alone in the room with a few other people. Yet all you could focus on was the Mayor. The message scrawled across his head screamed so loud you could practically hear the voice of the killer. It punched right through your chest, made you pay attention without any barriers. Without mercy.

“What the fuck?”

You turned when someone’s voice filtered through the air, disbelief clear in their tone. Perhaps they found something worse. Something that would make you want to unsee everything that happened tonight. But what came to your attention was not what you expected. Your heart dropped to your stomach, a flutter going through your body, as the sight of him filled your view once more.

For some reason he seemed bigger in the room. He towered over everyone here, eyes still striking against the dark color of his suit. For a moment you couldn’t breathe, nerves filling your body with each heavy thump of his boot against the hardwood floor. How he would react to seeing you again took over your mind. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe…he forgot about you.

Maybe to him you were just another lost soul in a sea of tragedy.

Someone he saved once and didn’t think twice about second.

He stopped midstep, gaze falling to your form, and for a split second…he stiffened entirely. Recognition flashed in his eyes before something darker took its place. You were reminded of the night he dragged you home, the night he held you as you cried about death. As you begged him to keep you alive.

You wondered if he was thinking about that too. If you stepped close enough maybe you could see it in his eyes. Fragments of a memory that still burned bright and alive in your mind—a bad movie you could never turn off. So there you sat in the theater. Forced to watch it replay.

Maybe if you asked he’d sit with you. Keep you company in the darkness.

“Daywalker.”

Gordon had a habit of using the formal version of your nickname. A call sign that seemed to jolt you from your own mind—eyes snapping from The Batman to the man standing beside him. He regarded you with a confused look. A question lingering on his tongue.

One you quickly overlapped with one of your own.

“What the hell happened Gordon?”

His eyes went soft. “Chaos.”

The pain in your side flared to life again. “And what’s he doing here?”

The thump of his boots echoed behind you as he circled the scene. No doubt taking notes about what happened, what was left behind for them to find. Gordon held up a green envelope, writing scratched into the paper as if it was left there in anger—the pen nearly breaking through. A formal address to the man who still remained behind you. A call out to The Batman himself.

Either this guy was insane…or he understood what The Bat would react to.

“So all this…was for him?”

Eyes burned into your skin when you said the words, another thump letting you know he still remained, still listening in the shadows of the room.

Gordon shrugged. “That’s what he’s here to find out.”

You nodded, stepping back to let Gordon do his job with the others as you surveyed the room yourself. Every once in a while your gaze fell back to him. How he stalked about with purpose, each step measured and calculated. He understood the tension in the room, how cops hated that he stood amongst them.

After all, he fell lower into their likeability category than you. To them you were the vulture, but he was the thief. He took their image—their reputations—and made it worse. He took their jobs right under their noses. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because with him it would come to a final end.

You caught bits and pieces of the conversations at hand, heard how the Mayor must have died, but your attention still remained with The Bat. How he stood wary with his back to the window. Every now and then you swore his gaze fell to you, but that might have been your imagination. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing since you stepped past the threshold; the crime scene doing nothing but wracking your body with fear and anxiety. Two things that were an enemy to a good reporter.

“Killer may have come through the skylight.”

You glanced up, eyes tracing the metal lines of the glass above and tried to imagine the scene playing out before you. How they’d get in, how they’d hide. In your head it matched up, but something felt off—as if the scene itself was too perfect. Too pristine for you to gather anything notable.

Gordon’s voice peaked your interest, drawing you closer. “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

“There’s a cipher too.”

Something flickered in the back of your mind. You remembered Henry having a book of riddles on his desk. Some cheap Christmas gift someone in the office got him in the hopes of giving their boss a sense of humor. You had flipped through it once or twice while waiting for him to show up for a meeting. But you could recall the same riddle being printed with all the others—in a list of nearly three hundred, you remembered that one for its dark flair.

“Lies,” you murmured to yourself, attention forced to the outburst towards Gordon.

But it was the darker and much deeper voice behind you that sent a cold shiver down your spine. “He lies still.”

The answer to the riddle.

Yet even that didn’t tell you much. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t going to give Gotham the easy way out. No, you could see the darkness lingering in the distance. The threat of something more on the way. And there wouldn’t a fucking thing anyone in this room could do about it. Except for him. His name was on the envelope, his sign in the sky and soon…Gotham would be turning to him for more than just an answer to a riddle.

“Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” the commissioner spat, turning away from the scene with enough anger to rival the killer. Grief plagued the air and while you should have stayed, asked for statements, all you wanted to do was go home.

So you bid Gordon goodnight with the promise to call him tomorrow for more than just this. Your stomach was in knots, bile filling the back of your throat, but you could barely move. His gaze still burned a hole in your back, watching as you left on semi-steady feet—the wound that lingered now a reminder that you were nearly this person. You were nearly another story in a newspaper.

Martinez came up beside you as you stepped out into the hall, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He must have grabbed it from down the street, because he held his own. The rain still pounded outside striking loudly against the window but it had become a drowned out echo. Simply background noise to a tragedy that kept you locked tight in its grasp. You could see the headline of tomorrow’s paper. The words bold and loud amidst the gray color—a color that matched the sky.

GOTHAM MOURNS.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” Martinez asked, eyes still plagued with concern. You wanted to wipe it from his face, place his carefree smile back where it belonged. Except no one would be smiling tonight.

You sucked in a cold breath, sensing the presence of The Bat as he followed Gordon out to the hallway.

“Yeah. A ride would be nice.”

Tomorrow was a new day, but the truth still remained, waiting to break free. Darkness ran through Gotham so deep it would take prying the streets up to see it, but something told you exactly that would happen. This was not the end of the blood that would turn this city red.

It was only the beginning.

[jessmalia]

heartless | 15. olive branch

pairing: henry mills x oc a/n: i made this one gayer than it was originally you’re welcome. seriously, though, killian deserved to flirt with men. he’s a slutty pirate for christ’s sake you don’t get more bisexual and that! warnings: some lewd jokes, violence. wordcount: 2488

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After she had stormed off the night before, Max's inbox was filled to the brim with emails from Henry apologizing a million times over for having forgotten to keep her in the loop. She had written back immediately to tell him that apologizing wasn't necessary — it wasn't even him she was mad at, and he had always told her everything before; he was allowed one mistake. It hadn't done much to persuade Henry, though, insisting that he should've noticed that Max was feeling left out by his family, and also apologizing for being dragged along to the trip to find Baelfire, so they'd spend even more time apart.

  After Max had told him how much his apologies and worries meant to her, he calmed down a bit.

  She was happy for him that he'd gotten his family back — she really was — but she couldn't deny that all these new people in Henry's life meant that there was less space for her, and she missed how it used to be.

  "Max?"

  The voice was Mary Margaret's. It carried from the other side of her locked door as she knocked. Max didn't answer, just continued staring upwards from where she had laid on her bed all day.

  "Max, I know you're in there, and I know you're mad, and I get it. I came here to apologize."

  She wasn't swayed.

  "I'm sorry we left you out. We were neglectful and it won't happen again. I know how important you are to Henry, and I want you to feel like you're a part of this family, too. You're a good kid, Max. You know I've always thought that."

  Max turned her head to look sideways at the door.

  "David and I are going out to look for Cora and we want you to come with us. We need you, actually. We figured Hook is our best lead and you might be the only one he's willing to talk to."

  Slowly, Max rose from her bed. She walked towards the door and unlocked and opened it, an unsure smile on her face.

  "I'll help."

–––

While Mary Margaret thought it was best to bring Max along since she was friends with Killian and he would be more likely to listen to her, her husband didn't seem to agree. He simply would not stop arguing with and yelling at Killian any chance he got. Max recognized the couples' olive branch, and she really wanted to make up with them, too. She was best friends with Henry and being on bad terms with his family was simply inconvenient. David's behavior irritated her to no end, though. It didn't even make sense. This was the first time they'd met. What grievances could he possibly have with him?

  "You didn't even ask me about my recovery," said Killian as he escorted them through the docks. Max rolled her eyes. She had seen him suffer way worse injuries than this (often unnecessary ones caused by his own recklessness), and every time someone had expressed concern he got offended, saying it implied that he couldn't "handle" it.

  Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, too, but for different reasons. "How are you feeling, Hook?"

  "Come closer and feel for yourself."

  That comment immediately got him punched right in his wound by David. God, he was such an only child.

