#once upon a time fanfic

[demonicbaby666]

Birthday Expectations

One shot | Once Upon a Time Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Regina Mills x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Words: 3k+

Summary: Just some birthday fluff, reader doesn’t like to do much for their birthday but when Mary Margret throws her a surprise party, she starts to realise just how badly she wants one thing, to leave. 

A/n: Not proof read well cause it's me so I apologise for the mistakes <3

Walking into Granny’s you knew what awaited you. Whilst Mary Margret may have been known for not being able to keep a secret, she certainly kept this one quiet. It was the gathering of cars and less than subtle shuffles that came from inside that gave it away, there was no doubt about it, a horde of people were waiting inside to ambush you with birthday wishes. 

The bell chimed and there was barely a second between the jingle running through the room and the off key singing that came from what looked like the whole of Storybrooke. The smiles that were stretched across everyone’s faces brought a warmth to your chest and you desperately wanted to enjoy this moment, but tears were welling up in your eyes and you hadn’t had the heart to tell the pixie haired brunette next to you it was from a sad longing to just be alone. 

The truth was you weren’t a fan of your birthday, it seemed to only bring disappointment and it was just safer keeping your heart under lock and key, never expecting anything, and certainly not expecting a whole town to gather to celebrate with you. Getting your hopes up only meant one thing, you were going to get hurt. So, you told yourself to enjoy this small moment for what it was, temporary. 

Heels clicked in the distance and when you looked to the opposite side of the room, eyes darting past a sea of strangers, there she was. Candlelight illuminated her olive skin, fire dancing in her chocolate eyes as she concentrated on holding your birthday cake whilst Emma barged through the crowd making a path for Regina to gracefully sashay through. 

“Happy birthday!” Emma exclaimed through a wide smile, offering a small hug, and quickly moving out of the way; revealing the breath-taking sight of Regina in a tight fitted red dress. 

Chanel perfume and vanilla icing permeated the air around you, suddenly no one else mattered. Suddenly, it was just you and her. A smirk appeared on her lips, looking down to the cake then back at you, she quirked an eyebrow. 

“I think this is where you make a wish.” Emma said, lightly nudging you with her elbow. 

Jumping back into your body you realised the singing had come to a halt and you were gawking at Regina, drool practically making its way down your chin with a full audience. 

“Oh, ummm, right.” You stumbled. Leaning forward, trying not to stare at the full display of cleavage directly at eye level, you closed your eyes picturing where you wanted to be and blew out your candles, sending a wave of cheers across the swarm. Painted in your mind were the stars above you and the solidity of the ground colliding with you back, the true image of peace and solitude, that was your wish. 

Almost an hour had passed, and it wasn’t surprising to see everyone had dispersed into small groups, talking amongst themselves, laughs and chatter filled the small diner, though somehow, you’d managed to end up alone.

Looking out to the barren street, the clatter of dishes and voices faded into background noise. No one had forced you into the little booth or put you on a time out, you couldn’t be mad. So why was there an all-consuming battle taking place within you? Some distant longing begging for someone to notice your absence. 

It was an odd feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while, feeling alone whilst being surrounded by people. It was safe to say, the feeling hadn’t been missed, creeping up on you and consuming all the self-dependent thoughts you’d spent years working on. Everything in you wanted to run, use the fact no one was looking your way to your benefit. The brush of skin against your hand erased all thoughts of a quick exit, especially now that you were wedged between the window and- perfume, spiced apples, and a faint whiff of hairspray- Regina. 

Her fingertips tenderly brushed against your hand for mere seconds, but by fair or by foul, they left behind a tingling sensation that somehow craned its way into your bloodstream, sending sparks flying through your whole body. 

“I can hear the cogs you know.” 

Finally finding the courage to look away from the window, you turned to Regina. With the room lit far more sufficiently than when you’d last been so close, you could see her fully. Breath-taking. That’s what she was. A thin layer of foundation, straightened silky hair, lined lips coated in blood red to match her dress and just above them, that scar. Night after night that scar seemed to haunt you, the feeling of running your lips along it, kissing the perfect imperfection. 

“What?” you finally choked out, still half dazed, and helplessly trying to ignore the twitch in your fingers that so desperately wanted to reach out, to familiarise themselves with the indented portion of skin you were trying to pry your eyes away from. 

“In your head,” she quirked, a soft smile gracing her plump lips accompanied by a light shoulder bump, “What are you thinking about, sitting here by yourself?” 

Stringing a simple sentence together had never felt this hard, “I, I was just, ummmm.” Great start. You could tell her the truth, though that would require digging into your mind and actually thinking about why exactly you were sitting by yourself. A lie then. “I just needed to rest my feet.” 

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow moved skyward by only a centimetre. “I can see how one would miss all the other free booths and randomly find themselves sitting at the only one that’s deserted,” she turned her head, scanning the room, “closest to the door.” 

There wasn't much else to do other than avert your eyes to your hands and awkwardly shuffle in your seat. The rug was pulled from straight under you, leaving you free falling in mid-air whilst someone in the distance kept singing about a whole new world; one you’d yet to discover. In fairness, Regina was right, of all the booths that had free seats you’d managed to conveniently pick the one that was farthest away from the happy crowds and with the easiest exit strategy. 

“Crazier things have happened.” You mumbled, keeping your head hung low. 

An amused huff came from beside you, a breath of warm air brushed against your cheek, sending another myriad of sparks flying through your body. It was as though you had no control of yourself when your eyes darted to Regina, and not a morsel of regret was found when you saw the gentleness in her eyes and the comforting velvet smile adorning her painted lips. 

“That they have. But you still haven’t truthfully answered the question.”

Guess there was no escaping this one, lying clearly wasn’t an option. “It’s easy to feel invisible with a whole town cramped into one small space, so I just let it happen. I know Mary spent a lot of time on things and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this isn’t really what I do, parties, crowds, the whole shebang. It’s better to keep things low key and quiet because,” because there’s no chance of getting hurt, you wanted to say it, god, you wanted to just let it all out, but the words sounded too pitiful, too small and weak, “It’s just easier that way.”

Her eyes glazed over, like she was a world away, lost in a distant memory, “because there’s no chance of being disappointed or forgotten when it’s just you?” 

“I-” 

There was no time to tell her she’d hit the nail right on the head, purple smoke engulfed the two of you, rendering you all but blind in a haze of smog. With your vision obscured your senses were suddenly heightened, earthy smells filled your nostrils, the sharp smell of grass accompanied with soft, delicate, welcoming floral scents filled your nose. The smoke slowly cleared, revealing an open field with nothing but the night sky above you, the moon illuminating and bouncing off a vast array of coloured petals. 

“Regina?” 

Before you could wrap your head around what was happening Regina knelt on what looked to be a tartan blanket, slowly easing herself down with - as always - the grace and composure of a queen. She arched her neck to look up at you, tilting her head ever so slightly, beckoning you to join her.

The moonlight shone down on her perfectly, her eyes glistened in the meek presence of lunar light, stars danced in chestnut irises, mapping out a linear path to dilated pupils that remained focussed on one thing only, you. How someone could be both intimidating and downright adorable was completely and utterly confounding.

Slowly she reached a hand out; not knowing exactly how long you’d been stood getting lost in her eyes, you slid your hand into hers, attempting to ignore the butterflies that were flittering low in your stomach. Regina laid back, letting her head peak over the edge of the blanket, whisps of brown cascaded over shards of green. Thoughts of running your finger through her hair filled your mind, letting them disappear, just as the grass did, into thick brunette locks to graze gently over her scalp. 

Following in suit you discovered the ground to be uneven and slightly bumpy, mud piles prodding at your back. After shuffling a little you found an agreeable position, the fingers that remained interlaced between your own seemed distraction enough from the cold earth that bit down on your thin clothing.

When you stole a glance at Regina her eyes were shut, chest rising and falling at a steady pace, maybe a little faster than normal, but then again, you had not often found yourself assessing the rate of someone’s breathing. Her face muscles were relaxed, it was like her cold mayoral exterior had melted, swept away by the cold evening breeze, and left behind was only her, only Regina. 

How anyone could look at her and not see beneath the facade bewildered you, it was plain as day, she was good, she is good, pure, caring and kind. Everyone in town had a past, things they wished to forget, and the more time you spent with her, the more you saw she was the same, just another tortured soul scathed by a harrowing past, though townsfolk readily liked to forget that. Day in day out she battled inner demons, inner personas that demanded to be set free, and she did it without so much as batting an eyelid. 

“I notice when you’re not there.” Her eyes were still closed whilst yours doubled in size, if it wasn’t said with such sureness, you would have missed it completely being too lost in thought. The butterflies in your stomach that lay dormant were woken, weaving between them a rope that was being endlessly knotted time and time again, her words echoing in your ears. 

“I- That’s-,” taking a crisp gulp of air in, you let the cold fill your lungs, still your beating heart. Then set to releasing the warmed breath of air back out, watching the small cloud of condensation float away into the night, and hopefully with it, the inability to form a sentence, “How do you always know what to say? And how on earth did you know I wanted to come here?” 

“I can read minds.”

“I’m being serious Mills.”

“So am I.” 

Turning her head to look at you, a wide smile broke out across her face, her cheeks protruded out and a full set of pearly whites revealed themselves before the both of you burst out laughing. If one sound could feel like home, it was that laugh, low, hearty and raspy as the symphony passed through her lips, rumbling in her chest. The weight of the world that pulled you down was suddenly alleviated, gravity ceased to exist, the laughter pumping you with helium until you were floating on cloud nine. 

Laugher echoed through the field, fading into comfortable silence. Distant longing eyes looked into one another, peeling back layer after layer of armour you both hadn’t known the true weight of. Smile lines faded and a serious expression washed over Regina’s face, she shifted her back off the ground, her knees brushing against the side of your thigh as she settled down to lay on her side, never for a second unclasping her hand from yours. 

“I know what it’s like. To be alone I mean.” a soft sigh left her parted lips, her eyes were darting across your face like it was the first and last time she’d ever get to have you this close. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and when her eyes finally re-emerged from their endeavours, offered up a sweet smile, encouraging her to continue.

And she did, “My whole life I've been on this mission for revenge, and it was a lonely one at that. Then I found Henry and, well, you know the story. But no matter how much the band heroes said I was one of them, I found myself alone amongst a crowd of people, and I knew, circumstances be damned, I could always slip away, and it would go unnoticed. I’ll never really be one of them.”

“Fucking birthdays.” You huffed. 

“I don’t even think anyone knows or remembers my birthday, other than Henry.” she chuckled out. “I think I prefer it that way, like I said, there’s no chance of being disappointed or forgotten when it’s just you.” 

Mimicking her position, you turned onto your side. Regina’s eyes were a sea of unshed tears, almost instinctively you reached out to brush a stray hair off her face, letting your fingers linger over delicate skin for a few seconds longer than necessary. Fingertips grazed over the back of your hand, guiding you back to the powdery skin of Regina’s cheek, which you gladly took into the palm of your hand, and she humbly leaned into. 

