depth in her eyes

a message for brown eyed girls 

yes, her eyes are blue. yes, every love song is about them. every poem compares them to the sea. but you, you have eyes of amber and onyx. your eyes are the gold people desperately try to pull from the ground. her eyes may hold the depth of the ocean but your eyes hold the magnitude of a black hole. your eyes carry a weight too heavy for even the ocean to sweep away into it’s abyss. your eyes are anything but ordinary. 

I’m the girl who tries to be nice to everyone then gets taken advantage of. I’m the girl who tries to look pretty and it’s never good enough. I’m the girl who acts like she’s happy then goes home and wishes to be gone. I’m the girl who takes harsh words, acts like they’re nothing, then goes home and cries. I’m the girl who tries to get her point across and could never find the right words. I’m the girl who has more depth to her than everyone thinks. I’m the girl who hides from harsh eyes. I’m the girl who wouldn’t care if you gave me a shitty gift as long as you thought of me. I’m the girl who prays that someone will finally understand. I’m the girl who gets happy over the little things. I’m the girl that people misinterpret.
You don’t know why she’s crying.

But you’re pretty sure she is. You’re afraid to look at her because you might see it, but her voice is coming out shaky and the last time you looked into her eyes, they were swimming. There was a depth to them that isn’t usually there. She isn’t hiding behind them anymore. She’s stripped all that away.

You don’t know why she’s crying. All she said was, “I haven’t been doing too well, lately.”
And you didn’t say anything back.
You just touched your hand to hers, the way the two of you used to. When it wasn’t this difficult to know what the other was feeling.

You don’t know why she’s crying.

But she didn’t show up the way she always has. And she hasn’t talked about words like they’re hers in a long time.

And she’s going away. She’s going away and she didn’t tell you, and sitting next to her now, listening to her breathing, the way the air has always changed around her, you’re starting to realize that once you were the person she told everything.
And now, now she doesn’t tell you. Now she jokes with you and she makes you laugh, and she’s always good for light and easy, and you thought it was because she was like that. You thought she was happy.
But now you can feel how heavy she feels, weighing her down. You can see how she’s struggling just to get air out of her chest.
You can hear the pain in each sharp intake of breath.

And you don’t know why she’s crying.
But you’re starting to think it might be because of you.
—  “You Don’t Know Why She’s Crying”

i don’t have a name for this, it’s just a short, plotless ficlet set after they break the curse. based on set spoilers for the finale so read at your own risk.

Captain Swan, G/T maybe (no smut, sorry), less than 1k, fluff

It’s good, she thinks, being back where she belongs, knowing who she is and what she’s about and remembering the people who care about her. It was tough, and it was terrifying, and it was awful to be ripped away from her family again, but she did what she promised; she defeated the Black Fairy and everything is back to normal.

Well, as normal as things can be in Storybrooke. She has no doubt that another villain will come along and they’ll all rally together again to save the day. It’s just, now it isn’t something she dwells on. Because right now she’s happy.

Really, really happy.

She trudges up the porch steps with her fingers entwined in Killian’s, finally home after the latest curse being broken. She’s wearing her armor, the red leather jacket that she fully intends on stripping away as soon as they get inside where it’s warm. Killian is still in the black suit he wore to their wedding, all crisp and velvety and perfect.

A big part of her wishes she was still in her wedding dress. It’s unfair that the curse took over so soon after they married. She wanted to dance with him a little more. She wanted to bask. Thanks to the Black Fairy and Gold, their happy day was cut all too short. As good as she’s supposed to be, she doesn’t think she’ll ever forgive them for taking that away from her.

But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is she won, everyone is safe, and she is finally going to be getting her wedding night to celebrate this big step in their lives.

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3

Okay, another prompt is here! Sorry for not updating sooner, it’s a long fic once again lol! It is sad, angsty (I was listening to a lot of Placebo while writing so yeah) and it turns hot and heavy close to the end but then some fluff concludes it; basically it has it all! :P
Warning for mentions of violence, mild language and sexual themes. I hope you like it darlings and you don’t mind that I combined your awesome prompt ideas! Thank you so much for requesting! And to the rest of you, enjoy! <3

A small summary to tie the three prompts together: After an abrupt break up, Betty is left broken and confused by Jughead’s sudden behavior. Once finding out that he had joined the infamous gang of their small town, the Southside Serpents, Betty sets her mind to sneak into their lair with the only way she knows best. Along with the help of a sudden ally that she comes across on the way, they vow to save Jughead’s soul at all costs. 

(The long dialog in italics is a flashback)


Stars hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires.

The eye wink at the hand, yet let that be

Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see…

The black velvet of yet another eerie night had spread over the small town of Riverdale, the otherwise picturesque scenery of the alight sky now fearful and pitch black, an ominous sign and a bloodcurdling setting. It coordinated with her jet leather attire, her raven hair and the ghastly temperament that oozed from the cold-blooded sound of heels against dirty and wet asphalt. “Stars hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires…” Every click of stiletto punctuated each word her mind whispered on a loop to the depths of her subconscious, green eyes shining deadly through the darkness, like those of a wolf in hunt for its prey.