  An outsider might have thought that Killian was stupid for not seeing that coming, but they would be wrong — he knew that David would react that way. What made him stupid was that he'd done it intentionally.

  "You wanna lose the other hand?!" barked the prince. "Where's the ship?!"

  Max stepped in between them. "Woah, calm down there, Prince Charming. You going all Hulk isn't gonna help anyone. And do you really let yourself get antagonized that easily? Elementary School must've been hell for you." She turned around to face Killian, who kept his eyes on David. He was really reveling in getting under his skin while keeping Max on his side. She knew this behaviour was only a coping mechanism — a way to make him feel like he still had the upper hand. Her tone was a sharp contrast to David's question when she said, "Archie told us that the Jolly Roger was sealed somehow. Could you please show it to us?"

  As soon as she'd started talking, Killian had made eye contact with her, and he was now sporting a, still kind of smug, but definite familial smile on his face. Max knew it well, as it was reserved only for her. "Aye, that it is. And I will. But only because you're asking. And you deserve to come back home." He glanced up at David again, cementing to him that Max's place was with him, before turning around. "Follow me. I don't know what you expect to find. Cora won't be there."

  "Well, maybe she left something behind that will tell us where she is," David said, still infuriated. Max kept herself standing in between them so he couldn't punch him again.

  "No funny business," said Leroy from the back. "I'm watching you, pirate." The way he spit out the last word as if it were a curse made it hard for Max to stop herself from punching him.

  Killian smirked at the threat. "Yes, dwarf, that should deter me from any malfeasance."

  A matching smirk appeared on Max's face. "I don't think he understood what that meant," she said, and they exchanged chuckles.

  "Ah, here it is," said Killian, stopping in front of nothing. Before anyone could call him out on it, he walked onto the invisible ramp and was quickly swallowed up by the ship's cloaking spell.

  Max grinned, sprinting on after him, the others hot on her tail. While the power games Killian insisted on playing with David could certainly be annoying, she couldn't say that anything he'd said had been wrong. Boarding the Jolly Roger again certainly felt as if she'd just come back home. "Oh, she's as beautiful as ever!" she exclaimed, spinning around in circles so she could take in her every last detail. Then she walked over to the mainmast, gently stroking it like you would a horse. "Hi, girl."

  "Feels good to be back, aye?" Killian asked. Max's joy had infected him — he was grinning just as big. For that moment it was like the others weren't even there.

  She nodded. "Oh, more than you can imagine."

  "You sailed this ship from our land..." Leroy spoke up, reminding them of their presence. "Could you sail it back?"

  "My ship? She's a marvel."

  "Understatement of the century," said Max, joining Killian at his side, who nodded.

  "She's made from enchanted wood," Killian continued, walking up the stairs to the quarterdeck as he did so. It took him a while, his injuries making the task significantly more difficult, and Max eyed him the whole time to make sure he didn't fall. "We've weathered many a storm together, seen many strange glittering shores." They'd made it up, the rest of the group having followed as well, and as soon as Killian was out of the imitate danger of tripping and breaking his neck, Max's eyes left him and narrowed on large box. It was about chest high and was covered by a brown sheet. It was the only thing on the entire ship that was foreign to her. "But, to travel between lands, she must go through a portal."

  "Yeah," David said, patience running thin, "what do you know about Cora's plans?"

  "Cora's not the most communicative of lasses. But I will tell you this. Whatever malice she has in mind, her weapon of choice is in here," Killian said, patting the box Max was eyeing. Together, David and Leroy removed the sheet, revealing a wooden cage with a sleeping man inside it, wearing giants' robes.

  "Who's that?" asked Mary Margaret.

  Killian explained that it was the last remaining giant that he and Emma had faced off back in the Enchanted Forest, and that Cora had shrunk him using magic. "Whatever she intends to do with him, it's important."

  "Oh, I think you know exactly what she intends," said David, getting up in Killian's personal space, practically oozing testosterone. Max rolled her eyes so hard that, if she'd been in class, Mary Margaret surely would've told her off about getting her eyes stuck like that one day. "You're holding out!"

  "Well, either have your lovely wife torture it out of me, which I promise will be fun for both of–"

  David grabbed Killian by the throat and pinned him to the mast behind him. "Why don't you and I have some fun?"

  "Sorry, but you're not really my type."

  "Oh, come on, boys, you're both pretty. There's no need to start squabbling. Or flirting," said Max, stepping in between them again so David was forced to let go.

  Killian slowly rubbed at his neck, glaring at David. "I don't know what she's planning. Why don't you wake the bloody giant and ask him yourself?" He held out a key towards Mary Margaret, and she put her bow down and took it from him, unlocking the cage. Gently, she stroked the giant's shoulder, and he immediately jerked awake.

  "It's alright. You're safe now," she said, using that insanely soothing tone of hers no one else seemed capable of. "What's your name?" she asked as she helped him step out.

  "Anton," the giant answered, looking around him. "Where's that witch?"

  "She's gone, don't worry."

  Anton examined Mary Margaret seeming confused. Then he looked down at himself, eyes widening. "What did she do?" he wailed. "She made me small." Max couldn't help the stab of pain in her chest at the clear heartbreak in his voice.

  David seemed to have a similar reaction to Max, his face softening as he said, "Come on. Let's get you out of here," grabbing the giant's shoulder from behind.

  Anton turned around, and as soon as his eyes landed on David, they filled with rage. "You."

  David frowned. "Me?"

  "YOU!" he screamed, punching David so hard he flung into the air, making a couple spins before he landed on the main dock. Leroy ran after Anton, screaming. But he got his ass handed to him, too. The giant kicked the gun out of David's hand, and wasn't stopped until Mary Margaret shot a warning shot with her bow, missing him by just inches.

  Anton looked at the arrow, then back at them. "You may have me outnumbered, but this isn't over. You think I forgot what you did? I didn't! You'll pay for your evil! I PROMISE! YOU'LL PAY!"

–––

Anton had run off after proclaiming his threat, and now they couldn't find him anywhere. It really was too bad Cora had turned him travel-sized — if he'd been giant, he would've been much easier to spot. Killian had disappeared, too. Either he was tired of being assaulted by David, or he had met up with Cora to help her with her schemes. Max prayed to God it was the former.

  This meant Max was now alone with the Charmings and Leroy (who she never really liked), sitting in Granny's diner and discussing the day's events. Or more like listening in on the adults while they discussed it. Max wasn't saying much. Just resting her arms and chin against the table, thinking about how much she missed Henry.

  "David..." Mary Margaret started, "did that giant say he'll 'make you pay'? For what?"

  David looked as clueless as ever. "I have no idea. I've never seen that guy before."

  "Well, he sure knows you," muttered Leroy.

  Max frowned. "Didn't you have an evil twin brother or something?"

  Realization dawned on him then. "Yes... he must think I'm James! It's the only thing that makes sense."

  "How is that not the first thing you thought of? This can't be the first time this has happened."

–––

Max should've known to be careful what she wished for, because now the giant had somehow turned giant again, and while he may have been way easier to spot now, he had also started throwing cars around. She was lucky their plan was to convince Anton that David was not the person who'd done him wrong to get him to stop, and not to fight the guy. She'd never fought a giant before and she doubted her dagger would be very effective. Best she could do was give him a Spanish splinter.

  David and Mary Margaret had instructed the panicked townsfolk to run to the town hall, and when the streets were cleared, David ran up to him, waving his arms around. "WAIT!"

  Anton turned around, his face twisting in rage when he spotted David.

  "YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!"

  "Yeah! I do! You destroyed everything in my life! Now you're gonna know what that feels like!"

  "THE MAN WHO HURT YOU, THAT WASN'T ME!" David was doing a surprisingly good job of sounding reassuring while simultaneously yelling his lungs out so that the giant could hear him. "THAT WAS MY TWIN BROTHER, JAMES! WE WERE SEPARATED AT BIRTH! HE WAS RAISED BY A– A RUTHLESS KING!"

  Anton hesitated. "You're not James?"

  "NO!"

  "Then where is he?"

  "HE PAID THE ULTIMATE PRICE FOR HIS ARROGANCE! HE'S DEAD! THERE IS NOTHING MORE YOU CAN DO TO HIM!"