“Regina, you're the first person I look for when I enter a room.” you half whispered over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to continue, “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me sometimes, and tonight, poofing me away, you may not be a hero to them, and without meaning to sound too corny, you’re my hero.” 

Her cheeks flushed under your touch and her eyes shimmered, taking a rushed breath in, you kept going, “There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t craved to turn a corner and be greeted by that pragmatic smile you wear so proudly, every time I hear a pair of heels, I can't help but hope they’re from those ridiculously expensive stilettos you wear. I search for you everywhere; I can’t help it. You are everything Regina Mills and the fact you can’t see that amazes me.”

Eyes flickered to your lips and the world stopped, pipeline dreams filled the intimate bubble surrounding the two of you, tender hearts caught wind of each other and beat in rhythm with one another. Blood rushed through your veins, moving so fast you could feel the molten fire coursing through capillaries and burning a direct path to your cheeks, that were now tinted with a rogue hue.

Your hand abandoned its post, moving to the back of Regina’s neck and weaving small circles in damp hair. In turn Regina’s hand found a new home on the small of your waist, setting fireworks ablaze in surrounding area. Your bodies drew closer until there was only a slither of space between you, and you lay still for what seemed like hours, peering into tear-stained eyes. 

“I haven’t felt like this in a long time.” you muttered, the words falling from your mouth directly into Regina’s, cavorting through her until she realised, they resonated deep within her too. 

“I know.” her lips trembled before quirking up into a smile. 

In the milky light she looks so young, untouched by the cruelty of the world, her smile was youthful, and you’d never seen her look more innocent then she did at that very moment. There was no weight between the two of you and for the first time you felt like someone truly saw you and accepted you as you were, and you saw them. 

Leaning a fraction closer till your lips lightly brushed against Regina’s, you closed your eyes and breathed out, “1st February.”

Her whole body froze, “What?” she whispered.

“Your birthday, it’s the 1st of February.” 

Doubt filtered through your mind and for a split second you felt the world crash and burn before you. The contents of your stomach began to churn. Had you pushed too far too soon? Did you say too much? Overstepped? 

Run. That was the only option, then hide out in a desolate cabin forever and never show your face in town again. Yes, that was a good plan, a very good plan. Never have expectations, because that way there’d be no chance of being disappointed, those were the rules, and you knew them all too well. You were too busy silently kicking yourself for getting your hopes up that you missed all the emotions that were plaguing Regina’s face. 

Backing away and fumbling over your words, you tried to choke out an apology, but the hand on your waist glided up to your back and pushed your body flush against her. All panic was washed away when plump lips ghosted over your quivering pout and wet tears brushed against your cheek. 

“Don’t apologise.” she cooed. 

It was Regina who closed the miniscule space between your lips, tentatively kissing you, delicately using her thumb to caress the back of your hand. The kiss continued, filled with more passion and desire. There under the stars you both lost and found pieces of yourself, held within the slow kiss was an exchange of vulnerability, shedding away responsibilities, memories, and the mere idea that you were ever going to be alone again. 

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[wannabespacesmuggler]

Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee | Missing Person

Chapter Sixteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: You recently moved to Storybrooke and began working the morning shift at Granny’s diner. Meanwhile, Killian Jones has been working the night shift on the docks of Storybrooke for years. When his routine gets turned upside down, he begins to understand the simple joy brought by an early cup of coffee, as long as you’re the one pouring it.

Pairing: Killian Jones x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, PTSD

Word Count: 3K

Extras: Playlist – A playlist for two idiots in love: a gruff outcast who hates coffee but now drinks it every morning because the waitress at the diner keeps smiling at him as they pour it.

Author’s Note: So this chapter is about a month late (life really had other plans for me), but I think this one will be worth the wait. Let me know what you guys think. I’m excited for you all to read it.

“If you stare at that booth any harder, you might burn a hole into it.”

Your head snaps toward Ashley who just broke you out of your trance. You don’t know how long you were staring at the empty booth near the corner of the diner; however, it was long enough to garner a comment from Ashley. Attempting to shake off your thoughts, you roll your shoulders back and turn to face your colleague and friend. 

“Sorry, Ashley. I’m just a little distracted this morning.”

Ashley nods at your words. She seems to hesitate for a moment, as if she’s deciding her next words very carefully. For a second, it seems as though Ashley isn’t going to say anything at all until she meets your gaze.

“I didn’t see Killian come in this morning. Is he working the night shift today?”

You knew this was coming at some point. Even though you tried to let it go, the fact that Killian Jones has been missing all morning has thrown you off. You like your routine -- in fact, you live for it -- waking up early, opening up the diner, pouring Killian a cup of coffee before his morning shift. It’s not even the fact that he didn’t show up that has you worried; there have been plenty of mornings since you met him when Killian didn’t come in for a cup of coffee, but in all of those instances he’s sent a message letting you know. You’ve spent all morning casting glances toward your phone on the counter and there is still no message from your pirate. 

You shrug your shoulders at Ashley’s question which causes her to furrow her brow. Ashley doesn’t know Killian very well, but she knows you and she’s witnessed your budding relationship with Storybrooke’s resident bad boy firsthand. She knows he stopped coming into the diner for coffee ages ago -- she’s not even sure if the need for caffeine was ever the reason why Killian was in that booth every morning. So, the fact that he’s not here is odd and the fact that you seem confused by his actions is a bit troubling.

“Is something going on with you two?”

You let out a long sigh, dropping the towel you were holding onto the counter in front of you. Ashley crossed her arms, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t know, Ash.”

Ashley takes a second to scan the diner, the two of you were already done with the morning breakfast rush so there are only a couple of morning stragglers left in the booths. The few patrons seem to be content for the time being, so Ashley takes your hand and drags you into the back of the diner away from the prying eyes and ears of Storybrooke’s curious residents. 

“Okay, spill.”

You roll your eyes at Ashley's antics, but you can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. After glancing over your shoulder, making sure that no one is watching, you explain the situation to Ashley. Her face lights up as you explain your ‘almost kiss’ from last night. 

“I’m just afraid that I scared him off.”

Ashley shakes her head furiously.

“Absolutely not. Killian is so into you. Maybe he got switched to the night shift and forgot to send you a message?”

You know that Ashley is trying to comfort you and you wish that her words settled your nerves, but the entire situation is so unlike Killian. Ever since your conversation with him after your trip to the emergency room is been much better at communicating with you. You nod your head, but Ashley can tell that you’re still anxious.

“Have you talked to Emma or David this morning?”

You shake your head.

“Maybe you should stop by the station. Who knows, maybe he got caught up with David or something?”

Her words give you a little relief. Although you don’t know for sure, it is totally plausible that Killian met with David this morning and lost track of time. 

“I can close by myself, if you want to head over there right now.”

“Are you sure?”

Ashley places her hands on her hips before answering.

“Of course. Go find loverboy.”

A small chuckle escapes your lips at the nickname that Ashley has decided on for Killian. You don't waste any time -- unwrapping the apron from around your waist and throwing Killian’s heavy hide jacket around your shoulders. You’re about to exit through the back door when Ashley’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“When you find Killian, just kiss him already.”

You flash her a bright smile before opening the door and heading out.

Lucky for you, it was a slow day at the station. When you arrive, David is sitting with his feet kicked up on his desk. The case file in his hands distracts him from your entrance. You call his name from the door, hoping not to startle the sheriff. David drops the case file in his lap and glances toward the door. When his eyes meet yours he smiles brightly. 

“Hey, Emma has the day off if you’re looking for her.”

“Actually, I’m here to talk to you.”

David straightens himself, removing his feet from his desk and motioning to the chair a few feet away from him. You move further into the station and sit in the chair.

“What can I help you with?”

“It’s about Killian.”

David nods, but stays quiet, letting you continue. 

“Have you seen him today?”

David lets out a soft sigh and his shoulders slump forward ever-so-slightly. His reaction causes your nerves to spike and begin to wring your hands together. David senses your nerves and reaches out to you. His hands grab yours and stop your anxious movements.

“He’s okay. Today just happens to be a really traumatic anniversary in his life and every year he just disappears for the day. I don’t know where he goes or what he does, but he always comes back the next day.”

This time, you nod at David’s words. There’s a part of you that desperately wants to ask him for details, but you know Killian Jones. He’s a guarded and cautious man. Although he’s slowly let you break down the walls he built up to protect his heart, you are not naïve enough to think that you know everything about the man. However, you do know that although Killian Jones is familiar with solitude, it is not his friend. Right now, you’re worried that he is drowning and without any help in sight, the waves of guilt and grief that he must be experiencing might swallow him whole. 

“Do you think he should be alone right now?”

Although you’re aware of what you believe, you also know that David knows Killian better than anyone else in this town. If he believes that space is what is best for Killian right now, then you’ll leave it be. But, if David agrees with your line of thinking, then you’ll confidently spring into action.

“I think Killian believes that he has to go through this alone, but we both know he doesn’t.”

You nod at his words. That’s all you need to hear.

“I think I know where he is. Can I borrow your truck?”

David doesn’t even think about your question. He reaches into his pocket, grabs his keys, and tosses them to you. He looks at you, a passionate ferocity burning in your eyes for the man that he calls his best friend, and fondly smiles as he is overwhelmed by a feeling of relief. He’s watched Killian close himself off from others for years. Although he let David and his family into his life, there are still parts of him -- the parts of him that feel suffering and fear and loneliness -- that he conceals in order to protect the ones he loves. He’s managed to push almost everyone else away, but here you are -- prepared to move heaven and earth just to make sure that Killian isn’t alone tonight. 

“Good luck.”

You give David a curt nod and head out of the station. Once you get into David’s truck, you take out your phone and punch in the coordinates you’re heading to. He may be able to disappear on David, but you know where Killian goes to escape Storybrooke. You know you’ll find him at the state line.

It takes you several hours to reach the state line, which gives you time to rethink your decision several times over. You almost turn the truck around multiple times. A part of you worries that Killian will be angry when you arrive -- maybe you’re overstepping one of the invisible boundaries you created over the past several months. However, when you spot Killian’s truck, your concern for Killian’s well-being outweighs the anxious pit growing in your stomach at the prospect of making him uncomfortable. 

Killian is sitting on the tailgate of his truck. At the sound of another car approaching, his head turns. Reluctantly, he slides off the tailgate and begins walking toward David’s truck, which you parked several yards behind his own truck on the side of the road. 

“Listen, David, I don’t know how you found me, but--”

The words get caught in Killian’s throat as you step out of David’s truck. He shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone was going to find him, it was you. But there is still a small part of him that doubts just how much you care about him. And that small part of him, made him believe that you wouldn’t notice if he went missing for a day. But here you are. 