If anyone were to run into her on the street, they wouldn’t recognize her; nothing tied her with the image of the nonpareil younger daughter of the Cooper clan. Betty Cooper was dead, locked in the comfort of lavender and chamomile amongst collared sweaters and preppy knitted cardigans. For how long it was yet to be decided but, for tonight, the golden-hearted girl that everyone left behind was put to sleep under the naivety of false ambition and hopeless dreams. Her alter ago was there to deal with the mess the tedious angelic spectrum of her character always seemed to make.

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DannyMay Day Eighteen: Green/Nature

…He’s not sure how to feel. He’s never seen her act like this before. Never heard her talk like this before. Sure he’s noticed her, like, noticed noticed her, but this is too much too fast. He doesn’t know what to do. She’s too alluring. He almost gives in.

Almost

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tobin and her big ass chapped lips and her beautiful chocolate brown eyes that have more depth than the fucking ocean and twinkle in the sunlight like a colony of fucking fairies live in her irises and her soft ass hair and her fukcing calvin klein sports bra because she’s ~worth it~ fucking mother fucker fucking FUCK F U C K i hate her im gonna wife her

hate me

Originally posted by nctinfo

◇ “Scream. Run. Cry - say you hate me-”

◇ Johnny x reader

◇ vampire!au / 1920s!au

◇ requested by anon; in honor of sm finally letting my baby johnny out of the dungeon can i get a johnny vampire au?

◇ asddfhjsj I have no idea if you wanted a bulletpoint au or a scenario so I went with the safe decision and just did a scenario :( if anyone wants bulletpoint aus just remember to tell me that!

◇ fourteen minutes past my bedtime absolute Disgrace

•••

You had only been with him for a few months, and already you couldn’t imagine life without him.

Picture this: a shy girl — you —, arms hugging herself as she walks in the freezing cold with a group of giggling witches towards a club those same witches have persuaded her to go to. You had only known them for a few weeks and you were already being pushed out of your comfort zone, but your mother encouraged you to go out and have fun, so…

It’s hidden under a liquor shop and you’ve never heard of it but your new friends swear that it’s the bee’s knees, and the best supernatural place to be — which doesn’t mean much to you, because you’re human, and if anything it increases your nerves tenfold — so once they’ve dressed you up in clothes and makeup that you’d never bothered to try on before, they’re so eager to get there that they walk in the freezing cold — at 10PM.

They seem to ignore you as one whispers a password into a little slot in the metal door in front of you. The entrance is located at the bottom of an outdoor stairwell, and with your lack of coat you were shivering impatiently in seconds, tapping your foot as you wait for the man behind the metal door to unlock it and let you in.

You barely registered Wendy squealing excitedly, voice increasing in volume as music began to introduce itself to your ears. “Welcome to Hell!”

You were instantly taken aback by the sheer fanciness of the venue that you step into; it gave off a warm glow with red and gold furniture and soft light from the lamps placed around the room. Booths of red suede and dark wood tables were placed here and there, and although there was one main floor, there was another raised area where more tables were situated.

A stage lays on the lower area, pushed against the furthest wall and was currently inhabited by a beautiful woman who’s voice ws almost as sweet and smooth as honey. It was almost otherworldly — actually, it was —, and if it weren’t for your friends pulling you along to a nearby booth, you would’ve ran to join the people dancing in front of it, even though it was completely uncharacteristic of you to do so.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Irene smiled, watching your fascination fondly. You nod, a smile on your face as your friends began to decide on what drinks they wanted. “We come here all the time. It’s pretty… secretive, so make sure you don’t let it loose, ‘kay?”

“Of course,” you breathed. You’d be stupid if you passed out the info on this hidden gem — nobody needed to know about the active supernatural community in Chicago, or all hell would break loose.

You couldn’t stop taking in everything around you; from the golden bar loaded with expensive bottles behind it, to the dancing people, to the amazing, sultry music — and then, your eyes drifted over to the corner of the room, up on the raised platform. There sat a group of men, all handsome and most with a cigar in their mouth and a woman under their arms. They were surrounded by cigar smoke and alcohol and they looked extremely dangerous but for some reason, you couldn’t look away — especially when you realise that you had stopped on the figure of a tall, brunette man who was already gazing back at you.

“_____,” Joy whispered urgently, following your eyes to the group of men and her own widening when she realised what you were watching. Her hand encased your wrist and at her desperate tugs you found the strength to break your eye contact. “_____, don’t look at them. It’s better if you just ignore their presence completely.”

“Why?” You frowned, voice quiet, as if they could hear you — but you weren’t taking that chance, not in this place. “W-who are they?”

“They’re called NCT,” Wendy interrupted quietly, eyes flickering behind you. “Vampires. Very powerful, very dangerous, best to be avoided — okay?”

Although you were no stranger to the world of the supernatural, you weren’t good at matching faces to names and honestly, if you had to guess what that group of good-looking men were, you would have thought that they were Fae — entrancing, ethereal, hypnotic, garnering everyone’s attention with little to no effort.

You felt guilty at the rush of exhilaration coursing through your veins, because you could most definitely feel eyes burning into your back and your mind was still focused on that mysterious brunette, but you exhaled, a smile pulling at your features. “Okay.”

There was almost a collective sigh of relief, and although the question of what those men had done to get people to fear them so much plagued your mind, you were quickly thrown into conversation when Yeri suggested that you and her go and get the drinks at the bar — the two youngest, she had said. And you couldn’t argue with that.