  "WE'RE ON YOUR SIDE ANTON!" Yelled Mary Margaret as she ran up to her husband's side, Max and Leroy following her. "WE'RE GOOD! WE'RE HERE BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU KNOW OUR DAUGHTER, EMMA — YOU HAVE HER THE MAGIC COMPASS!"

  "Emma? Let me talk to her. If she says you're okay, then I'll stop."

  Mary Margaret exchanged worried glances with the rest of the group. "...SHE'S KIND OF OUT OF TOWN!"

  "Really?" he asked, obviously not believing them. Max couldn't really blame him. "I have an evil twin brother" and "she's out of town" sounded like the two worst excuses of all time.

  "BUT WHEN SHE GETS BACK I KNOW SHE'LL REALLY WANNA TALK TO YOU!"

  "How convenient!"

  Max tilted her head. "ACTUALLY IT'S KIND OF INCONVENIENT! 'CAUSE NOW IT LOOKS LIKE WE'RE LYING TO YOU! WHICH WE'RE NOT, BY THE WAY!" she shouted, but Anton didn't act like he'd heard.

  "Everyone I'm looking for isn't around! All you humans do is lie, and cheat, and kill, and I'm sick of it!" At once he booked it towards them.

  Max and the others ran as fast as they could, keeping their distance from Anton. Though, Leroy decided that this was the best time in the world to start an argument over David's name. When that was over, David got the even brighter idea of self sacrifice, turning around and facing the giant once more.

  "ANTON!"

  He stopped.

  "HOW ABOUT WE MAKE A DEAL?"

  "I don't make deals with humans!"

  "HEAR ME OUT! I'LL SURRENDER MYSELF TO YOU, IF YOU SPARE THE LIVES OF EVERYONE IN STORYBROOKE!"

  "David, you can't do this!" Mary Margaret ran up to him.

  "If I don't, the whole town will suffer. I can't allow that," he said, before turning back to Anton. Max suddenly felt horrible for how mad she'd been at them. Because here David was, willing to sacrifice himself for the town, and Mary Margaret definitely would've done the same thing in his place. Their indiscretions really were nothing compared to their good deeds. "WELL, WHAT DO YOU SAY?"

  "Deal."

  He ran towards David, jumping up, and switched to one foot so that he'd squash him to bits. But Mary Margaret was faster. She jumped onto David and pulled him out of the way just in time. The sheer force of Anton's jump made him sink down waist-deep into the ground. He looked around, confused for a bit, before magic smoke appeared around him, and when it faded, he was gone.

  They ran to the edge of the sinkhole to look for him. He had turned tiny again and was holding on for his life onto one of the underground pipes.

  It took some time, but with the help of David's truck, some very sturdy rope, and at least a dozen other townies, they succeeded in pulling him up.

–––

heartless taglist: @clarasamelia​ @anonymousewrites​

[safarigirlsp]

Wicked Fairytales

My fun little series in which I give my own twisted twist on some classics.

Bah Humbug

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Kylo Ren x Reader

Charlie Barber x Reader

Clyde Logan x Reader

Henry McHenry x Reader

Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Commander Mills x Reader

Word Count: 35.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Extra Smut. Language. Angst. Romance. Graphic Violence. Murder. Main Character Death. Light Violence Against Reader. Old Timey Sexism. Bastardization of Classic Literature.

AO3 Link

Based on A Christmas Carol

A Comedy of Eros

Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Humor. Romance. Soulmates. Violence. Non-Con Elements. Physical Aggression Toward Reader. Possessive and Jealous Behavior. Dominant Men. Bitchy Women. Conniving Wizards. Drugging - Kids today might call it Sex Pollen. Confusion. Duplicity. Bestiality. Orgies. Cuckolding. Exhibitionism. Misogyny. Old Timey Sexism. Toxic Men. Jacques/Pierre Canon as Developed by Silky and Myself aka Shithead Behavior. Bastardization of Shakesperean Tropes. Misuse of Shakespearean Quotes, try to count them all. Fear Not, No Attempts at Ye Olde English Contained Herein. ☠️Rey☠️

Don’t let the warnings scare you! This is Romance and Comedy.  

AO3 Link

Based on A Midsummer Night's Dream

Outrun the Devil

Lawyer Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 14.9k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Blood. Gore. Murder. Beheadings. Supernatural Themes. Romance.

AO3 Link

Based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Love & War

Regency Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Smut. Non-Graphic Mentions of Violence and Death. Old Timey Sexism. Fluff. Romance. Humor. Stilted Language.

AO3 Link

Admiral Ren in Love

Top notes of Pride & Prejudice with undertones of Cinderella.

The Beast

Vampire Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: None! Shocking! Some light horror and sexy themes.

AO3 Link

Notes of Beauty and the Beast, Dracula, and The Raven in my best Poe-ish attempt.

Music of the Night

Victorian Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Graphic Violence. Fires. Guns. Murder. Old Timey Sexism. Romance. Dark Phantom of the Opera Vibes. Victorian Kylo.

AO3 Link

Based on The Phantom of the Opera

Here There Be Monsters

Pirate Captain Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 51.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Action. Adventure. Romance. Light Violence. Swords. Guns. Orgies. Bar Fights. Pirate Shenanigans. Old Timey Sexism. 

AO3 Link

This is the result of my love for Pirates of the Caribbean. Yes, it's a classic.

Maneater

Commander Mills x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 37.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Violence. Blood. Gore. Graphic Dinosaur Violence. Enemies to Lovers. Idiots in Love. Sexism in Survival Situations. Hot Toxic Masculinity. Character Crossovers. The Commander Mills Jurassic Park AU that had to happen.

AO3 Link

Mixing two of my favorites together for a fun AU - Commander Mills and Jurassic Park! Yes, it's a classic.

Ghost Town

Gunfighter Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Word Count: 14k

AO3 Link

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Alcohol. Graphic Violence. Gun Violence. Lots of Violence. Horror Themes. Possession Themes. Supernatural Themes. Shameless References to The Shining. This is a Darker take on Flip than I usually write, but it’s Halloween!

Inspired by the Seven Deadly Sins.

Everything A Big Bad Wolf Could Want

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Fluff. Language. Chasing kink. Primal Play. If there’s such a thing as Lumberjack kink, it’s in here. Extreme bastardization of fairy tale dialogue.

AO3 Link

If I were Little Red Riding Hood...

Cinderella

Kylo Ren x Reader

HCs Only

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Light Smut. Fluff. Happy Murder Thoughts. Humor.

Cinderella Themes.

[crime-wives]

your turn. tell me about your wips 👀

oh lord... where do we begin. let's start with me meddison/grey's anatomy wips.

so you were never a saint, and i loved in shades of wrong. this wip is currently in progress, two chapters on ao3 so far. basically my take on an angsty s2 meddison. they run into each other constantly at joe's bar and are very sad.

hollywood au. my meddison hollywood au in which meredith is unwillingly dragged into the spotlight after finding out her boyfriend is a. married, and b. famous. she gets a guest role on the same tv show as him and his wife. things spiral from there.

dead derek s4 au. basically what the title implies. a 'what if' scenario in which derek died in s4, and meredith and addison connect over shared grief.

tedstina fic. this wip is if after owen cheats on her, cristina shows up, drenched, at teddy's apartment all 'i didn't know where else to go.' there is lots of sad, gay, pining.

now... we move on to my swan queen wips. there are a lot, be prepared.

sad regina mills fic #1. a very angsty wip about regina's relationship with food, set during s1 of ouat. she's not dealing very well with henry hating her, and she turns to one of her coping mechanisms, which may or may not land her in the hospital.

sad regina mills fic #2. set after cora's death, little snippets of regina reflecting on her mother, and childhood. some hurt/comfort, also hurt/no comfort so.

say don't go song fic. regina reflecting on herself and emma in the middle of the night, with the dagger, after emma's sacrifice post s4 finale. (also regina really misses emma and doesn't know what to do with herself.

s6 regina is sad about emma getting married fic. has this been done before, yes. but i want to do it. anyway, buckle up, this one is very sad. our favorite lovable idiots fight, and make up, there are 'i miss you' texts, and lots of lesbian pining.

camelot hurt/comfort au. a little ficlet, (which could spiral into something bigger if i'm not careful,) in which emma seeks comfort from regina on a day when the voices are really loud. there's bed sharing and cuddles, and also hook is thrown into a tree.

the hanahaki au. um well... this is exactly as it sounds. set like 4b-ish. regina starts coughing up flowers one day, and it slowly gets worse until she's almost dead.

there's bed-sharing in this one. after a fight with her parents, emma shows up at regina's place. there are feelings, angst, and surprisingly maybe fluff.

the road-trip fic. uber driver x runaway bride. that's all i'll say.

neverland rewrite. except swanqueen, and mentions of torture. two hurt women heal together and find their son.

there are more... but i'll stop there.

here are some ideas i've had, but haven't written yet:

regina on henry's birthday during the missing year

my hc that regina taught herself how to draw/paint during the first 18 years, and the people she paints as vignettes.

supercorp: lena knows kara is supergirl au, but angsty

my meddison fic after meredith grey almost drowns

oh, my star wars fusion swan queen fic

anyway... i'll end this here before i get too carried away lol (this took forever to type.)