“You’re not David.”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. As you approach Killian, you take a moment to look him over. He’s in his usual dark jeans, leather jacket, and black work boots. His obsidian hair is more disheveled than normal, most likely due to his nervous habit of running his hands through it. And his eyes are tired. You’re used to  a hardened and weary Killian Jones, but today he just looks exhausted -- as if he didn't sleep at all last night.

“No, but I could go get him instead.”

You’re joking, he knows that, but he couldn’t help the panic that spiked in his chest. His mouth opened before his head could catch up.

“No, no, I want you.”

In that moment, Killian wants to take a shovel, dig a hole and fall into it. The panic in his chest begins rising to his throat as you just stare at him. He takes a moment to collect himself before speaking again.

“I mean, I want you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here.”

Killian can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as you repeat his words back to him. He remembers the day he picked you up from the emergency room and promised that he wouldn’t disappear on you again -- which is exactly what he did today. And with that thought, the panic that once filled his chest is replaced with guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should have at least sent you a text that I wouldn’t stop by the diner today.”

“Killian, I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you. David didn’t tell me anything, but if you want to talk about what’s going on in that head.”

Killian lets out a heavy sigh and leans against his truck. You don’t follow him, you let him have his space as he works through the thoughts running around in his head. 

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Killian looks up at your words. His eyes are glossy and your heart aches as you realize that Killian is on the verge of tears.

“I was engaged. Years ago.”

Killian notices a look of confusion and curiosity flash across your face, but you stay silent, allowing him to continue if that’s what he wants to do. And he does. He wants to let you in. 

“Milah. Her name was Milah.”

“What happened?”

Killian drew in a painful, shaky breath. It’s like he was back there all over again. He can feel the heavy rain against his skin. He can hear the sirens in the distance. Hell, he can practically see the steering wheel of his old Mustang. And then he could smell it, the blood. It’s all over his dashboard, and his clothes, and his hands. His hand…

“Killian?”

Your voice replaces the sirens. It washes over him, wraps around him and pulls him out of that night.

“I was in an accident -- before prison, before I started running with Liam. We were coming back from a dinner and I was driving. We were fighting and it was raining so hard. I didn’t see the other car in time. They blew a stop sign and…”

Killian’s voice trails off. He doesn’t have to finish -- you know. 

“Killian…”

You want to comfort him, but you know that there isn’t anything you can say that can help him. There isn’t anything you can say that can bring Milah back. Killian shakes his head vigorously, as if he’s trying to physically rid himself of the thoughts inside his head. 

“I blamed myself for years. Punished myself for not expecting the unexpected. I damn near drank myself to death because I couldn’t justify how the accident killed her, but I walked away with only this to show for it.”

He pushes his left sleeve up, exposing the scarred tissue that encompasses the skin of his entire hand and wrist.

“I didn’t even lose my hand. The doctors said it was a miracle. I thought I was cursed. Everything I touched, I ruined.”

Killian’s eyes close as he remembers the darkest period of his life. As he remembers everything he did -- everything that he’ll be atoning for, for the rest of his life. There was a time when he thought the guilt of who had become would eat him alive and swallow him whole. But that was before David, and Emma, and Henry, and you.

“I didn’t think I deserved to be happy for a long time. And then I met David and he gave me a second chance. He let me into his life and into his family. He let me live again.”

He lets out a shaky breath as he prepares himself for what he’s about to say next. He’s about to cross the invisible line that the two of you have created throughout the span of your friendship. And although that terrifies him to his very core, Killian Jones is sick and tired of being afraid to live.

“And I never thought I could allow myself to open my heart up and love someone again. That I was too bitter and bruised.”

For the first time since he brought up Milah, Killian fixes his gaze on you.

“Do you think you could let yourself love someone now?”

“Aye, I do.”

He doesn’t look away and neither do you. Your heartbeat is ringing in your ears as you ask him the question that could change everything.

“What made you change your mind?”

“You.”

You aren’t certain what gets your feet moving -- maybe the ferocity in his eyes or the sincerity in his voice. You don’t tell your legs to move, they just do, as if it is instinct that draws you closer to Killian. Throwing caution to the wind, you follow your heart instead of your head and take several long strides toward Killian until you’ve closed the distance that you created.

As you stand in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his body. It draws you closer to him, into his orbit. You take a breath and study Killian’s features, looking for any sign of doubt. But, instead of doubt, all you find is adoration. 

You take a leap of faith. 

You reach up, wrapping both of your arms around Killian’s neck and pull him toward you. You stop just for a second once your nose brushes his, his lips just a breath away, giving him the chance to pull away. Killian notices your hesitation and backs away slightly so he can meet your gaze. His hands move to envelop your cheeks. His grip on either side of your face is gentle.

“If this isn’t what you want…”

The smile that graces your lips is sweet as honey -- just like when he first walked into the diner. 

“Killian, just kiss me.”

You don’t have to ask him twice. He closes the gap between you and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is tender and sweet, until you let go of Killian’s neck and slide your hands down his chest. You grab onto either side of his leather jacket and pull him closer. Just like yesterday, when Herc called Killian, he lets out a low, guttural growl that reverberates in his chest. He moves his hands down your body until he’s got a tight grip on your waist. The kiss turns into something desperate and needy. 

Eventually, you both have to break away and take a breath. Killian presses his forehead against yours as the two of you attempt to control your breathing and settle your nerves. You move a hand up to cup Killian’s cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. He lets out a tired sigh as he just enjoys the sensation of your skin against his. His eyes flutter open and he presses a soft kiss into your palm.

“Stay with me. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me.”

Your words begin to stitch up an old wound, deep inside of him that he’d long forgotten. He steals another kiss from your lips, leaving you breathless, before wrapping both of his arms around your waist and pulling you in for a tight embrace. His head burrows into your neck as you wrap both your arms around his shoulders. In the comfort of your arms, Killian’s lips twist into a small smile. When he woke up this morning, he was prepared for yet another painful day of remembering all that he’s lost. Ready to drown his sorrows with a bottle of rum. But right now, with you in his arms, Killian Jones finally feels alive again.

Taglist:  @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @alexa-fangirl-forever @mossnomori @captainamericasinnocence @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @ceruleanrainblues @lily-d247 @victoria-a567 @drinkfantasy @thisismelayla @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @rinymichelle321 @aesteticthotiere @popcrone818 @helplesslydevoted @limelightliterature @unlikelyandrogynousghost @theslytherinwriter @no-soup4u​  @scaraza​

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Once Upon A Time Fandom Masterlist

This is my Once Upon A Time Fandom Masterlist ✨ which includes all the OUAT characters and ships I’ve written for! Check out my post with all my request details— Requests & Prompt-List! My main navigation post—

Mommy… Master List

Approach at your own risk... smut = * extra smutty=**

Regina Mills/Evil Queen Masterlist

Thanks for sticking around 🤍✨🫰🏻 Leave a comment, reblog a post, message me—I want to hear your thoughts!!

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

[fangirlings-things]

Falling in love with David and finding each other in Storybrooke for the first time after the curse is lifted would include headcanons

anon said: hey, can I please request an Once Upon A Time headcanon with the item love + David Nolan/Prince Charming? thank you so much! 💕

A/N: hey, love!! sorry this took so long, hope you enjoy it ♥️

TAG LIST: @captainshazamerica ; @veracruz-djarin

⬛ 2.2K CELEBRATION

You had met for the first time on his father’s castle 

You worked there as a servant, and the King had designated you as the Prince’s personal servant after noticing he had taken a liking to you. You spent some time in his company while fulfilling your duties and so, you did end up knowing him a bit

That being said, you instantly noticed the difference when suddenly James wasn't acting like himself anymore and you didn't have any doubt in your mind as you acused that man of not being the Prince. He may be wearing his clothes and sleeping on his bed, but he wasn't James

He really wasn’t, he admitted so. His name was David, and he explained all that had happened to take him there, pretending to be his twin brother and you promised to keep his secret

The both of you grew closer and closer with time, he was the complete opposite of James. David was kind, caring and had a good heart. He hesitated even to ask you to do the smallest tasks for him and you always had to smile and say that was your duty, just to reassure him that it was ok

Sometimes, he would ask you to just stay with him to talk, was it about some book he had been reading or about how lost he felt about the castle and everyone in there

People began to notice that the Prince was most certainly falling in love with his personal servant, and so did the King. He didn’t think twice before throwing you out of the castle, paying no mind to David’s protests

You were poor, without a place to live and had no family or anyone who could help you. So, you moved on, even though that was the last thing you wanted to do

You never saw David again. That was, well, until the Curse was lifted

Your memories came crashing down on you like a wave and you remembered everything. You remembered David and all he meant to you 

You ran around Storybrooke looking for him, feeling your heart beat fast inside your chest all the while

You ended up meeting him in the middle of the street, each of you had been running in different directions. You couldn't believe your own eyes when you saw him

"David?"

And his smile in that moment... it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen

"It's really you"

[littlemissagrafina]

Aggy's Fic Masterlist

AO3 links are embedded in the titles :)

I'm open to fic prompts for 911, Irondad, and Harry Potter to name a few, so send em my way!

- 9-1-1

Live, Laugh, Llama

Written Across The Sky

"Good News!"

- Teen Wolf

we're all in this (together)

Pain Drain Vegas

Before and After

- Harry Potter

The Fall Of Two

- Once Upon a Time

Pressure

- MCU

Let The Bugs (Arachnids!) Hit The Floor

Mongoose on Ice - also check out the adorable fanart by @call-me-coley > over here

No One Knows -

"Happy birthday, Kid."

Because You Need Me

A Man And His Bots

Worth, In The Eyes Of One, Is Different Than That Of Another

The Way That I Love You

"I'll Take My Heart Clean Apart If It Helps Yours Beat"

Kaleidoscopic

- Series

- MCU

Comfortember 2020

Comfortember 2021

Comfortember 2022

A Year of Irondad - (on pause)

Tired Tony - Tumblr link

FNEF Irondad Fic Exchange Fics

Alone In The Dark (But Not Anymore)

I want you to be happy (to see me, to hear me, to love me)

Partners in Crime

Beautiful Boy

They say it's what you make (I say it's up to fate)

I wanna shelter you (but the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide)

don't get too close, it's dark inside

to hold is to love

Discord Challenges

Every Minute (slips through the hour glass)

Purpose and Reward

When Your Colour Has Faded (We Will Paint It Back)

Like a boat out on the ocean (I'm rocking you to sleep)

You'll be okay (Cause you're never alone)

So much to tell you (and most of all goodbye)

was there something I could have said

Anxie-tea

Here Be Tumblr Prompts

Drunk Spider

Be safe (don't be gone)

Insomniacs in the Dark

Paddy the Duck

I'm Sorry (it's okay)

Fear said you'll never be enough (he is a liar)

Holding On (So Much More Than I Can Carry)

Say It Enough And You'll Believe It (I'm Okay, I'm Fine)

Smashed Windows and Identity Reveals

What A Wonderful World

Cuz if I don't leave this town, I might never make it out

You Look Happier, You Do

Dear Peter Parker, What To Say To You

can’t erase what I wrote in ink (tell me how can I change the story)

Connected (yet to be separate)

Don't Let Me Sleep, I'm Not Ready For Defeat

Everything has changed (and I'm not ready)

Remember the sun, little flower

we're just sunflowers waiting for a sunrise

His Heart Bloomed Sunflowers (and he wore them on his skin)

A Sunflower's Bloom

[jackiestarsister]

Captain Swan first kiss fanfic

I've reached Episode 3x05 "Good Form" in my Captain Swan series. This chapter explores Hook's thoughts during and after his first kiss with Emma, a pivotal moment for him as he starts to realize the true nature and strength of his feelings.