You were much too aware that he was still watching you as you and Yeri slip out of the booth and make the short journey to the bar, where two man with wands were whizzing up drinks at the speed of light.

“Um, one Mediterranean Depth, two Faery Rings, two Scarlet Hearts and…” Yeri trailed off, her eyes drifting to you uncertainly, and you immediately felt sick at the attention placed on you. You had no idea what half of the things she listed were — hell, you barely had any knowledge on mortal alcohol!

“U-uh,” you gulped, looking at Yeri desperately, “I’ll have—”

“She’ll have a Mortal Lifespan, Zelo,” a voice rumbled from behind you. You didn’t even have to turn to know who it was, and you’re shocked by the clammy feeling of your hands and the loud thumping of your heart. Yeri’s eyes were wide and she wasn’t discrete with her fearful staring, and everyone could see how she grasped your wrist and tugged you towards her.

He stepped beside you, though, and the ability to see him up close had you breathless. His hair was fluffy and longer than most of the men present, who wore their hair short and slicked back. Tan skin, a strong jawline, tall and thin, dressed in dress pants and a button up and his eyes, his eyes, they looked like pools of swirling dark brown, infinite and filled with flickers of golden amber and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring—

“Fitting, isn’t it?” He rose an eyebrow, eyes not even stuttering towards Yeri. His attention was focused solely on you. “Not many mortals come to Hell.”

You had no idea what to say. Your throat felt like it was closing up at the idea of speaking to Tall, Dark and Handsome, but he only seemed to think your behaviour was cute — your cheeks were burning when you heard a chuckle escape him.

“How is it?” He asked carefully when ‘Zelo’ passed you a short glass of dark purple iridescent liquid. You took a hesitant sip, ignoring Yeri’s desperate eyes as you let the strange flavour drift over your tongue and burn down your throat.

“It’s nice,” you answered, a shy smile appearing on your face. Your eyes flickered between his own and the glass in your hand. “Tastes like… blueberries.”

“Somethin’ told me you’d like it,” he grinned, before he stuck out a hand. “I’m Johnny, doll.”

Yeri was practically shooting daggers into your back, but as if you were compelled, you let your hand slip into his, smile growing as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “_____.”

“_____, the others are waiting for us,” Yeri interrupted, but she wasn’t looking at you, only at Johnny. It was the most serious you had seen the usually bubbly girl. “We should go…”

“Well, surely, your friends wouldn’t mind if I stole this lovely lady for a dance?” Johnny inquired charmingly, his eyes floating from Yeri to you. “That is, if you want to, _____.”

Wendy’s words from earlier were suddenly very prevalent in your mind, and you felt as if you were caught between a rock and a hard place. You wanted to dance with him, so very badly — but your friends were adamant that you stayed away from him.

And maybe they would absolutely loath you after this — maybe they would call you an idiot, a stupid, brainless girl… But he was smiling so hopefully at you and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn him down. You didn’t think you wanted to, anyway.

“I… I’d very much like that.” Yeri was gaping by that point.

But you both payed her no mind, and your drink was placed back on the bar as he intertwined your fingers and led you to a spot in front of the stage, amongst other couples and groups. A slower, jazzier song had begun to play, and the singing had managed to get even more smooth, more seductive, more romantic.

“So,” Johnny murmured when you got into a nice rhythm. His hands were low on your waist and yours were placed on his shoulders, and strangely, you didn’t mind the close proximity of your faces. If anything, it made you want to close the distance… “I meant what I said earlier, you know. Not many mortals come to Hell.”

“Well I’ll have you know, Mr. Johnny,” you began quietly, playfulness seeping into your tone of voice, “I’m not like most mortals.”

“You sure aren’t.”

And he spun and dipped you, and you hoped vampires didn’t have terribly good hearing, because the amount your heart rate sped up was embarrassing.

•••

Months had passed since the faithful night in which you were introduced to Johnny Seo — and you were thankful to say that you didn’t regret your decision to dance with him one bit.

Your loss of friendship with the Red Velvet Coven of Witches had been disappointing at first — they wouldn’t meet your eyes, and when they did you were on the receiving end of nasty glares — but you quickly realised that your friendship hadn’t been very strong, anyway, and you were better off not being friends with people as immature as they were.

Besides, you had made new friends. Not only had Johnny’s brothers welcome you with open arms, their friends and beaus were more than happy to make you feel at home. It was strange to think that the people you were closest to were mere strangers to you only a few months ago.

Things with Johnny were going swell. Even thinking about him had you positively glowing, but you were proud to admit that. It wasn’t hard to like him, in all honesty. With his charisma and humour and sweet personality and his protectiveness — you had really scored a goal this time. And, for once, you thought he liked you back.

You danced, you talked about things you had never talked about when the night blurred into early morning… He more often than not referred to you as his beau, his girl, his sweetheart — and even though you never confirmed anything, you thought it was safe to say that the feelings were mutual.

Which brings you to this moment. In Hell, with Nina’s smooth voice drifting over the pair of you like a warm blanket. The golden light cast upon your skin reminded him of the sun, and he knew that to him, you were just as important.