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

darling silky

i hope i didn't overwhelm you with all the asks 😳

i'm just to excited by the prospect of getting more mills stories from you i can't stop spinning out !

💗love you💗

💗

Not at all, they are so fun and have me dreaming up so many different stories! <3 Thank you so much for all the lovely prompts :)

Since several people asked for a Ruined Wedding with Mills, I thought I would share a quick scene from one of the stories I'm considering with that plot. I hope you like it :)

CW: allusions to injuries, death, light choking and manhandling, under-the-wedding-dress shenanigans, and your daily serving of angst

WC: ~3.4k

Summary: Mills and RC are operatives for the Museum, a guild of assassins. Mills had been with her since day one, helping recruit her and show her the ropes. He was even the first mistake she made, when they gave in to their attraction and had a clandestine affair, even though the Museum frowned on such relationships. Things changed fundamentally between then and now. Henry, her fiancé, is a fellow Museum operative who would not be dissuaded from making their relationship known, demanding official permission to make their union formal. Now the first wedding at the Museum is set to take place, but things are not as they first appear. Mills realizes that two competing Curators, each vying for a seat on the Board of Directors of the Museum, are planning to use the momentous wedding as the stage for a bloody coup. He needs to convince the bride that she is in danger and that they can make it through the night If they work together. And along the way, Mills has every intention of rekindling their old flame.

WC: ~3.4k

*

The Poine Museum was a tall, majestic edifice, as grandiose on the outside as it was within its thick walls, sprawling wide and soaring high into the night sky.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, it was a privately owned entity which attracted a global patronage of private collectors who all shared and exchanges priceless pieces of art and cultural heritage. The Museum regularly bid in auctions for prestigious pieces, occasionally taking them home and depositing them safely into the Vault.

Behind the stanchions and velvet curtains, the Poine Museum was a guild of assassins. With a long and storied history, a largely clandestine one, there were many rules in place that allowed the Museum to continue functioning. Possible targets and new operatives were meticulously researched and chosen only if the Board of Directors voted unanimously. Training for operatives was Spartan in nature and there were no guarantees issued – not of ultimately being admitted into the guild, nor even of surviving. What kept operatives firmly tethered to the Museum were the scrupulously chosen targets – undeniably rotten characters who evaded justice through more mainstream channels.

One of the essential pillars of the Museum was that its operatives seldom made lasting unions with outsiders, given the exigencies of the profession they had undertaken. Trysts between operatives were discouraged, but overlooked once done. There was really no helping such matters once the milk was spilled, so to speak. Bonds and marriages between them, however, were a different matter.

Experience had taught the Board of the Museum that operatives involved with one another in major ways grew less efficient, suffered a higher rate of injury and made poorer decisions during Exhibitions. In short, emotional bonds made them more irrational as individuals and worse as operatives.

That was all well enough and generally an easy rule to live by. No Museum operative wanted to bring work home. All Museum personnel were on a retainer and paid bonuses per Exhibition. Exhibitions could last for weeks and even months in extreme cases and if the target was illustrious enough, and they often came out of the blue. Once Provenance established a viable target, which was a complex process in itself, and the Board signed off on it, it was up to Acquisitions to get their hands on it by any means necessary. The last thing any operative wanted was to return home and either be separated from their partner, who was off setting up an Exhibition, or have their precious downtime, meant for decompressing, invaded by more Museum-related work.

So business carried on at the Museum for decades. Until now.

The first official wedding between two operatives was set to be held at the Museum building itself. 

You clinked your flute of champagne to your maid of honor’s and shared a smile before tipping your head back, enjoying the citrusy notes over the tang as the drink slid smoothly down your throat. Alexandria was wearing a slate blue satin dress that suited her deep skin tone beautifully. It complemented both the champagne tone of your wedding dress and the slate blue shirt and cufflinks your groom was wearing too. The Museum thought of everything.

You were grateful that Alexandria was with you as you got dressed. The unthinkable had happened – one of your seams had split open as you shimmied into the skin-tight dress. Being  an operative from Restorations, she was able to help you get into your dress and laced you up perfectly in the back before setting about fixing the split. 

“Lucky for you, I stitched up way worse with way less,” she gritted out through her teeth as she bit off the thread and put it through the needle first go.

“I thought we couldn’t bring in anything through the metal detectors,” you frowned, pleasantly surprised she had her Restorations kit with her.

“Fish bone,” she looked up and smiled, closing the seam up swiftly, leaving it as good as new. You had proof on your own body that she made immaculate stitches, so you had no doubt the seam she fixed was now secure for the duration of event, no matter what acrobatics ensued.

The tall door to your suite opened noiselessly and one of Henry’s groomsmen poked his bald, shiny head in. “45 minutes, ladies,” he informed in a jovial tone and promptly retreated, leaving you to your bridal business.

Alexandria squeezed your hands excitedly and stomped in place like an excited child. “You ready?” At times it seemed like the guests attending the event felt more excited than the future Mrs. McHenry, you mused. This was a brief moment, to be your own, and you might get to be footnote in the Museum’s history as the two operatives to officially get married, but people were far more excited for this wedding meant in the grand scheme of things. The Museum was not as immutably set it stone as everyone had it beaten into them during their training. Things could change and drastically so. One only had to push decisively in the direction they wished to go.

“Ready or not, it’s showtime,” you shrugged and accepted her hug as she threw her arms around you. She gave one last wave and sent a kiss goodbye before disappearing behind the door, to descend the many levels down to the Gallery, where the ceremony would soon be taking place.

With her departure, you had a reprieve of a few seconds to enjoy the quiet and solitude of the cavernous suite, draining the rest of your drink.

With a visceral grunt, you heard Julian land on your balcony. Too adventurous for a simple entrance through a door, he opted to sneak into the adjoining suite and scale the length of wall separating you, climbing on the balcony and heaving his massive body over it. He was currently absorbed in jimmying your lock.

With a sigh, you walked over and threw the door open. His face fell in disappointment when the door gave way so easily, as though you’d snatched a candy bar from his hands.

“Coast clear?” he asked in his usual husky whisper, looking to your left and right as you retreated into the lavishly decorated room and he followed.

“What’s the matter, Mills? Provenance not giving you enough opportunities you chase thrills? You have to break into my wedding to get your rocks off?”

Not in the mood for teasing or much preamble of any kind, Julian’s expression darkened like a stormy sky. He grew terribly still, somehow managing to loom even larger as he stood quiet as the grave and unmoving. You barely had enough time to set your glass down before he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you into him. He folded you into his broad chest and locked his arms around you so that all you could do was part your lips and welcome his devouring kiss, slackening into his hold and fighting for breath under the bruising force of his affections.

“Easy,” you panted as you fought to catch your breath once he released you. Julian wasn’t listening, though, walking bodily into you and all but pushing you onto the bed.

He stopped just short of tossing you backwards, for a brief moment, snaking his hands down your arms and spreading them wide to take in the sight of you all dolled up for the wedding.

“God, you’re breathtaking,” he frowned, feeling what a momentous occasion this day represented. You saw a hundred hungry thoughts go through his mind, shining darkly in his eyes as they raked up and down your body. The possessive beast inside him roared to life, rancorous that you were dressed up like a vision to marry a different man, even if it was just for show. You saw the change come over him and knew he was seeing red. There was no reasoning with him then.