Read on FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14287129/7/A-Time-for-Everything

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50711170/chapters/131207056

[intrepidacious]

lavender's blue

summary: If there was one thing Jefferson could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

pairing: jefferson x f!reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: canon-typical angst?, reader with unspecified magical abilities, reader is alice-in-wonderland-appropriately weird y'all (affectionate); kind of open-ended but in a hopeful bc canon-compliant way <3

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started this as a submission for @sparkledfirecracker's cheesy writing fest challenge, but it didn't turn out very cheesy or even remotely on time. still, thank you for the wonderful prompts your wheels of fate gave me, and congrats on your follower milestone 💛

prompts used: jefferson + friends to lovers + forehead kisses

masterlist | read on ao3

What Regina couldn’t have anticipated, what no one ever could have, really, was that you had always been unpredictable. A loose end. A ticking time bomb. An unlocked door.

It was a curse in and of itself, most of the time, albeit one with a lowercase c. You’d always craved a normal life, but that didn’t mesh too well with your impulsiveness. Normalcy craved planning, devising, executing, in that order, precise decisions and arrangements that weren’t to be changed at a whim.

You were as wild as a flower in spring.

It was what Jefferson liked most about you when you first met, back when he was still jumping worlds like one of them would give him an answer. Instead, he found you, back in the Enchanted Forest you both called home, on a day that had started out like any other.

You were smack dab in the center of the meadow the hat spat him out on, and you were spinning around yourself until, he supposed, your skirts finally circled just so, and then landing on your back, laughing. Your feet were bare and dirty from stamping the ground like you were proving a point.

When he stepped closer, you propped yourself up on your elbows and blinked up at him with a grin. The sun cast his shadow in such a way that his head seemed to touch your heart. Jefferson noticed that, even then.

"Is there a reason you’re trampling on the dandelions?" he asked.

"Some people don’t deserve a wish," you simply said.

He couldn’t argue with that.

"And what about you?" he said instead.

"Well," you mused, closing your eyes, the tilt of your lips unwavering. "I think I already got my wish for the day."

"And what was that?"

There was magic brimming within you, and a lot of it. It made Jefferson’s hands shake and the hat cough out trails of smoke, even though it didn’t need to go anywhere, but you … you didn’t even seem to notice.

"Something blue," you answered.

Curiouser and curiouser, just like your smile. That was the thing that kept him distracted long enough for you to anticipate his next question, to point, still without looking, back at the hat and the purplish haze it had wrapped itself in.

"Lavender’s blue, dilly-dilly," you continued before he could voice his confusion. "I mean, I wanted flowers. But I suppose one doesn’t argue with chance, don’t you think?"

There was an almost dangerous glint in your eye when you faced him again, and that settled it.

"Why not?" he asked, and held out his hand.

You stared at it in amusement. "Are you in the habit of challenging fate, stranger?"

"Only if I know I can win," he said. "And the name’s Jefferson."

You took his hand, then, and he could never be sure if it was meant as an introduction or a leap of faith. It didn’t matter, really, when it ended up being both. When he’d pulled you to your feet, there was a small bottle in his palm, its contents glittering like liquid stardust.

He blinked.

"You can keep that if you want," you said, turning your skirt pockets out and carelessly dropping the rest of their contents on the ground. "It’s all too heavy."

Jefferson watched as you plucked a single dandelion and shook it until the wind did the wishing part for you. Then you turned without another glance at him and walked away humming, your magic patting the hat like a pet and then vanishing with you.

He’d spend weeks thinking about you simply handing him the very potion he’d intended to steal, and he still couldn’t figure out how you’d even known.

***

In this life, there are several things you know.

You know you’re a florist. You know you’re well liked, which is nice and feels new, even though you’ve lived here all your life. You know your hands can fabricate the most splendid arrangements, bouquets and wreaths in all the colors Maine has to offer, and most days, you know you’re perfectly content doing just that.

Other days, though, you know you want to see every single petal turned to ashes.

Because you also know this voice deep inside your bones, not quite your own but almost, too familiar with your habits and routines and endless, endless smalltalk. You know it keeps telling you that something is missing, something you might find again if only you set this whole damn place aflame.

So you think, what’s the harm.

And as the flames lick at your window settings and burn the roses to a crisp, you tilt your head slowly and something inside stirs, like a sleeping dragon twitching as it wakes. You realize then, that in between all the things you know, you almost missed something quite important.

Tea.

Thankfully, no else one gets hurt. The building barely even carries any damage.

When Sheriff Humbert finally lets you leave, it’s already dark outside, far too late for a neighborly visit, but you go anyway. You should have driven, but by the time you think of that, you’ve almost climbed up the hill already. The forest seems to whisper to you; you ignore it.

It’s a grand house, and you can tell it’s empty by just looking at the front of it. Not without furniture, but without a heart. You knock, knock, knock, and the sound seems to echo through the whole forest.

When the door opens, it’s with a creak that almost sounds like a yawn, and Jefferson freezes, his eyes widening as they meet yours. They’re more tired than you remember.

"I didn’t forget," you say before he can get a single word out, handing him the small parcel. The paper has worn wrinkly in your sweaty palms. "I just burned down my shop today."

If he’s surprised, or concerned, he doesn’t show it. He hovers in the doorway, his fingers carefully unwrap the delicate teacup, and there’s a wisp of a smile of his face as they trace the tiny, nonsensical little spout.

"What’s this for?" he finally asks, his voice strangely raspy.

"Don’t you remember?" you say. "It’s your unbirthday."

He lets you in, then, and your boots sink into the carpeted floor, like the ground is trying to swallow you up. The front door clicks shut.

"Tea day is Tuesdays and Thursdays," you continue on, wandering deeper into the house, making a wrong turn and taking a few steps up the stairs before suspecting—recalling—that the kitchen is to the right. You huff frustratedly. "You didn’t remind me last week!"

"Well," Jefferson calls from somewhere out of your sight. "One never knows with you."

Dark wooden cabinets. Checkerboard tiles in the kitchen. You decide you’ve broken enough rules for a day and cross them strictly diagonally until you hit a corner cabinet, pulling it open. Empty, empty. "It’s my unbirthday too, you know," you say when you hear his steps approaching again.

"What are the chances?" His voice is still hollow, in a way, as hollow as this house, and you feel like you’re missing something, but it’s so, so tiresome to think about.

"Look at that," you say, shaking the last couple of crumbs out of a crumpled up, sad-looking biscuit wrapper. "I should have come up earlier."

Jefferson sighs as he leans against the counter, watching you continue to rummage through the shelves, drawers, cupboards, trays.

It’s the saddest tea you’ve ever prepared, without a single thing to nibble on and the tea leaves trapped in silly little cotton bags, but you move opposite each other like you’re playing a game of chess, which consoles you a little.

He wins, you think, but you don’t actually know how to play.

***

Jefferson was never entirely convinced you were from the Enchanted Forest. It didn’t suit you, the dirt of this world, the whispered promises of happily ever afters and wishing upon stars so your dreams came true.

You went for the things you wanted without an ounce of remorse and without a single glance over your shoulder.

Then again, none of the other worlds he’d passed through seemed to fit you, either. Wonderland might have come closest, but you lacked its shrillness, the blunt terror in its colors and way of life. And you hated playing cards.

He wasn’t sure how you kept running into him whenever he least expected it, but you seemed to make a habit of doing just that. You seemed to enjoy pretending not to notice him staring whenever he did find you, mesmerized as if it was that first time all over again.

There was something about your presence that made any room you inhabited feel different, and the woods and sky and earth would all vibrate at a different frequency whenever you were around. It wasn’t just your magic, it was all of you.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

"See something interesting, dearie?" a voice laced with insanity asked from behind his shoulder.

Jefferson’s eyes never left you, even as he felt Rumplestiltskin’s gaze bore into his neck. You appeared to be counting the toadstools, reciting something in sing-song he couldn’t make out from where he was standing.

"Did you make a deal with her, too?" he asked, voice carefully neutral because you never knew what the Dark One would pick up on and use against you. He already had more on him than Jefferson liked.

"Oh, no. All magic comes with a price." The same phrase, a thousand times, accompanied by the same shimmer in his eyes. He didn't have to look to know it was there. "Just because you’re yet to pay yours doesn’t mean that’s true for everyone."

"So she’s mad?"

"What’s mad?" Rumplestiltskin tutted. "We’re all mad, in our own way. The most powerful most of all."

You lifted your head to look at the two of them and waved. Jefferson lowered the hat over his forehead, finally turning away.

"Then it surprises me you don’t seem to use that to your advantage," he said, crossing his arms.

The Dark One’s grin spliced his mouth with gold. "I like the result of my bidding to be as expected."

It seemed as good enough a cue to leave as any. He didn’t come very far, though, had barely taken the hat off to embark on his next journey before you caught up to him.

"Where are you going this time?"

He smiled to himself, because even with all your whimsical moods he knew you well enough by then to understand you hated being ignored. "Camelot," he answered just as the hat began swirling.

You stepped closer, bare feet crunching the fall leaves on the ground, and when he turned to meet your gaze, the curiosity in your eyes made his heart stumble over itself as he held out his hand, again.

You took it without a moment’s hesitation.

***

There’s a road that leads into town, but it doesn’t lead out. You like how this doesn’t make any sense; it almost feels normal.

Jefferson hates it, of course. It’s easy to read on his face, contempt tinting his every look and gesture an unbecoming shade of green. He hates this world and this wrong life and the fact that everything he wants is right under his nose and yet so far out of reach.

You get that, you really do. But the constant worrying and thinking just drags you down, doesn’t it? No. Ridiculous. So you decide to make a change.

Or rather, things fall into place again.

You work at the library now. People don’t like you as much, but it’s not like that thing at the flower shop was your fault, so they get over it. You love books too much to even consider setting them on fire, and there’s a lot less customer interaction involved, which minimizes the smalltalk. You’ve never liked smalltalk.

You’re perfectly content with your life.

That Friday you find Jefferson hunched over yet another map of the area, tracing the paradoxical routes that should lead onto the interstate and yet never do. Cars break down, bikes crash into trees that appear out of nowhere, and hiking somehow just leads you to walking in circles until you find yourself on main square once again.