He held you in his arms like you were priceless, like he had to protect you. You didn’t know what had changed in him that night, but he seemed different — more open with his affections, for one. You had forehead kisses many a time that night, your fingers interlinked, his thumb rubbing circles against your cheek fondly; you were not one to complain, though.

“Did the Red Velvet ever explain much to you about vampires?” The peaceful silence between you broke the second the words exited his mouth, but you found them much more relaxing than the silent stillness.

“Not much,” you shrugged, lifting your head from his chest to meet his eyes. “Why? Is there something you want me to know, Seo?”

Johnny chuckled warmly, but he didn’t answer you, at least not immediately. He spun you gently, admiring the swish of your dress with every step you took, and then he pulled you as close as possible. “I just feel — as your personal vampire archive — that I should be educating you, baby.”

You giggled at his words, but rolled your eyes anyway: “Tell me something I don’t know, then.”

“Well,” he exhaled, biting his lip and throwing his eyes the the ceiling, as if he was thinking hard, “Maybe the most important thing to know — we drink blood—”

“How stupid do you think I am?” You snorted lightly, pushing his shoulder when he laughed at your reaction. “Come on — tell me something new, something interesting.”

“Okay,” he finally agreed, his playful smile melting down to a more sombre and serious expression. “So, vampires — they mate for life.”

“You gonna elaborate?” You tease.

“I’m getting to it — be patient, would you?” He clears his throat. “A vampire’s mate is picked from the moment they’re born or created. It’s like… the universe knows who will compliment them as a person, and a vampire knows exactly who their mate is just from being in the same room. You can smell them, you know — and like I said, vampires mate for life. Being away from your mate for too long can make you sick, it can make you hallucinate… You can only get rid of them if you reject your mate.”

“So you have a mate out there somewhere, huh?” You echoed, trying to not let the disheartening stone of sadness in your stomach show in your facial expression or voice.

“Somethin’ like that.”

He watched you carefully, scoping your reaction and registering every flicker of your eyes to the floor, every uncertain bite of your lips.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Johnny continued slowly, and your head lowers. You expected the worst: he found his mate, and now you couldn’t be together. He’d go off and be happy with someone the bloody universe had picked for him…

“You… You’re mine, doll.”

You remember that moment perfectly; your head snapped up, your eyes were wide, and you stared at Johnny for a good 5 minutes before you found the strength within yourself to speak — and when you did… “Y-You — and me?”

“Not too disappointed, I hope?” He raised an eyebrow as your expression changed in seconds from shocked to confused to happy, eyes glassy and lips pulled tight in the most genuine smile you had ever managed to pull off.

“The exact opposite!” You cried, arms abandoning their places on his shoulders and winding around his neck. He gladly accepted your embrace, burying his head in the crook of your neck, and all he could think in that moment was how complete he felt.

•••

“Heard you and Johnny were official,” the voice that is directed at you startles you, and if it were not for your strong grip on your bookshelf, you surely would’ve toppled over.

You peer down from the ladder you were propped up on, and to your utmost surprise you see Yeri. You haven’t spoken in months, and the confusion must show on your face. She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and looking away from you.

“Just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

You figure that with a conversation starter like that, you’d want to have your attention fully invested, so in secinds you’ve climbed down the ladder and are facing Yeri with narrow eyes and furrowed brows.

“You haven’t spoken to me in months,” you begin uncertainly, “Why now?”

“Look, ____,” Yeri sighed, “You’re new to this, okay? You’re human, too. You don’t know how dangerous they are. You’re going to get yourself hurt—”

“I appreciate your advice, but I suggest you leave,” you interrupt coldly. How stupid were you? Of course she would only speak to you when it concerned Johnny. “Johnny is on his way to meet me, and I doubt you’d like to see him face to face again.”

You climb up your ladder once again, and even though you’re browsing through the books, you can tell that the concern on Yeri’s face is genuine and it makes you more curious than scared. What grudge did the Red Velvet Coven of Witches have against NCT?

Yeri leaves after a few seconds of shaking her head at your stubborn nature, but you stay in your position, waiting for your mate to arrive. But day transitions to night, and Johnny Seo is nowhere to be found.

The library closes at 7 and you must look like an idiot, insisting that you’re waiting for someone and that he’d be there any minute. In the end, you’re forced outside and into the cold, but still, you persevere, sitting on the cold library steps. It’s chilly outside and you forgot a coat, but you can’t leave until he arrives and you get an explanation…

Shock rises through your body when a coat is dropped onto your shoulders, but the hope blossoming in your chest is flattened like a garden weed when you peer up and see Yeri looking down at you pitifully.

“We gotta get you home, _____.”

“He never skips out,” you croak, hugging the coat closer to yourself. But suddenly the realisation is more noticeable than ever and you feel your eyes prick with tears. “W-why would he skip out on me?”

She says nothing, and only offers you a warm hand up.

•••

The symptoms come in slowly, almost unnoticeable. With every day that Johnny remains missing from your life, your condition worsens; at first, you begin to get headaches. Then, random pangs of pain throughout your body. Your eyesight goes fuzzy for random intervals of time, after, and dizziness follows.