His hand tightened painfully around your wrist and he stepped into you, sending you both toppling into the queen sized bed. Julian groaned into his kiss and straddled over you, one hand coming up to coil around your neck. He squeezed experimentally, tighter and tighter until you squirmed under him and wrapped a warning hand around his wrist. You remembered then all the truncated fights you had, snatching moments to throw accusations back and forth as to whose fault it was that things shook out the way they did. His hand around your throat, huge and monstrously strong, reminded you how much he loved to have the last word. You grabbed a handful of his hair roughly in retaliation and bit on full lower lip until you started to taste blood. The kiss was all teeth and struggle, more punishing than pleasurable.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” he rambled as he left sloppy, sucking kisses down your neck and chest, some primal part of him wanting you mark you up visibly as his.

“I know,” you huffed a laugh and smoothed his hair away from his face with a gentler hand, working to wind him down and remind him not to lose it so close to the moment of truth. He sat up, not shying away from burdening your hips with his full weight, which pushed the air out of you in a strained grunt. Julian watched you sprawled under him and took a deep breath, running his hand down his face. “I didn’t spend the whole day getting ready not to look spectacular by the end,” you arched a brow and he caged you in with his large hands on either side of your face, dipping his head lower. The tips of his long inky hair tickled your cheeks before you coiled a hand between your faces. “And I’d like to keep it that way,” you warned with your index finger blocking his hungry mouth from seeking out yours again.

Julian grumbled like a large, dissatisfied cat as he inched down your body, reluctantly relinquishing his favored position on top of you. He offered a gentlemanly hand and helped you stand up. Going down on one knee, he looked up from his submissive position, enjoying the sight of you still flustered from what he did to you.

You hiked up your dress, revealing the full length of your naked leg, save for the garter on your thigh, and placed your heel on his proffered knee. He smirked like a cat playing with a mouse and ran his eyes over the flesh of your leg. Hands followed where his eyes had roamed, mapping out every inch and every curve from your ankle, up your calf and the often forgotten erogenous zone right at the back of the knee, ghosting the tips of his calloused fingers over the soft spot until he saw your thigh flex deeply from his teasing touch. Then he ran his warm hand over your thigh, tracing his thumb over the white lace of the garter.

“You got something for me, big guy?” you bumped his shoulder with your knee as a reminder and he smirked, biting his lips to keep his comment in.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a short dagger, with a dramatic curve in its wide blade. The hilt was a smooth white bone with inlaid golden veins. It was a beautifully made scimitar dagger, and its design and sturdiness made it highly versatile. The blade was no more than eight inches, but it was a veritable butcher’s knife that could cut, skin and debone with ease. A marvelous choice for the evening’s festivities.

With an approving smile from you, Julian took the liberty of sliding the cool blade delicately against your skin, watching gooseflesh rise under the cold lick of steel. You hissed and felt the slice of cool metal shoot all the way through you. When the hilt hit the garter, he tested it, wiggling it back and forth and was pleasantly surprised to see it was not moving around. You had chosen well too, Julian realized. The garter you were wearing was essentially a lace-trimmed harness. He wondered if it could be repurposed as a kind of garrote in a pinch, but then he realized it was a silly question. You knew what you were doing.

Next, he fished out a straight razor with an ornate ivory handle. The blade was polished smooth, nearly as reflective as glass and it gleamed as it caught the light, spinning and snapping open and shut around Julian’s thick fingers, dancing like a butterfly knife around his thumb, jumping over to between his index and middle finger, looking like it would bite off the tips of his fingers at any moment, but never managing to. The message was clear; this was a weapon you could easily use and shove back somewhere against your skin safely – if you’re agile and fast enough – as opposed to other, clunkier weapons you would need to bury in someone’s body or discard as you ran or climbed. You took the razor and slid it between your breasts, letting it rest inconspicuously against the boning of your corset.

While you rearranged your bust, Julian placed a kiss on your knee, dragging his prickly beard and mustache up the soft flesh of your thigh. You buried your hands in his long hair and he nipped, smiling into your skin when he felt the jolt it sent through you.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” he pondered out loud as he pressed his full lips into your thigh, pushing your voluminous dress out of the way with both hands wrangling its many layers.

Your head fell back against the wall with a thud and your eyes rolled shut when he burrowed his prominent nose against the lace of your underwear, leaving a smacking kiss against the fabric.

You felt teeth graze and catch the edge, sliding your underwear to the side and your eyes flew open when you realized he had no intention of stopping. Hands scrambling to grab a firm hold of his hair as it kept bobbing and getting lost in the tulle and satin, you finally managed to grab two fistfuls and yank him back. He emerged from the white waterfall cascading down your hips with a satisfied, drunken expression and you teetered, planting your feet to find your balance independent of his body. His hands stayed under your dress and held your thighs firmly at the sides. Your breasts nearly overflowed out of the dress as you heaved breaths and tried to glare, but Julian was still looking far too pleased with what he had done, beginning to move his teasing hands under your dress again.

“You need to go,” you warned, not looking forward to parting with him.

“What’s the rush?” he shrugged and got to his feet, stretching to his full height like an elegant black cat in his tailored suit. A black tie rested against a black shirt and his massive, chiseled form was held in by an immaculately tailored jacket, in his favorite midnight black shade. You were pleased to see he went the extra mile to look good for the event. “The wedding can’t go on without you. Make ‘em wait for it, sweat a little,” he winked and pressed up against you, crowding you against the wall. You shut your eyes in exasperation, as unwilling to make him go as he was to leave.

Accepting momentary defeat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and felt him position himself so his body fit perfectly against yours, chest pushed into yours, hips kissing up against yours and lapping like waves against you. You kissed him deliberately, making sure to taste his lips, his tongue, his skin as you burrowed into him, latching onto his sinewy neck and making him groan a symphony into your ear.

His hips pressed more insistently against you and you closed your eyes to savor the sensation of him. Then a laugh rocked through his body as he felt something under your dress. “Is that a scimitar in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” he grinned like a fool in love and you shook your head, drunk on the sharp, masculine scent of his perfume and the insistence of his body against yours.

“I think that should be my line,” you teased and wiggled your hips under him, feeling with your body for the thick rod of flesh growing stiffer by the moment. Even through all the ample cushioning of your dress, you felt what you were doing to him and gave him a satisfied peck, which he unsuccessfully tried to deepen.

His large hand disappeared behind your back and cupped your ass, pressing you closer to him and he nuzzled against your neck, right at the spot that always made you squirm and moan his name. When it didn’t come as expected, he pulled away and looked at your questioningly through the curtain of dark hair you mussed up together.

“What is it?” he asked, flipping it out of the way to take a better look at you. As if you needed any more reason than the obvious to be preoccupied. He had just stolen artifacts from the Museum to help you defend yourself once the two factions started raising hell at your wedding reception. Your intended wedding was to become a massacre and you could not let anyone know that you knew.

Regardless of the obvious concerns, he waited steadily, ready to listen if you wanted to share anything before all hell broke loose. His eyes almost black with blown out pupils, cheeks flushed as he panted from your embrace and lips sumptuously kiss-bitten, he made your heart ache.

“This could very well be the last time I’ll ever be pretty,” you shrugged, opting for a joke. All things considered, you were grateful Julian got to see you like this, dressed up like a doll, and hold you, even if it was just for a few moments. It gave you the chance to imagine how it might have been had it been you two getting married. After you were done climbing out from under a mountain of assassins, you could have a broken nose, a missing eye, a scar splitting your face in half. You’d seen operatives survive malfunctioning parachutes and headshots, with Restorations giving them top of the line reconstructive surgery. They were never quite the same afterwards, of course, but you figured you could get used to it. If you make it in the first place, that is. 

Julian was silent for a moment too long, at a loss for how to comfort you without resorting to hollow platitudes. “I was never pretty and I did just fine,” he gave a crooked smile and ran his hand down your cheek. His face switched to business-like as he  dug two thick fingers into the elaborate hairdo you spent a good hour and half sitting still for and tossed a hairpin to the floor. He retrieved one, in the shape of a butterfly, with sapphires embedded into its elegant body, glinting between intricate silver wiring that made up its wings. The delicate beauty of the decorative piece stood in stark contrast to the thick, sturdy blades, curved to lay harmlessly against your scalp, but sharp enough to punch through flesh and hack at it.

“Almost forgot – something blue,” his mouth curved into a satisfied half-smile as he carefully slid the hairpin into place, holding his breath in concentration lest he scratch you.

“You’re the most striking man I’ve ever seen in my life,” you admitted as you watched him, feeling your eyes involuntarily fill with tears.

Julian, instead of flattered, looked horror-stricken.”No,” his nostrils flared angrily and his face grew stern, ”don’t do that. Don’t say goodbye to me.”