It’s a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces, and you’d care about it more if you had any intention of leaving.

"Where do you want to go so badly, anyway?" you asked him once, when his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep and that desperate determination.

"Home," he said, and the finality of that word made your insides twist.

Food and drinks are strictly forbidden in the reading hall, but you sneak him a thermos filled with coffee, anyway, the time for tea long passed.

He smiles at you tiredly as you take a seat opposite him, frowning at the pile of books you’re going to have to sort back onto the shelves past closing time. "Who are you today, then?" he asks, his voice hoarse as if he hasn’t talked all day. He hasn’t taken his scarf off, either, so maybe he’s getting sick.

You squint your eyes at him. "If you’re coming on to me, it’s not working."

Jefferson huffs, and then turns back to his maps. "Not at all."

Maybe it’s working a little, you think as you continue to watch him. After all, there’s method to this madness of his, passion to his pursuit, even though you don’t really understand it.

If he notices you staring, he shows no sign of it, and you’re not about to make him aware of it, not when you’re just starting to get to know each other. Besides, the longer you ponder the possibility of him, the stronger your head starts to pound.

You need to lock up at nine and Jefferson leaves you with another crooked grin that suggests more familiarity than there should be between the two of you. You return it with a bump of your shoulders, and then you watch him walk down the street with his hands in his pockets until he rounds a corner and you roll the shutters down.

Once again, you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.

Because of your migraine, you spill the leftovers of the coffee over a particularly rare collection of fairy tales later that night. The gold-edged pages bleed ink all over the maps, rendering them essentially pretty trash for the perfect townsfolk of Storybrooke. You fold them up as a gift, and then you put your keys into the letterbox for them to pick up on Monday.

***

For a while, it was the two of you on his travels through the different realms, exploring and stealing and doing the unexpected. It was your specialty, after all.

And then, just like that, for a whole while, Jefferson didn’t see you again, not until after he’d met and lost Grace’s mother. It was a particularly cold night in December when he woke to his daughter tugging at his sleeve and a strange noise from outside.

It was rhythmic, swooshing, almost like the wind but accompanied by something like a hum. When he stepped to the window, though, there was nothing outside but darkness and whirling snowflakes.

He managed to get Grace back into bed after some crackers and tea, her eyes drooping closed as she huddled up with the corner of her blanket in her mouth. Jefferson watched her drift back to sleep, and then he returned to the window, because he had this feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. Like someone was calling for him without ever saying his name.

He found you clearing the path leading up to the cottage with your bare hands, the frilly cloak around your shoulders not nearly warm enough to keep out the icy sting of winter. Your fingers were already starting to turn an unhealthy color, and a thin layer of snow sat at the crown of your head like a frozen hat.

Jefferson cursed and grabbed his coat from the bench next to the door.

"What are you doing?" he hissed when he reached you, wrapping you up within seconds. You blinked up at him. Your lashes were glittering with ice.

"It needed cleaning," you said matter-of-factly, without keeping your voice down.

Quickly, he ushered you inside and made you sit next to the fireplace. You only seemed to realize the oddness of your situation now that warmth was returning to your limbs, looking around the room in slow confusion, like you were trying to piece everything together.

Jefferson was putting the kettle back into the fire when you got up again, his coat still draped around your shoulders, and stepped closer to the bed.

"You had a daughter," you said, peering at the sleeping toddler with something almost like a frown. "She’s beautiful."

"She looks like her mother."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you."

The red on his cheeks felt almost like a betrayal, but you didn’t mean that, anyway, so it didn’t count. Still, he was stunned enough to drop his mug, and the sound of it shattering on the floor woke Grace up again. She would be three in spring, then, and she was a smart girl, but she’d stopped talking months ago, instead resorting back to the wails of a much younger child whenever she was upset, and she was hard to calm.

He couldn’t blame her.

Whenever he held her like this, he felt as helpless and alone as he did that first time when she was crying for her mother and there was no one there but him.

Except this time, Jefferson wasn’t alone. To his surprise, you stepped closer and started humming, and then singing under your breath.

To his even bigger surprise, it seemed to soothe Grace.

It was an old song, a familiar song, and you placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he cradled his daughter until she finally fell asleep again. You were still cold enough he could feel it through his shirt, but your voice carried a warmth he wasn’t used to anymore.

You took your tea in comfortable silence, and when the first rays of sunshine started creeping through the branches outside, you told him that you had to leave again. He almost asked how long it would be this time.

Instead, he led you to the door and shook his head as you tried to slip out of his coat. "The weather is supposed to turn again," he said, looking you up and down because he didn’t know when to expect you next. He never did.

"You’re different," you said, and even though you didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt at those words, they still left their mark.

"You’re not," he said, and meant it as a compliment. Somehow, when you met his eye, it didn’t seem like one anymore.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," you answered, and he had no response to that.

You kissed him, then. Sweetly, like a blushing bride would. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

It was over far more quickly than he’d have liked, and you stuffed your hands into his coat pockets.

"I’m sorry," you said, and for the first time, you wouldn’t look at him.

But Jefferson could do nothing but stare, even as you finally turned and wandered down the path again, because there you were, with your heart on your sleeve, and he’d just lost his wife, and he didn’t know up from down anymore.

***

Stepping into Jefferson’s sitting room is a little like entering a creature’s belly and sitting down next to its beating heart, pressing so close you can feel it pulsating through you.

There’s a large grandfather clock staring at you from next to the fireplace, and on the mantle there’s a small, wooden alarm, and from there, it’s six and a half steps to the cuckoo clock on the far wall that makes a little rabbit appear every fifteen minutes.

Then, it’s another twenty steps past the living room table to the clock on the even farther wall and the bookcase he stores his silver pocket watch on, in a blue box on the high shelf, next to a dusty collection of fairy tales and an old hat he used to wear on Fridays.

Or was it Sundays?

"You could just go talk to her," you tell him on a Thursday, taking another sip of tea.

Jefferson sinks back in his chair, knuckles at his temples. His chin is still held high in bottomless defiance, but his eyes are so tired. "It’s not that simple."

"It’s not that complicated, either," you shrug. "You’re her father, after all."

"Except I’m the only one to know that."

"I know," you say, and you’re not sure yourself if you mean to sound reassuring or scolding. The thought is head-achingly heavy, so you drop it and pick up a tune instead, quietly humming to yourself as you continue your circles around the room.

It’s an old melody, ghosting through your mind more often than not, a little sad and happy at the same time. You feel Jefferson’s weary gaze on the back of your head, and somehow it makes you smile.

"You remember how it’s supposed to work back at home, though, right? True love conquers all." You chuckle to yourself. The song in your head starts to buzz. "Or," you continue with a dismissive lift of your eyebrow, "are you just going to wait for that savior to appear? How long has it been, ten years?"

"Eight years, three months, two-hundred and seventeen days."

Huh. You could have sworn you’ve been here much longer.

"Then there’s still nineteen years and …" You think for a moment, then shake your head. "You know what, I’m not going to get that right if I tried, and I don’t want to, so let’s just say a while."

He almost laughs at that, a soft, pained look in his eye that you’re not supposed to find charming.

"You’re going to go insane in that time," you say softly. "I would."

"I know." It’s already starting to tug at the tilt of his smile and the twitch in his eye. He hasn’t quite learned to stop caring, yet, and of course he hasn’t. That wouldn’t be like him.

He’s always been your mirror, so why would this be any different?

Things stay they same, and they stay the same, and they stay the same, and you’re sick of it. Apparently, there’s a thing such as too normal a life, and it makes your skin crawl.

So you start tailoring again. Your evenings are long and there’s just a few people that come in regularly, that ask for golden thread to fix their buttons and flaxen yarn to hem their suits. It’s quiet. Terribly quiet. Too quiet.

There’s not a single clock in your shop, and you realize you miss the ticking as soon as you crawl out of the belly of the beast. So you keep returning.

"We used to share a bed," you recall, lifting your arm so Jefferson can reach for the thread you’re holding out as you both sit on the floor, your tools and fabrics spread out over the entire room. You love watching him work, even though you don’t quite understand why he’s so obsessed with making hats. Maybe you just forgot.

"We did", he answers, not even looking at you. It makes you roll your eyes.

"So why don’t we now?"

"That would be rather complicated." His stitching is impeccable.

"Why?" Something throbs between your temples.

"Several reasons, dear." He tilts his head. "Aren’t you late?"

The unpleasant feeling in your chest disappears when you look at the clock. "Shit."

You hastily gather your things and start running to make it back to your shop in time, barely remembering to catch your breath enough to say goodbye, and so you miss the look on his face as he watches you, staying behind in the big house in the middle of the woods.

***

You visited more often, now that you knew about Grace, but Jefferson didn’t know if that was for her sake or for his. One thing that was very clear, however, was that you didn’t care at all about the dirty looks you got from everyone else whenever you strayed off the path to wander towards his cottage, unchaperoned.

Sure, they pitied him, but he was grieving, they said, and you were young and beautiful.

"They’re all so terribly starved for entertainment," you sighed, and then you handed him another pretty pebble you’d found on your way. He put it into the bowl on the window sill.

Grace was getting old enough to get used to you, then, to recognize the hands that tickled her chin and sometimes pulled her up when she fell on the forest ground. She loved your surprises, and your stories were her favorites to listen to when it was bedtime, even though she usually fell asleep long before you stopped talking.

"Did I ever tell you," you continued when the embers were barely glowing anymore but your eyes were shining in the moonlight, "about those pirates that I ran into near—"

"Why did you stay away so long?"

You blinked, and so did he. He hadn’t expected himself to actually ask, not after all this time that you had been back in his life. But the question was out now, sitting between you on the broken floorboards of his broken life, and the night stretched your silence into infinity.

"I wrote you letters," you told him, and it was true, but it wasn’t an answer. So he kept looking at you, and the silence scraped its nails against your skin. "I don’t know," you finally said in a way that told Jefferson you did know and didn’t want to tell him. There was a flustered hum to you that almost made him want to take it back, but the magic that followed each and every of your whims didn’t retreat. Not even a little.

"I was falling in love with you." He’d never admitted it out loud before. Who would he have told?

You laughed nervously, looking over at Grace. "Not very much, clearly."

"You never gave me the chance to do it properly."

"You don’t want me. I could never be a mother." Still, you talked quietly enough not to wake her, and you brought her trinkets and playthings whenever you’d been away for a while. You never brought him anything, but he still felt like he was getting a rare gift every time. It must’ve counted for something.

Besides, this was the first time you’d attempted to reason with him.

"I didn’t have her then," he said anyway, as if that was an argument.

"But you were always going to."

"And what about you and me?"

You bit your lip. "I’m inconvenient."

"I know," he said.

"You can’t rely on me."

"I know," he said.

"You deserve better than me."