You know that you’re not the only person experiencing the symptoms. Johnny must be feeling something — so why wasn’t he coming back to you? Had something happened? Or maybe — maybe he just regretted you…

Your ribs begin to ache. Every morning and night you throw up what little food you managed to digest during the last 24 hours, and you constantly feel nauseous. You began to see him everywhere — you began to hear his voice, and you could almost feel his thumb against your cheek, rubbing circles into your skin fondly as he normally did.

You’ve called out sick from work for the past 2 weeks, and you were sure your unemployment was imminent — and it was hard nowadays to find a job. And when you think it can’t get worse, it does — oh, it does.

Another scream is ripped from your throat as a sharp pain strikes your stomach like a lightning bolt. Your body is sweaty and tired, your head is pounding and tears are running nonstop down your face. The pain is unreal, but you’re glad that you’re not alone.

“It hurts, it hurts,” you gasp between breaths, clutching your stomach desperately. Yeri is brushing damp hair away from your face frantically, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glassy as you writhe in pain.

Since that day at the library, she had managed to worm herself back into your life, offering emotional support — and, when the pain began sneaking up on you — physical support, too.

You were completely in her debt for the friendship and care and support she had provided for you in your time of need. You could barely walk without collapsing but she was always quick to pick you up despite warning you to stay away from the man who caused this — she told you that you’d get hurt.

You never knew why she decided to stick around despite your blatant disobedience to her extremely important instructions, but you wouldn’t trade her for anything.

At first, she didn’t realise that your sickness was occuring because of the mate bond — but the second that she took out her spellbooks and researched your symptoms, she knew. Sympathy had filled her features, because she knew what pain was to come if Johnny didn’t come back to you. She had pet your hair fondly, voice thick with tears as she whispered, “Oh, sweetie.”

Needless to say, you had bonded with her in between the intervals of spine-breaking pain and tortuous breathlessness.

She had proposed that instead of you breaking your back trying to find Johnny, her coven sisters would search around the places he frequented at — because Johnny would surely smell you coming, and he’d be gone like the wind.

You pretended that the thought of seeing him, despite the pain he’d caused, didn’t make your heart skip a beat.

A choked whimper fills the air, your back arches off of your mattress and you have to restrain yourself from digging your fingernails into your ribcage in an attempt to stop the pain crackling through your lungs like a dozen sharp knives.

“Please,” you sob, “S-stop the pain… Please, Yeri—”

“Wendy is trying to find him, _____,” Yeri nods frantically, taking your hands in hers, “It’s okay, alright? Your body is just reacting to not being near him for so long — you’re gonna be fine, do you hear me?”

Her words do nothing to soothe the anxiety that wells up inside you as you feel the beginning of another wave of powerful pain — but this one is much more intense and scream-inducing than the other ones, and your body has grown weak and frail from hours of trying to not succumb to the excruciating sensations—

The last thing you hear is a panicked gasp as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your vision blackens.

•••

The first feeling you’re aware of is the strange numbness of pain — as if everything you had been feeling had been doused in antibiotics and ointments that were only taking effect now.

The second feeling is warmth. There’s a heaviness over the majority of your body that you identify as your duvet, and a general warmth that you figure must be the sun shining through your window, but the more prominent source comes from something beside you — something breathing, something holding you close.

It’s that realisation that has your eyes fluttering opening, trying to adjust to the light in record time just to make sure that the person beside you is the person you’ve been longing for. And sure enough, when you stir and peer through your lashes at the man beside you, you’re faced with the familiar coffee eyes of Johnny Seo.

“Baby,” he smiles gently, adjusting you so that you faced him properly despite your expression of tired confusion. “How’re you feeling?”

“How… how am I feeling?” You croak, clearing out your throat with a cough. He nods expectantly, eyes almost urging you to speak, and the sheer concern in his eyes makes you laugh humorlessly. “I… I feel horrible.”

“The pain should be going down by now—”

“You left me,” you start, voice shaking with anger, “After explaining to me how severe the consequences of leaving your mate could be — you left me? You knew what I was going through but Yeri had to get her sisters to hunt you down—!”

“You don’t understand, doll—”

“Yeah, damn right I don’t,” you scoff, pulling yourself from his embrace and slipping from the sanctuary of your bed. You pull the dressing gown from your wardrobe, muttering to yourself furiously as you tie it around your waist — “And don’t call me doll, either.”

“Come on,” Johnny pleads, watching as you begin to fish for a hair tie on the messy surface of your vanity, “Don’t be like this, sweetcheeks—”

“Unless you have a perfectly good reason for why you left me out of the blue, Johnny Seo,” you narrow your eyes, “I’m going to continue being like this.” You turn your back to him and begin to focus on tying your hair up.

“I went to the library that day, you know.”

“Well, did I see you? No.”

“I heard you and Yeri, alright?” Johnny snaps.

You slow your actions, turning towards him slightly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It got me thinking,” he mutters, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion. He only exhales softly, climbing out of your bed and circling around it until he stands in front you. “I don’t want to hurt you, _____.”

“Hurt me?” You echo in disbelief, folding your arms. “You’re not going to hurt me, Johnny. I know that. I’m not scared of you or what you can do—”

“You should be.” His jaw is clenched, and in the next second, before your very eyes, you’re pushed away from your vanity and are pressed against the opposite wall — and despite his actions, he’s extremely careful with pushing you against the wall too hard.