“I’m not, I just—“

Whatever you were about to say died in the space where his lips met yours and your breath became his. It was for the best. There was nothing you could have expressed in words that you couldn’t express with the way you held onto him, like he was all you would ever have.

*

@thegrislady @safarigirlsp @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies @vedavan @mythrielofsolitude @house-of-cadwyn

[demonicbaby666]

It’s Always Been You

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Emma Swan x Regina Mills

Genre: Smut, fluff and a bit of angst (not too much though)

Words: 4.9k+

Summary: Regina and Emma have had an interesting relationship over the past few years, one that they don’t often talk about and have left only to memories. But before her wedding, Emma’s thoughts become too loud, and the past makes an appearance.

A/n: Not beta read so I apologise if there are any mistakes! There was going to be one additional flashback that I lacked the motivation for… but I’m interested to know if anyone will be able to figure out where ;)

Emma sits in front of the vanity, eyes raking over her barely furnished room from behind her in the mirror. It feels empty, hollow.

Her whole life, she has dreamt of having her own home and a family, both of which she’s acquired. So for her life, she can’t understand why it doesn’t feel right. Ever since she could remember, she’d run away at the first of danger; often finding it around every corner meant she’d never had a place to call her own. It makes sense that the feeling of finally settling down should be comforting. Instead, it feels suffocating, foreign in the worst of ways, and far too final.

Flickering her eyes back to her reflection, she looks at her freshly applied makeup; it’s more than she regularly wears or has ever worn. But the occasion calls for it. After all, it is her wedding day, and Ruby insisted on ‘dolling her up.’ Though when Emma sees herself, dare she say it, it may have been too much ‘dolling up.’

“What do you think?” The brunette asks, admiring her work.

“Ummm, well, it’s,” Emma stammers over her words, thinking how best to break the news to Ruby, “It’s-”

“Oh dear god,” Regina screeches from the doorway. Both younger women turn their heads, watching Regina move toward where they are sitting. She studies Emma’s face, making no effort to hide her grimace, “What have you done to her? She looks like she’s about to perform at a drag show, not walk down the aisle.”

Emma tries not to cringe at the older woman’s harsh tone, failing miserably when she sees Ruby roll her eyes and walk off. Of course, she won’t admit it, but she’s grateful for the fact she doesn’t have to be one to tell Ruby she’d put a little too much of her own spin on the bridal look.

“May I?” Regina gestures to the stool next to Emma.

“Sure. Could you pass me the wipes? They should be in the first draw.” Emma takes a deep breath, hoping to alleviate some of her nerves on the exhale.

Reaching out, Regina opens the drawer and pulls out the wipes, ready to hand them over until she sees the shaky hand that is held out to receive them. She carefully places the wipes on the vanity instead, earning a confused look from Emma.

“Allow me?” Regina offers, taking a wipe out and bringing it to the thick layer of foundation lying over Emma’s cheek.

Instantly the younger woman relaxes, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of cold against her flushed face. It’s an added bonus that now and then, Regina’s soft fingers are brushing against her skin, and Emma lets herself lean into them. She allows herself to get lost in distant memories.

Regina had gone below deck. She didn’t want anyone to see her in her current state, which - put nicely - was a complete wreck. She’d just lost the one person she’d promised herself she’d always protect, Henry.

“We’re going to get him back,” Emma said, walking in, trying to reassure the nervously fidgeting brunette.

Regina quickly looked up to see Emma walking towards her on the bed. She fixed her posture and cloaked her worries behind her trusty emotionless mask, “I know we are.” she snapped.

“Do you ever let anyone see the other side of you?” Emma asked as she sat down next to Regina, ignoring the look she received in response.

“Care to elaborate on what you mean by ‘other side,’ Miss Swan?”

Emma raised her hands, sensing from Regina’s death glare she was hitting a nerve, “What I mean is, the softer side, the vulnerable side of you that you spent years trying to bury. Others might buy the stone-cold act, but you can’t fool me.”

“And why do you think you know me so well, Miss Swan?” Regina asked, burying her newfound vulnerability behind a look of disgust.

“Stop with the Miss Swan.”

“Or what, Miss S-”

Frustration got the best of her, and in the blink of an eye, Emma had Regina pinned down on the bed, pushing the older woman’s wrists into the mattress on either side of her head. She stayed still for a few seconds, not entirely understanding what had come over her.

In the time spent staring, Emma studied Regina’s features. The little crease that formed between her eyebrows, that were now furrowed, and her chestnut eyes - which held an abundance of unspoken secrets and fears - that were wide open. Emma swore she saw a tinge of curiosity within them alongside the apparent shock. Regina’s lips were parted ever so slightly as she took in rushed but tiny breaths, and before Emma even thought she could pull away, those very lips trapped her in a trance-like state.

Realising kissing the human version of a brick wall may be unappealing, Emma moved her lips in rhythm with Regina’s, and what started as obligatory reciprocation turned into voluntary instigation. Emma’s hands roamed Regina’s arms, her nails clawing ever so slightly into supple skin in retaliation to Regina capturing her bottom lip between her teeth.

Neither knew who broke away first, too breathless to contemplate or care. They stared at one another, mouths agape as the realisation of what they’d just done dawned on them. Emma thought for sure she’d fucked up. There was no way they could make amends after this or even look one another in the eye. Then Regina did something unexpected. She fluttered her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around Emma’s neck, and anchored her back down.

Emma let it happen. She didn’t know why. In fact, she didn’t even want to know why. All she knew and felt were soft plum lips, and she willingly yielded to their power. The kiss quickly grew more and more fierce. With Regina’s hands around her neck, pulling her closer and closer, Emma finally let go. She pressed her body against Regina’s, relishing in the small moan from the brunette as their clothed breasts pressed against one another.

Regina knew she should stop. She knew what they were doing was wrong and inappropriate. Emma’s whole family was right above them, for god's sake. But it was hopeless. Her hands had a mind of their own, latching onto Emma’s soft curls and accepting her eager tongue into her mouth. Once the exploration took place, hearing the blonde moan into her mouth as she tasted her for the first time, all hopes of turning back were crushed.

From that moment on, both women were overtaken by desire. Their hands were all over each other. Emma’s knee nestled between Regina’s legs, which Regina instantly appreciated, grinding against it to relieve herself of the growing tension. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. And something told her Emma wouldn’t have a problem delivering.

Emma’s lips travelled down Regina’s jawline before reaching her neck and sucking over her pulse point, smiling at the small moan Regina let out. She ran her tongue over the bruised patch of skin while her hand snaked under the brunette's shirt, cupping and kneading her breasts.

Unbuttoning the silk shirt, Emma trailed a path of kisses further down Regina’s body, down to her black bra. Her fingers danced over the newly exposed skin, imprinting the feel of the toned flesh into her mind, not knowing if this would not only be the first but also the last time she’d have the pleasure.

They were limited on time, which meant there wasn’t much wriggle room for gracefully undressing each other, “Can you… ummm…” Emma sat up and looked down at Regina’s trousers as she began fiddling with her own.

Regina smirked and waved her hand. The sudden shiver that ran down Emma’s spine alerted her to the missing jeans she’d previously been trying to take off. When she looked down, she noticed Regina's clothes were no longer present, along with her own.

Emma went straight to work. She lowered herself back down, laying atop Regina and kissing her once more. Her tongue quickly slipped into the parted, plump lips, and she explored the hot, wet cavern until she had to come back up for air. Emma was privy to Regina’s slick arousal on her thigh, and the moment her lips made contact with the older woman’s neck, she felt her wetness glide over the expanse of her thigh.

At this point, the brunette was a mess, grinding down helplessly on Emma’s thigh, searching for friction, holding blonde locks tight as Emma moved southwards to her breasts. She let out a whimper when Emma finally took a pert nipple into her mouth, sucking and nibbling mercilessly. She used her other hand to cup the neglected breast, squeezing it in pulses before pinching Regina’s nipple between her fingers.

Emma didn’t know when she stopped thinking, let herself become overtaken by the thralls of passion, or when all thoughts of what she was doing became unimportant. But then again, she didn’t seem to care, not when there was a pair of perfectly toned legs wrapped around her head, and soft mewls came from above her. So, she fell back into a rhythm, rejecting the rigidity that tried to coax her body into feeling guilty, and she re-focussed her energies on pleasing the goddess who was letting her body be worshipped.