Jefferson shook his head, and for the first time since he met you, you looked unsure. So, for the first time since he met you, he was the one doing the incalculable.

He kissed you.

You pulled him closer immediately, all logic forgotten as you crashed into each other, finally on the same page of this twisted story. You kissed him like you wanted him to be the happy ending to your storybook, even though you weren’t cut out for that kind of tale.

You both tried to be, anyway.

***

You’ve run the teashop now for … you’re not quite sure. Forever, maybe. It sure feels like your whole life has been spent between boxes of fragrant leaves, with a kettle always shrieking somewhere in the house and you humming whatever tune it sings to you.

But your hands are dirty, and no matter how much you brush your nails under scalding water, there always seems to be grime underneath them. Like you’re repotting plants in your sleep. Or clawing at the ground.

Your life is filled with sound, with constant chatter and gossip, because your front door is barely a five minute walk from Storybrooke secondary and the schoolgirls have developed an obsession with the shortbread and ginger muffins you serve with their tea. They reward you with whatever pocket money they can find at the bottom of their school bags and any gossip about their teachers they’ve eavesdropped on that week.

You constantly have a headache, but it’s fun, in a way. And you get to see Grace.

Your hand stops midair as you reach out for the lavender tea the girl ordered, staring unfocused until she clears her throat expectantly.

“Sorry,” you say, still dazed, “lost my train of thought there.”

The girl—Paige, you remember now, you heard her friend say her name when they entered the shop, Come on, Paige, and something about it made your stomach turn—tips her head to the side in a way that’s familiar, even though you don’t know why. “Can I have that to go?“ she adds, a quick look over her shoulder to where her friends are giggling.

“Sure.”

You only serve tea in loose leaves, because you believe trapping your window to the future in a small bag doesn’t do anyone any good, even though most of your customers don’t know how to tip their residue into their saucers in the proper way. You do it for them, sometimes, if they leave enough cold tea in their cups for you to do it after the door has clicked shut behind them. You knew about the mayor’s adoption papers going through before she knew about it herself, and you’d felt pretty smug about that.

The perfect amount of time to steep lavender tea is five minutes and forty-six seconds, and because you can’t trust a child to particularly care for such precision, you keep the steaming paper cup behind the counter until your timer goes off. You stir a dollop of honey in, humming to yourself, before you hand Paige the cup. She doesn’t really look at you, already distracted by another snippet of conversation, but she still flashes you a quick smile before hurrying to catch up with the others. The bell above the door jingles again, and the man stepping inside holds the door open for the girls to file outside, chattering excitedly. His other hand is balled up into a fist so tight it makes his knuckles stand out white.

He takes a deep breath before he turns and regards you. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I suppose so,” you say, even though it interrupts your humming. “Can I get you anything?”

His smile is small, but beautiful. “I think you already are.”

It’s then you notice you’ve pulled out one of the mugs from your good set without even asking, heaping two and a half spoonsful of your favorite blend inside like it’s the most natural thing for you to do upon his entrance.

Before you can apologize, he turns the sign in your window to 'closed' and sits down at the counter with a patient look, eyes very intense as they search yours, his face unreadable. None of it feels threatening, just … expectant.

So you continue with your instinctual movements, even though you’re not sure how you know what he’s waiting for. You feel like there’s something you’re missing, and it doesn’t come to you until you hand him his mug.

The mask falls when he says your name, your real name, and your lips twist into a smile that’s so unsure of itself it almost curls inwards.

You remember, you remember.

Every single lifetime falls back into place until the one that came first stays at the forefront. You cling to the thought like someone fights with a dream to be allowed to stay a little longer, battling oblivion with the resolution of a dragon slayer.

"How long was I gone this time?" you ask, hands clasping the counter more tightly and blinking fast as if that could keep the forgetting away.

"Hard to say," Jefferson answers. "A few weeks. You’re getting better."

You know he’s lying, because in the beginning, it would only take you a couple of days to remember. Now, your moments of clarity seem to be farther apart every time. "Was she nice?"

If you were going to remember any of this in a while, you’d really miss being the girl from the tea shop. You’ve been enjoying this version of things, the simplicity and the small dosages of variety, like little treats in this viscous monotony.

He shrugs with one shoulder. "She’s you."

"So, no."

His smile always seems sad these days. "So, nice in the ways that matter. You always are."

Somehow, you doubt that. "What day is it?" you ask.

"Seventeen years, six months, forty-five days."

You don’t ask him if there’s been any progress; you know there hasn’t been. Instead, you round the counter and put your arms around him. You feel him sag against you, his sigh of relief barely audible against your shoulder. You can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since Jefferson’s touched another person.

He pulls you close enough for you to feel his heartbeat in your own chest, and you barely breathe as you tighten the embrace even more, trying to hold both of you upright.

"Your hair’s getting longer again," you mumble after a very long time, dragging your thumb against the back of his neck.

"Don’t lie," he answers hoarsely, lifting his head without opening his eyes, your noses bumping before he rests his forehead against yours. "I miss you."

It breaks your heart, how easily it slips out.

Your lips seek his carefully, then more confident, because you don’t know how else to express your own feelings. This kiss, like all the ones before, is a promise you both know you won’t be able to keep.

Hope still tastes bitter on his tongue.

***

He’d always hated Wonderland, but he’d never hated it more than when he got stuck there and felt his sanity slip through his fingers a little bit more every day. Time didn’t make sense here, nothing did.

But if there was one thing that he could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

"There you are." A voice as familiar as an old song woke him up from another nightmare. "What on earth are you doing in this hole?"

Jefferson opened his eyes. You were like a vision, not even paying attention to the disbelief in his eyes as you dusted off one of the useless hats.

"How," he croaked.

You chuckled a little and continued to look around the room. His cell. His locked cell with guards posted outside.

He sat up so quickly his vision went black for a moment. "How are you here?"

"You were gone so long," you said. "I was bored."

"You—" He held your cheek, your waist, your shoulder. You felt cool to the touch, but solid, real. Eyes innocent and glittering with your usual mischief, as if this was completely normal. "Have you seen Grace? Is she alright?"

"She misses you, too."

He didn’t even pay attention to it, then, but he remembered that little "too" at the end later, many, many times.

"Can you get me home?"

Your smile was soft and sad and sliced him in two all over again. You gently tugged at the bow around his neck, and then you simply said, "No."

So he raged. He bargained. He begged.

But you could not, would not budge, even though your eyes grew heavy as you listened to him. Like this was a disappointing development for you.

He already knew he was nothing more.

He stared at you when he was done, chest heaving, still on his knees in front of you even though he could no longer meet your eye. You didn’t say anything.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," you said again. You brushed your hands through his hair and slowly sank down to his level.

It was only then that he realized tears were falling from his eyes. Gently, you wiped them off his cheeks, and then, holding his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before touching your own to the same spot.

"Grace sends this," you whispered.

Jefferson closed his eyes, heart twisting with that unspeakable ache.

"There’s something you need to know," you said, your voice already carrying the weight of it. As if all of this hadn’t been enough. "Something bad is coming."

"Isn’t it always?" he asked, but then he felt your magic flicker in a way it never had before. Like it was nervous.

And then lightning struck outside.

When he looked at your face, your eyes were rolled back and your magic was lashing out in all directions, clashing against the walls in terror. "There’s danger if I dare to stop and here’s a reason why," you sing-songed, unfocused, and Jefferson caught your hands before you clawed at your own face. "I’m over-due, no no no no, goodbye, hello." You hiccuped.

Dread washed through him in an icy shockwave. He’d seen you in a state of confusion before, many times, but this was different, not just overwhelmed but panicked. Your magic was literally spilling out of you now, like it was trying to escape whatever fate you’d seen coming, and you would’ve doubled over with it had he not held you upright.

"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run run." You giggled. "Did you know I’m a bunny in a book?"

"Sweetheart, you need to focus."

The next thunder rolled outside and you screamed, but it seemed to knock some sense back into you because your eyes weren’t quite so glassy anymore when you looked at him again. "Oh, this next part won’t be fun."

Something knocked at the door and then it burst open, dark purple whirls of magic filling the room within seconds, accompanied by roaring winds and a thumping sound that reminded him of a beating heart. Your hands came up to cup Jefferson’s face and you gave him the saddest, most knowing smile he’d ever seen on you.

The wind almost swallowed your voice, but whatever magic hadn’t left you yet let him hear your words anyway.

"Some people really don’t deserve a wish."

Then, everything went black.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! you can also buy me a ko-fi if you feel so inclined <3

[16-lost-in-a-film-scene]

Goodbye, my love

gif not mine, credits to owner

How do two unconfessed lovers say goodbye when it feels like it is the last time that they'll see each other? ㅤ|ㅤ When pan's curse is about to hit, Emma Swan and her beloved pirate have to say goodbye.

ㅤ Emma Swan x F!reader

Everyone was standing at Storybrooke's limit line, saying their goodbyes to Emma and Henry, who were about to leave and would have their memories erased.

Y/N walked to Emma, ready to say what could be her last words to her. She was about to start talking when Swan got ahead and talked first.

— I will definitely not miss your stupid face. — She said, trying to be sarcastic and take a bit of the seriousness out because it was a lot. Y/N chuckled and shook her head with a smile before answering.

‐ You won't even remember it, blondie. ‐ Y/LN said, with a bit of sadness in her tone, even though she tried to hide it. She smiled lightly to try to lift Emma's spirits.

Y/N could've sworn that she saw tears in Emma's eyes, even when the blonde girl tried to hide them by lowering her head and looking to the floor, so she hugged her. She hugged her like she never had before, like she wanted to express everything she hadn't said before, like she really thought that this was a goodbye and there was no way to fix this one.

‐ So, this is it, I guess? ‐ The Y/HC-haired said, still hugging her while feeling Emma holding her tighter and wiping some tears on her shirt. And to make her feel better, as she is Y/N Y/LN, she had to make some lame joke. - I think this is the part where you're meant to kiss me. ‐ She whispered to Emma's ears only, and she laughed a bit, a sound that even though it was a melody to Y/N's ears, it came out with drops of hidden sadness.

Emma pulled away before answering, not getting too far but at the same time, not too close. Enough distance to confuse the other one.

— Save that one for the next time we see each other, pirate. — She answered in a sarcastic tone, making Y/LN smile for a few seconds, an expression that quickly flew away when she was hit with realization. She took a deep breath.

‐ I thought you would be my happy ending, Emma. ‐ She said before kissing Swan's cheek, smiling at Henry as a 'goodbye' and walking away, leaving the blonde girl without a chance to answer, just touching softly with her fingers the place Y/N had kissed.

[zangetsusundelion]

Welcome (and Fic Masterlist)

Mae i'ovannen!

Welcome to my blog! You can call me Quen or Pryderi, and my pronouns are he/him. I'm not comfortable sharing my exact age but I'm older than Twilight Princess and younger than The Wind Waker (for those of you who aren't Zelda fans, that means I'm not a minor.)