He’s breathing heavily, and with a start you realise that two shiny, gleaming white fangs are pressed into his bottom lip. Despite the fact that he’s so close, fangs inches from your jugular, you don’t feel nervous.

“Scream. Run. Cry — say you hate me—”

“I’m not going to do that!” You exclaim. In fact, you don’t think you could ever do that. Even thinking of the words forming on the tip of your tongue left a sour taste in your mouth. “You want me to hate you but I won’t — I never have and I never will!”

Silence reigns over the room for the next moment, before he pushes himself away from you with a grunt, running his hands through his messy locks.

“I don’t know where this doubt is coming from,” you frown, easing closer towards him, “But you have nothing to worry about…”

You place your hands hesitantly on his triceps, and taking his silence as approval, you encase him in a hug, letting his chin rest softly on the top of your head.

“I trust you,” you whisper, pulling back to meet his overcast eyes. “Can’t you trust me and listen to what I’m saying?”

He holds your gaze for more than a while, his eyebrows are knitted together and he looks like he’s thinking much too hard about your statement, until he sighs and takes your hands in his.

“If you want to leave me, tell me now,” he begins quietly. Your heart sinks at the pure seriousness in his voice. It’s a tone you’re not too familiar with. “I’ll reject you, you can live a normal, full, human life.”

“You told me just a few weeks ago vampires mate for life,” you shake your head, your right hand pressing against the back of his neck to draw him closer to you. “I’m not going anywhere, Johnny.”

You swear you hear him sniffle a bit but he’s pressing his lips to yours before you can point it out, and the warmth that wells in your stomach is welcomed after the pain you had been living in for the passed day.

Misery needs no talents, anybody can afford it. Happiness needs talents, genius, creativity. Only creative people are happy.
Let this sink deep in your heart: only creative people are happy. Happiness is a by-product of creativity.
Create something, and you will be happy. Create a garden, let the garden bloom, and something will bloom in you. Create a painting, and something starts growing in you with the growing painting. As the painting comes to the finish, as you are giving the last touches to the painting, you will see you are no more the same person. You are giving the last touches to something that is very new in you.
Write a poem, sing a song, dance a dance, and see: you start becoming happy. That’s why in my commune creativity is going to be our prayer to God. This commune is not going to be of those sad, long faces who are not doing anything, just sitting under trees or in their huts, vegetating. This commune is going to be a commune of artists, painters, poets, sculptors, dancers, musicians—and so many things are there to be done! God has only given you an opportunity to be creative: life is an opportunity to be creative. If you are creative you will be happy.
Have you seen the joy in the eyes of a mother when the child starts growing in her womb? Have you seen the change that happens to the woman when she becomes pregnant? What is happening? Something is flowering in her, she is being creative, she is going to give birth to a new life. She is utterly happy, tremendously joyous, a song is in her heart.
When the child is born and the woman sees the child for the first time, see the depth of her eyes, the joy of her being. She has gone through much pain for this joy, but she has not gone into this pain for the pain’s sake. She has suffered, but her suffering is tremendously valuable; it is not ascetic, it is creative. She has suffered to create more joy.
When you want to climb to the highest peak of the mountains, it is arduous. And when you have reached the peak and you lie down, whispering with the clouds, looking at the sky, the joy that fills your heart—that joy always comes whenever you reach any peak of creativity.
—  Osho
Something Just Like This


Summary: The first time Killian and Emma consider having their wedding on the sea. 

Inspired by the photo above.


Emma woke up to the cozy feeling of warm arms holding her protectively, Killian’s fingers entwined in hers as their hands were tucked against her chest. The curtains were drawn and her eyes were closed but she was hesitant to open them. It was a rare and peaceful moment, one that she never wanted to end. Her fiance’s soft breathing brushed across her bare skin and his naked body was pressed to her back in the most delicious way. She sighed in content, a joyful smile making it’s way across her lips. Damn this man for making her so happy. So in love.

After she had spent all of this time shielding her heart, denying herself of pure, unadulterated love, this pirate managed to worm his way in. And now they were finally taking the next step in their relationship. Emma Swan was finally getting married.

Although the lost orphan inside of her would probably always be there taunting her, she finally felt like the princess she was supposed to be. All of the excitement and joy she felt was buried below the surface, and now threatening to burst through. Her heart was dancing, and she wanted to scream and shout to the entire world that she was marrying Killian Jones, her true love. Who knew she would ever have something just like this?

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the beauty of brown eyes

she always complained
about her eyes.

“they’re just brown.
there’s nothing special.
i wish my eyes were interesting,
like blue.”

oh, she was so wrong.
they were very indeed special.
the darkness of her eyes
were so mesmerizing;
they would always draw me in.

her eyes were like a
dark galaxy
that was full of
so much depth
that no ocean could
compare to.

her eyes were
like fresh earth
after a storm.
and when i see
her beautiful
brown eyes in
the sun,
i fall deeper
under her spell.

her eyes turn
from a beautiful dark
chocolate,
and melt into
wonderful honey
rays.

they become so clear,
like a stream of water on
a nice summer day.
her brown eyes
were as soft
as a new blanket,
but they could
quickly turn
as hard as
stones when
her mood changed.

she always complained
about her eyes.
she would constantly
beg for blue.
but in all honesty,

brown
was
the
most
beautiful
hue.