Before long, Regina’s climax was cresting. Quieted moans had grown into unrelenting cries of pleasure, and her sorry attempts at silencing them with her hand were woefully unsuccessful. Emma didn’t mind. She’d come to realise they may be her new favourite sound, a song she’d replay in her mind night after night alone in her room, where no one could judge her and where no one could see how her body reacted to the sweet melody of moans accompanied by soft waves crashing outside, the taste of the salted sea and Regina still dancing on her tongue months later.

Her tongue moved more ferociously, and instantly she saw Regina topple over the edge. Her chest rose towards the water-stained ceiling, the grip on her hair tightened almost painfully, and the firm legs around her head trembled with each stroke of her tongue over the brunette’s spent clit. After a few more seconds, Regina shimmied away, tugging lightly on Emma’s blonde locks.

“Stop.” She shakily breathed out.

Emma didn’t want to. She’d just discovered her true purpose in life, and she swore if she were denied the right to pry those sounds from Regina one more time in the next few minutes, she’d go crazy.

She took the risk and pulled away, crawling back up Regina’s body with speed and determination. Emma brought her lips back down to Regina’s, smiling as the brunette was temporarily distracted by the taste of herself on Emma. And that’s when she struck. She quickly slid two fingers into the older woman’s sex, coming back to life when she heard familiar sounds spill from Regina.

“Oh god,” she groaned, “Yes, Emma, like that.”

Emma suddenly understood what it felt like to be an addict, to be painfully aware that no matter how much of something you got, it would never be enough. She also knew that she’d take what she was given and, right now, happily accepted that she was given the opportunity to be greedy.

To graciously thank Regina, she thrust her fingers into the brunette's tight walls faster, curling them each time to hit the particular spot previous lovers neglected. Chants of yes’s, followed by obscenities Emma had never thought she'd hear from Regina, gave the younger woman some idea that she was on the right track to giving Regina her second orgasm.

When Regina brought her hands to Emma’s back, scratching the surface of her porcelain skin with ten scarlet lines, Emma lost it. Her fingers moved with vigour and one single purpose. Her lips ravished Regina’s neck with reckless abandon, leaving in their wake angry plum blotches. She didn’t care. She wanted one thing. They both wanted one thing.

And that’s when Regina’s vision went black, and the world around her faded. The only thing she knew, the only thing she wanted to know, was Emma’s lips on her, Emma’s hands on her, Emma’s sweaty skin on her.

They never brought up what happened that day. Not when Regina caught the looks between Emma and Hook, not when they found Henry, not when for a few seconds, it seemed like just the three of them against the world, and not when they returned to Storybrooke and Regina felt the loneliness creep back up and return to her.

Emma expects the absence of chatter to allow the voices in her head to intensify and engulf her once more, yet, here with Regina, the silence is comfortable and easy to enjoy. It’s the calm she has been looking for. That’s until her mother enters the room sometime later, puffy-eyed from the last few hours spent crying.

“I saw Ruby leave. Everything okay?”

By this point, Emma’s makeup is finished. It’s elegant and simple. Her cheekbones are accentuated, the green of her eyes shining in contrast to the red lipstick that paints her smile as she looks in the mirror (much happier and calmer than the last time she gazed into it).

“Emma…” Snow’s bottom lip wobbles as a fresh set of tears glint in her eyes, “You look beautiful.”

“Don’t start. You’ll set her off too.” Regina half-jokingly says to the brunette.

“I can’t help it.” Snow defends, “You’ll understand when Henry gets married or Emma if you have a daughter of your own, you’ll be crying just as much as I have been.”

Regina doesn’t even need to turn back to Emma to feel her tense at the mention of children. The sanctity has been broken, all thoughts return, and Emma is thrown head-first into a full-blown panic attack. Her breathing becomes unsteady, and tears well in her eyes. Her eyes are helplessly darting around the empty room, trying to find something, anything, to anchor her back to reality. It’s useless. She knows it as her hands start to tremor, and her knee begins bouncing up and down.

She looks to the one person she knows she can rely on, “Regina, get me out of here.”

Regina snaps her head back to Emma, “What?”

“Please.” She begs.

Looking into her watery eyes, Regina’s heart drops to her stomach. There is so much fear and heartache dancing around in Emma’s pleading eyes; all she wants to do is take the blonde into her arms, soothe her, and battle her demons for her. So she does the only thing she can. She poofs herself and Emma to the one place she always finds solace, her vault.

Purple smoke engulfs them, leaving Snow sitting alone on the bed, staring in disbelief at the two empty seats.

“Thank you,” Emma sits on a nearby trunk.

“Are you okay?” Regina asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot, not knowing whether it would be best to embrace Emma - as much as she wants to.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just needed to get away, have a few moments to breathe alone before,” she swallows the lump in her throat, “before the wedding.”

Alone. Regina kicks herself. Emma had asked to get her out of the house, not to keep her company, “I can go.” She says quickly, turning to leave.

Fingers curl around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and guiding her to turn back around.

“No, stay. Please.”

Looking down, Regina reunites with pleading green orbs, and just as before, she folds. In the low sombre light scattered candles provide, Emma seems so small, young, and vulnerable, and Regina can’t, no, she won’t leave her. If someone held a knife to her throat, she’d have sooner torn their heart clean from their chest before abandoning Emma.

Without knowing what she’s doing, Regina surges forward, crashing her body against Emma’s, pulling her into an unexpected embrace. Greeted pleasantly by slender arms wrapping around her neck, holding her close and in place, she breathes out in relief.

Silence falls over the vault. Light breathing comes from both women being the only sound. Regina traces small circles over Emma’s back, lulling her, feeling the blonde’s chest rise and fall against hers.

She slowly lowers herself onto the trunk, trying to avoid breaking the hug, though it’s unlikely to happen with Emma’s unyielding grip on her. Neither wants to let go; it would seem. It was under different circumstances they’d last shared such close contact. Pulling away means parting with memories - soft moans, sweat-clad bodies, a kind of intimacy they’d found with one another and no one else - that swirl around their conjoined bodies.

“I’ll stay. I promise.” Regina whispers.

And Emma believes her.

“My superpower may not be perfect, but with you, Regina, I can always tell when you’re lying.” Emma triumphantly stated.

Maybe it was the slight smile the younger woman offered or the unmissable adoration in her tone, but Regina couldn’t be annoyed. If it were anyone else stating, quite proudly, she’d lost the power to deceive them, she probably would not be smiling like an idiot in love. That was unimportant, though. And why was that? Because Emma was staring at her, and she was staring at Emma, and they both had that look in their eyes, which meant one thing and one thing alone.

“Even though you know I can’t live without him?”

“There you go, telling the truth again.”

“I missed both of you.” Regina spilt out, caught up in the moment.

Emma smiled, “Another truth.”

The brunette tried not to let her smile falter. Emma didn’t remember her in New York, so how could she miss her?

But then the blonde was up on her feet, sauntering over to her with a gentle yet playful smile on her lips, and her eyes softened, “I missed you too.”

There was no hiding the beam that fell over Regina’s face. Her smile shone brighter, and if she hadn’t turned away, Emma would have caught the faint blush emerging on her cheeks. Gentle fingers under her chin guided her back, and who was she to deny them? Watching Emma lick her lips, she no longer cared how noticeable her flushed cheeks were.

When the younger woman looked down at Regina, her stomach flipped. How the town still managed to think her capable of evil completely bewildered her, she knew Regina would never outwardly admit it, but she saw how it affected her. It only made what she did next much more effortless, telling herself it was their way of comforting each other.

Emma leaned down and kissed her, slowly at first. She kept her caresses light and her lips languid. When Regina wrapped her arms around Emma’s neck, she moved her hands down Regina’s body and cupped her ass, guiding her thighs closer to her waist.

With one content hum from Regina and a smile on her lips, Emma pulled Regina so she was sitting on the edge of her desk. She moved her hands under her dress and traced small circles over bare olive skin, working higher and higher up her thighs.

Regina shivered but didn’t dare pull away. The sigh she let out had little to no bite to it when her body was slowly responding the way it always did when Emma was this close. Her pulse was only getting faster in tandem with the speed and intensity of the kiss. Emma wanted one thing, and it was all too clear to Regina what that was.