This is a shameless multifandom blog. Just a warning on that one. However! My main three fandoms (or as I like to call them, my 'Fandom Triforce') are The Legend of Zelda, The Lord of the Rings, and Bleach.

My OTP is Ichigo Kurosaki and Uryū Ishida. I love writing for them. I also willfully ignore any canon that suggests they are more than very distantly related. [In case you doubt my commitment to the pairing: I have a shrine in my bedroom partially dedicated to them.]

Fic Masterlist

I write on ao3 under the username IchigoSundelion, which is where you'll find these fics!

Bleach:

Ichigo Kurosaki/Uryū Ishida fics:

Multichapter fics:

Elenion Umbar Yowaka Ita {Collected Soul}

Oneshots:

Buried Secrets Dual Purpose Eyebright Chiaroscuro The Temple Abyssal Of Meetings and Unbleached Pages

The Legend of Zelda:

Dietary Requirements

Once Upon a Time:

Circumstances

Other Fandoms:

Tear Stains and Ink Blots (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic)

What Is A Goddess? (unOrdinary)

[demonicbaby666]

Ignorance is Bliss

One Shot | Once Upon a Time Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Regina Mills x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst no comfort

Words: 1.3k+

Summary: You remember the wee little lass from season 1 who gets his heart crushed? Yes, Graham. He doesn’t actually exist in this, but you do... After a brief kiss with Emma it seems the truth has come to light and now you have to make a decision as to whether you want to confront it, or run away from it.

A/n: Don't worry, I hate myself for this one too </3

In the crescent moon’s light, faces seem distorted, shrouded in sullen tones. Dark figures cast their jaded shadows upon concrete roads and littered sidewalks as they stalked toward their destinations. Houses, apartments, or perhaps even a small diner treasured amongst the townsfolk. For you, your destination remained hidden, a secret, feet carrying you through the dimly lit streets to a familiar patch of land.

The wind whispered the lost tales of those who had their names etched on stone. Some old, some young, and some unable to talk over the endless possibilities they’d never been acquainted with, taken straight from the world before they were able to see the light, and dark, held within it. 

Stood in the distance was the mausoleum. Ivy crept along its sidewalls, the red door just bright enough to stand out in the dark and guide you in the direction you needed to go. 

Going off your rough estimations you had around ten minutes to find what you needed before Regina would discover you. Thankfully, without the use of magic, she’d have to drive over to the vault, giving you enough time to try and locate either a memory potion or the ingredients needed for one, though the latter required the fine skills of your long-term memory, which you were still trying to grasp. 

The vault was fairly organised, it was Regina after all, making it somewhat easy to locate the collection of neatly labeled potions. There had to be at least ten boxes, which meant dilly-dallying wasn’t an option. Immediately you sorted through the boxes, willing your eyes to read faster than they’d ever done so before. 

Six boxes down and five minutes in, door hinges creaked and bounced off the walls until they traveled down to the vault. She was early. There was only one exit, and that was the one Regina was coming through, which made the possibility of escaping this upcoming encounter impossible. 

All that was left to do was watch as Regina slowly became visible from the stairs of the crypt. Feet, legs, torso, then there she was. Her sculpted eyebrows knit together, curiosity becoming clearer and clearer with each step toward you, “What are you doing here?”

Looking her dead in the eyes, you made sure not to cower away from the truth, or from the powerful aura she exuded in anything and everything she did, “I remember. I remember everything. Us.” 

“How?” Behind her stony eyes you caught the flicker of panic, whether it was because she feared the curse over the town had been broken or whether she’d have to face the ramifications of withholding the truth from you, you didn’t know. 

“Emma.” 

“That doesn’t explain how you remember.” She frustratingly pointed out. 

There was undoubtedly some truth to her statement. The single name of her nemesis didn’t exactly provide a detailed outlook on the events that led up to you regaining your memories. Then again, you didn’t want her to know the truth. You also didn’t want to lie. Staying silent it was. 

Her nostrils flared, jaw clenched and eyes scorched. With one step forward and her targets set on you, she pushed for more information she deemed rightfully hers, “How?”

It was on command, with the tone she’d used you were right back in the enchanted Forest, heeding any and every one of her wishes, “Emma kissed me.” You blurted out.

“What?” Her eyes widened. 

“Don’t make me repeat it.” You sighed, dropping to sit on a closed trunk. 

“That means...” Regina whispered, “She’s your…”

“She’s the savior, that’s all it means.” You snapped. Regret set in the second you saw Regina flinch at your harsh tone, despite it being warranted. In truth, you already wanted out of this situation, but answers wouldn’t be found in running away, they’d only be located in the trenches of one woman’s mind. What was fairly annoying was the woman in question tended to keep such answers hidden behind a makeshift wall of lies and barbed wire, “I answered your question, now answer mine. Why did you take them, my memories?” 

“Judging by the fact you want them gone again, do I need to answer that?” 

Avoiding the question. Not a surprise. 

“I never had a choice in the first place. Do you know what it’s like realising your whole life is a fucking lie? Because I do and I can’t say shit to anyone without risking getting thrown into the psych ward. You took them from me, Regina. I should be given the option to keep them or get rid of them. So yes, I want to know what led you to believe you had any right to take what was rightfully mine.”

Quiet. The vault echoed the sounds of your heavy breathing as Regina began to search her mind for answers to questions she never thought she’d have to face. Her facade began to crumble before your very eyes, shoulders slumped, her face softened and her tear-filled eyes helplessly sought out comfort in yours. Humility was fighting to be seen once more, much like it had in the past, in moments where she felt everyone only saw the bad, the evil, in actions that were simply enacted to protect herself. 

“I was scared.” Her voice was small, barely a whisper. 

“Of what?” 

A single tear fell from her eye, working its way down her cheek and salting her plump lips, “That you wouldn’t pick me.” 

There, at that moment, she had shown vulnerability, something so raw and rare for a damaged soul prone to heartache and loss. Exposing herself to the tyranny of lies uncovered, to the pain that accompanies the idea that love may be unrequited, and to the reality that she had in fact stolen the essence of what could have been, meant opening herself up to the possibility she had truly lost you. 

And she had. 

“You took that option away from me when you decided to take my memories.”

If it was possible to hear a heart break, feel the sting of broken fragments shatter beneath your touch, you’d have heard and felt it. A rugged exterior did nothing to lessen the pain befalling every inch of your soul. You’d done it, looking into her tear-stained sullen eyes, you saw, you’d broken her dark heart.

Needing to look anywhere but at Regina, you let your eyes roam around the vault. Glinting in the candlelight was a small bottle, the words on it barely readable, but you saw them well enough to plan your next move. 

Standing up, you moved towards the vials you had previously been sifting through, “I have to forget you. I have to forget who I was, and what I did.” you muttered, back now facing Regina. 

“Feel everything you need to feel, regret, anger, sadness, everything. But not alone, feel it with me,” Regina reached out, wrapping her fingers around your wrist, “I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.” 

As you turned around, you clung tightly to the bottle in your hand. You didn’t stop yourself, nor Regina when her lips found yours. Instead, you let yourself remember, only for mere seconds, what it felt like to have her tongue trace along your bottom lip, how her body felt pressed against your own, what it was to give yourself over wholly and exclusively to one person. 

Yet, it still wasn’t enough. It never would be. Not when you’d known a guilt-free life, not when you’d gone days, months, and years living without the weight of your past mistakes heavy on your conscience. 

“I was never yours to lose,” you whispered against her lips, delivering the final punch.

The bottle cork dropped to the ground. With one step back you brought the vial to your lips, swallowing its contents whole and watching a familiar face - a person you believed to be the embodiment of home - fade once again into nothing more than an acquaintance.

Ignorance truly is bliss.

Tags: @babygirlscout @7thavenger @five-bi-five-mind @mentally-unstable-gay | click here to be added to my tag list

[wannabespacesmuggler]

Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee | Strike Out

Chapter Fifteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: You recently moved to Storybrooke and began working the morning shift at Granny’s diner. Meanwhile, Killian Jones has been working the night shift on the docks of Storybrooke for years. When his routine gets turned upside down, he begins to understand the simple joy brought by an early cup of coffee, as long as you’re the one pouring it.

Pairing: Killian Jones x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5K

Extras: Playlist – A playlist for two idiots in love: a gruff outcast who hates coffee but now drinks it every morning because the waitress at the diner keeps smiling at him as they pour it.

Author’s Note: Decided to use my day off to work on a little holiday update for Small Talk and Mediocre Coffee. I'm actually really happy with how this one came out. Happy Holidays friends, I hope this brings you a little bit of joy! Also, I know some of my tags have been acting funky so let me know if they worked this time. Idk if it's just tumblr being weird or something on my end, but I'll try to fix it as best I can.

“You made it!” 

You let out a laugh as you’re tackled by a hug from Henry. You’re glad the game hasn’t started yet. After finishing your shift, you moved as quickly as you could to the school in hopes of catching Henry before the game began. 

“Of course I did!”

Henry pulls away and moves back to Regina’s side, who he was talking to before you arrived. You’ve met Regina before. She’s not quite a regular at the diner like Killian, Emma, and David, but she has come in a few times with Henry to grab dinner.

“Thank you for coming. Henry was so excited when you said you’d be here. He couldn’t stop talking about it all week.”

Henry’s face flushes as Regina speaks. He immediately crosses his arms over his chest, defiantly. 

“I did not!”

Luckily, he’s saved from further embarrassment as his coach calls him over to his team’s bench leaving you and Regina in awkward silence. Every time you’ve interacted with the mayor, Henry has been there to facilitate conversation. You shift on your feet and Regina seems to notice immediately.

“Emma, David, and Mary are already in the stands.”

She motions behind her and you give her a thankful nod before moving in that direction. It seems like the whole town has come out to watch the game today. The stands are packed with familiar faces from the diner who smile at you as you pass by. Eventually, you spot Emma in the crowd. She smiles at you as you make your way over and nudges Killian with her shoulder who is sitting beside her on the edge of the bleachers. 

Killian’s dark locks are covered by a light blue baseball cap that perfectly matches the t-shirt he’s wearing. You recognize the logo on both immediately as it’s the mascot for Henry’s team -- the Storybrooke Knights. It’s a stark contrast from his usual dark attire, but you have to admit that it’s undeniably cute how much he supports Henry. 

After receiving hugs from David and Mary, Emma slides toward her parents and lets you take a seat between Killian and herself.

“You guys are making me feel left out here!”

You complain to Emma while motioning toward her shirt which has the same suit of armor depicted on Killian’s. Emma lets out a laugh before placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about it, Henry’s just excited you’re able to make it.”

Wordlessly, Killian takes off the baseball cap he was wearing and places it gently on your head. You pull your attention away from Emma and look at him. He’s already looking at you and you attempt to hide the way your face flushes due to the tenderness in Killian’s actions.