She’s got this scar,
Ever so delicately placed across her right cheek bone.
I bet most people don’t even notice it,
But I spend hours admiring her little blemish,
I can’t help but find beauty in all of her flaws.
When she’s crying and can’t stop,
I want nothing more than to wipe her tears-
Hold her tight, even if her world is crumbling
I love the parts of her that change with her mood,
The way her eyes soften to a light green as tears crawl down the side of her cheeks
I love the way I can tell when she’s anxious-
When she averts her eyes and avoids eye contact, even with me.
I love the way her upper lip curls
And the depth of her eyes speak so loudly
I always know which emotion she’s feeling in that exact moment
I love the comfort she feels with me,
When her whole world feels like it’s swallowing her whole-
I am the one she texts,
I love that she fights sleep in evenings,
Because she never wants to hang up on FaceTime.
I find so much beauty in the little things,
So much worth just in the way you try your best to get out of bed in the mornings.
I love the way you know yourself-
The way you let me know you too.
Baby, if you start to spiral
I’ll meet you at the bottom and walk up 30 flights of stairs with you.
If that still isn’t enough I’d walk up 100 flights of stairs just to hold your hand through the ever fading darkness.
I love your flaws, I love your perfections, I love absolutely everything about you.
And I promise I’ll always do my best to love the parts that cause our fights,
That cause anger to boil beneath my flesh,
I promise to always try to love the best parts of you and the worst.
I’ll keep choosing you;
Through the good and through the bad.
Castiel Imagine

Imagine: Castiel being nervous about holding your baby girl for the first time.

“Cas, stop fretting, you’re not going to break her,” you eased the wriggling cotton swaddled newborn against her father’s broad chest.

Blue eyes widening in a mix of skepticism and apprehension, he gingerly cradled her, awkwardly leaning back at the waist in the unlikely event his angelic strength somehow failed to support the tiny burden he now carried in his arms. The leaden thoughts of this child being his creation, his responsibility, his to love, to teach, to protect, made his vessel tremble.

“Y/N, I-I,” deep voice quavering, countenance flashing in panic, he attempted to pass her back to you.

“Relax,” you pressed an insistent palm to his shoulder, aspect softening into a reassuring smile.

The angel gulped hard, nervously peering down into her delicately formed features – this miniscule being terrified him more than anything he’d encountered in eons of existence. She made even the apocalypse look like a casual picnic in the park. He’d been delighted when he heard your daughter’s heart beating for the first time, waking you in the middle of the night hardly able to contain his joy as he reveled in the news. So, too, was he equally elated the moment her small foot kicked his palm through your swollen belly. Soothing your aches and pains, pacifying your strange cravings at odd hours, caring for you both when she was still an intangible far-off idea - it all seemed so easy then. But the whole concept of actually parenting, of having a piece of yourself existing out there in the world alongside you, yet apart from you, was totally foreign to the seraph. He feared he would not be enough.

“I’m scared too,” you whispered, plainly reading the deepening worry in the crease of his brow, “we’ll figure it out together, okay? Just like we do everything else.”

His muscles relaxed under your gentle touch and heartening words. You always knew with clear perception what he was feeling and the right words to say to ground him - it was his favorite quality of your soul, and the reason he loved you.

In response to the sense of peace and calm diffusing through her father, your little girl ceased fussing, mouth gaping in a silent yawn, ruddy lips forming a contented pucker as she blinked big bright blue eyes.

“See,” you shifted the cloth around her moist pink face, “you’re a natural.”

Recognizing the best of both of you reflected in the swirling depths of her eyes, Castiel smiled.

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Spin Cycle

While texting @thesschesthair last week, and telling her I was doing laundry, she gave me this idea…This is unbeta’d and I just needed to get something out. 

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of the lovely women who are a huge part of my life! (Tags at the end). 

Emma trudged into the laundry room of the house dressed in her grey robe, waiting impatiently for the drier to stop. 

“I could’ve sworn it said 15 more minutes 10 minutes ago!” she shouted at the wall. 

“Everything okay in here, love?” Killian knocked on the open door with his hook, startling Emma. 

She huffed in annoyance, but not at him. “I would be doing better if it wasn’t taking so long for the laundry to finish!”

Killian knew his wife better than anyone, even herself, and he knew her frustration went well beyond drying clothes. “Swan…what is this really about? You can talk to me.”

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anonymous asked:

For the prompt, can you please do something with the word 'Pale' for the couple Naruto and Hinata. If that's ok. Thanks!


Prompt: Pale

Ship: NaruHina

He had heard her eyes described as ‘pale’ on more than one occasion. It seemed a fair enough description, he considered as he watched her move about the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring a large pot, but not an accurate one. Hinata’s eyes were light, sure, but that was the only way they fit that description. Because, to him, her eyes were fathomless. There was depth to them. When Naruto thought of the word ‘pale’ it conjured images of sick and weak things and his Hinata was anything but sick or weak.

What she was, was breathtaking. He rested his chin on his knuckles, wishing he had Shino’s vocabulary. Maybe then he could think of the right words in which to describe her. 

With her gentle smiles and patience and determination, Hinata had seen him through his darkest days, stood behind and then beside him, and graced him with her heart, her body, and her soul. She was warmth and love personified, and she was the light of his life–the fire in his soul.