By this time, Regina’s dress has practically ridden up to her hips, giving Emma plenty of room. She ran her tongue over Regina’s bottom lip, then sucked it into her mouth as one hand moved to hold the brunette's waist, and the other slid her wet panties to the side.

She used her fingers to part Regina’s delicate folds, dipping them temporarily into her entrance to gather some of the pooling arousal and distribute it over her twitching clit.

“Emma.” Regina breathed softly, and Emma would never tire of hearing her name tumble out of her mouth like that.

Svelte fingers kept working in tight circles until Regina’s hands gripped Emma’s shoulders. She lost all control over her body and mind, whining and whimpering as her ex-nemesis continued to carry her closer and closer over the edge.

Her breath was coming out ragged, and she couldn’t even think, so instead she focused Emma kissing and sucking on her neck and how the blonde was increasing the speed of her movements.

“Emma,” there it was again. This time more desperate, and Emma felt her underwear get further soaked by her own rising desire.

“I know.” Emma hushed.

That afternoon was about creating a potion to remember, but first, they helped each other forget. Forget the son that had forgotten them, forget the man that had kissed and brought them back to Storybrooke, forget the past and present that onslaught havoc on their every waking, every breathing, every godforsaken minute of their existences.

They forgot together.

It’s with great disdain, towards herself, Regina pulls back, feeling herself getting mixed up in what had already come to pass. “Want to talk about it?” She offers, placing her hands in her lap and fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of her dress.

“Not sober.” Emma lightheartedly chuckles, “You’ve got to have something in here.”

“Seriously, Emma. It’s one of the most important days of your life, and you want to get drunk.”

Despite the teasing, Regina stands up, walking over to where she keeps a bottle of liquor. She pours a generous helping into two glasses - she, too, would benefit from some of the stuff - then returns to her makeshift seat and unknowingly hands Emma the liquid courage she needs for what she is about to ask.

Taking what could be considered an overindulgent gulp, Emma shivers as the alcohol burns down her throat, settling when the liquid reaches and warms her stomach.

“Regina, what happened?” She speaks so softly that the question would have gone unnoticed had it not been for the fact Regina is already on high alert.

“What do you mean?” In truth, she knows what Emma’s alluding to, but if there is a slim chance she’s wrong or can avoid the conversation as a whole, she’ll take it.

“Between us,” Emma replies, watching the brunette closely, noticing how she suddenly becomes stiff and unnerved, “I thought we had something.”

The sadness in Emma’s voice throws Regina. Reminding herself that it is, in fact, Emma’s wedding day and bringing up this topic of conversation probably won’t have a terrific outcome, Regina makes another effort to dismiss the question, “Emma, do you want to do this now?”

Where a slight pout is forming on Emma’s face, a scowl takes its place, “Yes, I do.”

“It was a silly mistake that we kept up for far too long. Robin and Hook came along, and we ended it. That’s all there is to it, Emma. I thought we agreed on that?”

“Really, Regina? What we did, what we had. You know it wasn’t just a silly mistake.”

Though it pains Regina, she knows she needs this conversation to end, and for that to happen, she needs to stand her ground, “Emma, it was purely physical. We both knew that.”

“It was never just physical, and you know that. The first day I saw you, everything shifted, not just because of the curse and Henry but because I felt this pull. It was intoxicating. Feuding with you was exhausting yet addictive; I woke up waiting and anticipating your next move every morning. You were all I thought about. God, Regina, that day you came charging at me in your backyard, do you remember?”

“When you mutilated my beloved apple tree? Yes, I remember it quite vividly, Miss Swan.”

“Don’t Miss Swan me,” Emma sasses, but when she turns, she sees the sides of Regina’s lips twitch, a sign she’s indeed used the name not as an insult or a warning but as a way to lighten the mood, and maybe, just maybe, as a term of endearment. It’s refreshing. The name that was once used to instil the fear of god into her now makes her smile and reminisce over a time so different from the one she is now living. A small smile of her own comes to light, and she happily lets it as she continues, “I didn't know whether you were going to kill me or kiss me. I miss that feeling, and I don’t think I’d ever felt more alive than when I was with you.” she pauses, “Then when I’m with you.”

“It wouldn’t have worked out, Emma.” Regina defeatedly sighs.

“How can you say that? We never tried.”

“Because what we started, it was an outlet. It wasn’t real. We found that with other people.”

“Robin isn’t here anymore.” Emma is walking on eggshells here, and she knows it the moment Robin's name leaves her mouth. In fairness, it isn’t the best thing to bring up. That doesn’t matter, though, because it’s still the truth.

“But Hook is. You’ll meet him at the end of an aisle in an hour and start a life together.”

“I don’t want him.” Emma hurriedly spills out, “It’s always been you.”

Now that is one hell of a comeback that neither expects. The words fall out without a second thought, leaving them both speechless for ten seconds.

They sit staring for what seems to be an eternity, letting the confession dangle in the silence until Emma takes it upon herself to shuffle closer to Regina, never breaking eye contact.

“Emma, we can’t do this,” Regina whispers, helplessly trying to hold herself back from pulling Emma against her. It’s all she wants, and she’d be a fool to try and deny it.

Alluring is how Regina would describe Emma’s eyes, the shade of absinthe, and in truth, they, too, were intoxicating, flooding her bloodstream with a sudden disregard for caution and a yearning to be bold, to be reckless, to give in to desire.

“Tell me you didn’t feel anything for me, and I'll stop.” There are only a few inches between the two, and Regina’s mind is too occupied with Emma’s lips and how her hot breath is hitting her lips, and Emma’s lips, and Emma’s lips and Emma’s lips. She can’t answer even if she consciously tries to, which she’s given up on doing.

“You can’t,” Emma mutters, lips ghosting over Regina’s, “because you felt it too.”

Their lips meld together as they always have. Everything happens so quickly. One second there’s space between them, and then it is gone. The only thing Regina knows is there’s a pair of hands gripping her waist for dear life.

Her heart is saying yes and telling her to enjoy what could be their last kiss, but her mind is indifferent. In essence, she doesn’t know what to do.

Logic prevails, as it does most of the time, forcing her to pull away preemptively. “Emma, stop. We’re just going to end up hurting each other.” needing to put space between herself and the blonde who holds so much power over her, Regina stands up and walks over to her mirror, “Everyone I’ve ever been with, they’re gone. It’s like a curse befalls anyone I love. I can’t lose you. Hook makes you happy. That has to be enough.”

How the brunette manages to exert so much willpower, Emma doesn’t know. Then again, impulse control has never really been her thing, which is why she’s struggling with how not to grab Regina and reconnect their lips. She settles for walking over and placing a hand on Regina’s hip.

“Regina, look at me.” She guides Regina towards her. When their eyes meet, she isn’t oblivious to the welling of tears that have gathered, and it pains her to think she’s responsible, “Everyone I’ve ever been with, Graham, Neal, heck Walsh, they’re gone. I’m scared, I was scared. Regina, I care about you. Most of the time, I feel like you’re the only person who gets me, who truly understands me.”

“Emma,” she knows where this is leading, and there’s no coming back once there, “don’t.”

“I love you. I always have.”

Regina could burst out into tears at the certainty in Emma’s voice, how smoothly the words leave her, and at that moment, she falls harder than she’s ever thought possible.

“I love you too.”

When the crack in her throat and the stinging behind her eyes give way to a stream of tears, Emma moves forward, eclipsing the minimal space between two desperate pairs of lips. Emma’s hands fall to the small of Regina’s waist, pulling her impossibly closer to her, while Regina wraps her hands around Emma’s neck. The moment she feels Regina’s lips again sparks burst to life all over her body, sending her into overdrive. She’s drunk. Not on the unfinished liquor sitting forgotten to the side, but on the endorphins that spring to life at finding out the feelings she thought were unrequited are anything but.

“Do you want to do this?” Emma mumbles against Regina’s lips.

Regina lightly kisses Emma before gently pulling away, “This?”

Fearing what she’s asking would be too loud, Emma whispers, “Us?”

“I can’t lose you,” Regina cups the blonde’s face with both hands and runs her fingers over the soft, delicate skin, prompting Emma to hold her tighter.

“Then keep me close, and I promise you, you never will.”

“Okay.” And she seals that promise with a kiss.

[withgirl-sq]

Based on 'A Christmas Carol', It's Regina's birthday and Henry is trying to ignore it. Will he regret this once three people show him the past, present and future of his mother's birthdays? Set in season 2