“Can’t have anybody thinking you’re rooting for the other team.”

You playfully roll your eyes at the man and bump his shoulder with yours, earning a hearty laugh from Killian in response. 

Henry’s team ends up winning by a landslide in their first game of the season and the town is loud with their celebration. Emma invites you and Killian to ice cream, but you both decline, deciding that it’s more of a family affair. She gives you a hug before heading toward Henry and her parents, leaving just you and Killian together. Before you can ask him what he wants to do with the rest of the day, he slugs an arm around your shoulders and pulls you toward the direction of your bench by the docks. You smile and wrap an arm around his waist

You’re both mesmerized by the movement of the crashing waves. Usually, you find yourself at this bench with Killian late in the evening after the sun had already set. You haven’t had a chance to simply bask in the beauty of the ocean, as you’ve been so distracted by the night sky.

The silence between you and Killian is comfortable. You could spend hours just sitting here with him. However, a single thought has been bothering you incessantly over the last couple of days and you know you need to talk to Killian about it before you think yourself to death. 

“Killian?”

He hums in response next to you, not even bothering to turn his head. You’ve placed the baseball cap back on his head. A few strands of midnight black locks poke out from the hat, making him look younger than usual. Typically, Killian Jones exudes a gruff and weathered demeanor, but right now, bathed in sunset hues, he seems almost youthful in appearance. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Killian turns his head toward you. His features are flooded with concern: brow furrowed and jaw tight. Before speaking, his eyes roam over your face briefly, trying to get a read on you.

“Anything, love.”

“Are you happy?”

Killian’s expression quickly shifts into confusion. 

“What?”

You simply repeat your question, ignoring that you can practically hear your heart pounding in your chest. Killian leans back further into the bench as he takes a minute to genuinely think about your question. If Dr. Hopper asked him, Killian already has a bullshit answer ready. He’s good at that -- knowing exactly what to say to appease those around him. It’s a skill he picked up during those years running with Liam and his gang. But he’s not talking to Dr. Hopper or Liam. 

No, he’s talking to you. And he won’t bullshit you.

Killian supposes he should be happy. He’s got it pretty good here in Storybrooke -- a paying job and a decent place to call home. There have been times that he’s certainly had it far worse. He still refuses to think back to those lonely nights he spent locked up, wondering if he’d even have a life when he finally got out of there. He knows he should just be thankful for everything he’s been given and earned after his release, even if it isn’t the life he dreamed of when he was a younger man. Still, there is this thought in the back of his head that continues to gnaw at him: is this it? The thought terrifies him to his core; however, if there is one thing that does make him content with the life he’s created, it’s the people who he cares for -- David, Emma, Mary, Henry, little Neal, Herc, you. 

So, to answer your question, Killian simply shrugs his shoulders.

“I guess. Nothing to complain about, I suppose.”

You nod at his words. He’s not sure if that’s the answer you wanted, but it’s as truthful as he can be. 

“Why do you ask?”

The ghost of a smile pulls at your lips as you think back to the conversation you had with Henry. You decide to take a page out of Henry’s book and be brazen. 

“It’s just something Henry said earlier this week. He said that you’ve seemed happier since you met me.”

A smile spreads across Killian’s face as you speak. The boy certainly takes after his grandfather in one way: he can read Killian like a goddamn picture book. Henry may be young, but his intuition is far beyond his years. 

“Well, love, the young lad isn’t wrong.” 

Your grin widens as a flush creeps up your face. You reach out and place your hand on Killian’s -- your silent way of telling him that you’re happier because of him too. Before you have a chance to pull your hand back, Killian flips his over and laces his fingers with yours. Your face flushes entirely as you look at your intertwined hands. Eventually, you shift your gaze to Killian’s face and find that he is already looking at you. Your breath catches in your throat. No one has ever looked at you with such adoration before. You watch as Killian’s gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. Deciding to continue your sudden boldness, you lean in first. Killian happily takes your lead. You close your eyes in anticipation, but, before Killian can get any closer, his phone begins ringing.

You swear you hear Killian growl as he pulls away from your orbit and pulls his phone out of his pocket. As Killian answers the call, you let out the breath you were holding. You know he’s frustrated -- his tone is short and his jaw is clenched. Without thinking, you intertwine your fingers with his again. His posture immediately relaxes at the sudden physical contact. He turns and gives you an apologetic look. You simply squeeze his hand in response, before letting go as he hangs up. Killian lets out a long sigh before speaking. 

“That was Herc. We’re getting a big shipment tonight and they need an extra man at the docks to help out.”

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment; however, it is written all over your face. Killian frowns at the sight. 

“I’m sorry I have to go, princess.”

“It’s okay. Herc needs you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, just as quick as it began, the moment was gone.

Tags: @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @alexa-fangirl-forever @mossnomori @captainamericasinnocence @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @ceruleanrainblues @lily-d247 @victoria-a567 @drinkfantasy @thisismelayla @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @rinymichelle321 @aesteticthotiere @popcrone818 @helplesslydevoted @limelightliterature @unlikelyandrogynousghost @theslytherinwriter

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x17 The Jolly Roger.

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 875

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: There were many directions I could have gone with this Killian-centric episode, but given the recent passing of Chris Gauthier, it seemed appropriate to write a Killian-Smee centered “drabble”.

Killian looked out across the sea at the Storybrooke harbor.  He’d always found that looking at the horizon brought him peace and comfort, but none was to be had today.

How long could he keep the truth of his activities during the lost year from Emma?  How would she react, how would everyone react when they learned of the choices he’d made in order to take back his ship?

“Captain Hook!” he heard from behind him. “Captain!”

The guilt deepend as he glanced at Smee.  Always the faithful first mate, Smee was willing to follow him anywhere, follow any command.  He rather reminded him of a faithful dog, perhaps one of those new goldendoodles Swan’s lad had shown him moving pictures of on his telephone.  

Would even Smee stand beside him when he learned the full truth?  Killian hid his worries behind the mask of the stern captain.

“It’s about time, Mr. Smee.  You know how much I abhor waiting.  What is it that’s so urgent?”

“It’s just, um,” Smee stammered, “that me and the men were talking about how we haven’t seen much of you since we all ended up back here.”

Killian waited for a beat, but it soon became obvious that Smee was not inclined to elaborate without prompting. “Is there a point to that rather odd observation?”

“What’s keeping us from crewing up again, hitting the high seas, getting back to pirating?” Smee asked animatedly.

Killian’s heart plummeted again. He knew no matter how much he might have tried to go back, that life was no longer for him. “You mean, other than being attacked and turning into flying monkeys?  Have you forgotten there’s no safe passage out of this town?  You’ve already been a rodent, Mr. Smee, does life as a simian interest you as well?”

He hoped his tone of annoyance would deter Smee, but it seemed the other man was not to be put off this time. “Of course there’s safe passage!” Smee said. “We could outrun them!”

“Not with that tosser of yours,” Killian said, gesturing derisively to the broken down excuse for a boat Smee had purloined.

“If we had a fast enough ship,” Smee persisted, “The Jolly Roger for instance… You still haven’t told me whether you found her during the time none of us can remember.”

Another wave of pain washed over Killian.  Oh he’d found her alright.  He’d found her, traded a good man’s safety to take her back…and then he’d given her up again.  Aye, he’d do it all again a thousand times if it meant he could get back to Swan, but it still hurt.  She’d been his last link to Liam, to Milah.  She’d been his home and sanctuary for centuries.  He couldn’t help but feel her loss.  Keenly.

“What happened during that time isn’t important,” Killian said dismissively, praying that Smee would let it go.

It seemed the gods did not deign to smile on him this time.

“Because you remember,” he persisted. “Is our ship okay?  What…what happened to it?”

“My ship,” Killian barked.  “All you need to know, Mr. Smee, is that the Jolly Roger isn’t here, so there will be no outrunning of anything.”

“Well, I mean, what if we found another ship?” he tried, “Any one of these–”

Killian felt his exasperation multiply. “Mr. Smee, I’ve tried letting you down easy.  Now let me be more direct. I have no intention of leaving this town.”

I have no intention of leaving her.  Not ever again.

“Captain, I agree with you, this place has its bright spots,” Smee continued. “I have never tried anything quite like frozen yogurt before, but the Wicked Witch is here, and with that kind of danger, what possible reason do you have to stay?”

It was then that he spotted her.  Swan and her lad were walking toward him, clearly seeking him out.  His heart made its characteristic swoop at the sight of her.  She was so beautiful, so vibrant.  Though it had seemed impossible he could love her more, absence truly had made his heart grow fonder. Aye, he’d willingly, happily, give the Jolly away for her again and again–that and much more–to have the chance to keep her and her lad safe.

Whether or not Mr. Smee would understand his motives was an open question, and one he had no intention of exploring at the moment.  Instead, he infused his tone with every bit of command and steely determination he could muster.  Far stronger men than Smee had cowered before him when he got in their faces and employed the deadly tone he intended to use here. 

“My reasons are my own,” he growled. “Question them again at your peril.”

For the briefest moment he thought he saw a flash of pain, betrayal in his faithful first mate’s eyes, and he felt like the worst of cads.  In so many ways, Smee was a better man than he, and he deserved a better captain, a better friend.

But then Swan was there before him, and all else was forgotten.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[fyeahonceuponatimeocs]

Once upon A time, in an enchanted forest, lived all the characters we know…

And some we don't… 

These are their stories….

Nestled In the cozy little town of Storybrooke, Maine lives all of the fairytale characters you know and love.. and some you have yet to meet..Cursed by the equil queen to this land without magic, will these characters find their happily ever after? 

So, stop by Granny's diner and grab yourself a hot chocolate (we recommend a dusting of cinnamon on top) and follow our beloved characters as they try to reclaim their happily ever after….

This is your one stop spot for all the wonderful original characters created for Once Upon A Time. This blog was created and moderated by @dancingsunflowers-ocs and is corrun by @andromedalestrange. We hope you enjoy your visit. 

This blog is heavily inspired by the lovely @come-along-pond and her creation @fyeahdisneydescendantsocs.

We are tracking #fyeahonceuponatimeocs. We will do our best to reblog all posts regarding your OUAT original characters. 

If you create a poll or make a text post with a question for your readers, please feel free to tag us so we can reblog and spread it to a wider audience. 

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Kiss Me (Somehow)

read on AO3

2.2k, Regina Mills | The Evil Queen/Emma Swan, No Rating, for @yearoftheotpevent’s July prompt “enemies to lovers”

Summary: No matter what she does, Regina can't break the Wish Realm's hold over Emma. Somehow something must work.

[swiftstarstv]

fanfic?

Does anyone know of a fanfic where it’s just Killian figuring out how stuff works in our world? This concept just sounds funny.

[rainshifts]

Gold: can't someone in this town stay dead?! Ajatri: I think they were hoping you would. Emma: *spits out coffee*