Pale was not a word he associated with her.

“–Ruto?”

“Huh?” Naruto blinked, finding himself face to face with the object of his thoughts, her wide eyes staring into his.

“You seem distracted.” She brushed her fingers against his cheek. “I called your name several times. Is something troubling you?”

“Oh. No. Sorry.” He flashed a quick grin, turning his face so that he could press a kiss to her palm.

She blushed.

He adored that she still did.

“If it’s not trouble, what has you so distracted?” she returned to her chopping.

“You.” He answered.

“Me?” She set the knife back down, sent him a questioning look.

“Yeah. Well, your eyes, specifically.”

A frown. “Byakugan?”

Naruto shook his head, pushing to his feet so he could maneuver behind her. “No.” He rested his hands on her hips, nestled himself flush. “Just…your eyes.”

He felt her shiver when he bent closer. “Oh.”

And when he turned her in his arms, and set the pot to simmer, he found his missing word when she gazed up at him, love and adoration shining up at him.

No. Nothing about Hinata was ‘pale’.

She was luminescent.

the reunion, a nessian fanfiction

Nesta awoke to a tug deep within her, as if she could sense his presence as soon as he arrived and step foot into the townhouse. She was instantly alert and got out of bed faster than she would ever dare admit, to herself and anyone else. Her heart was hammering against her chest, the loud rush of blood in her veins a stark contrast to the silence of the night.

Were the rest of their family asleep? Would Rhys and Feyre hear what words would be exchanged? Nesta decided it wouldn’t matter. She would not care for what others thought.

She found herself taking small, silent steps out of her bedroom, and down the stairs, as if following an invisible path that led right to who she desperately wanted to see. The air was cool and she started taking deep breaths, to calm herself, to calm her mind.

When she eventually found him, looking out at the dark sky through one of the windows, she forced herself to remain natural, her features to remain unaffected. Her gaze was almost cold as she met his eyes.

No words were said during those first few seconds. All she remembered was watching the way he stood, noticing the minute changes in his appearance after being away doing whatever business he had to do ever since all the fighting they had done, ever since the battle in which he had nearly died.

She realized she had been holding her breath, had been lost in the swirling depths of his eyes, had been trying to imagine what he was thinking and how, in another lifetime, they would probably approach each other and deal with whatever was going on between them not with wariness and walls but with openness and truth.

“Five weeks.” She muttered at last, the silence broken.

Cassian stiffened slightly, wings twitching, as if he could no longer maintain the control he had on his composure. “You’ve been waiting,” He flashed a surprised yet satisfied grin, humour lacing his tone, “and counting the days?”

Nesta only narrowed her eyes, wanting to conceal what must have been revealed in them. For that was exactly what she had been doing, but the prickling fear of being vulnerable and exposed kept crawling its way into her mind. She turned to leave, wanting to escape and to hide from his assessing gaze, unable to stand being near him despite having wished for so long that they were anything but apart from each other. She was almost out of the room before a strong and callused hand wrapped around her wrist.

A pull and she felt herself stepping back, warm arms encircling her waist. Cassian rested his chin on her shoulder, and said softly, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

Nesta savoured the warmth that began surrounding her, tipping her head back towards his body. She felt herself relaxing against him, his presence overwhelming her senses. She breathed in his breaths, took in his scent and could not care less for what was before her eyes, noticing only that he wasn’t in sight.

Nesta started turning around, hands finding their way to his neck, head against his chest. It was easier this way, for the both of them, to speak without looking directly at each other, to reveal what their hearts felt without feeling like everything about themselves were laid bare for the other to see.

“Do you remember what I said?” A whispered question in the dark.

The words he confessed when he was on the brink of death. That when he thought of the life he had led, his only regret was of not having enough time with her. Everything he had said then followed her like a ghost at every moment of each day, becoming a blur, a promise, a dream, all at once. How could she ever forget?

“Every word.” Nesta replied, a small voice, but strong and clear.

He smiled, relief and joy and happiness filling him up. He brought his hands to the sides of her face, stared right at those blue-gray eyes of hers, and spoke, “I thought of you everyday I was away.”

Nesta could not think of an answer to that other than admitting out loud that she missed him as much as he did her, but she could not bring herself to say it. She didn’t have to, for Cassian’s eyes lighted up like the brilliant stars in the sky outside, as if he did hear whatever she was afraid to say.

And now all she could do was feel. With her heart, her mind, her soul. They laid their foreheads against each other’s for a long time, an embrace in the dark, a reunion in the night.

scarlthesnarl  asked:

“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep.” Natan.

Like all her fellow homo sapiens, Natalie quite likes getting her full eight hours of recommended sleep (on weekdays, anyway, weekends are solely reserved for waking up at 3 PM and watching cat videos until night arrives again) and waking up fully rested so she can tackle her demon-filled day with a smile on her face.

(It pisses them off and Natalie lives for being low-key petty.)

Today, on March fifth, in the year of her roommate’s brother/cousin (add to her to-do list: figure out how Satan is related to Jesus on the family tree) 2017, however, Natalie does not wake up fully rested and smiling, oh no, she wakes up with death written out in the depths of her bottle-green eyes.  Whose death, one may ask? For once, it’s not Satan.  No, this time it’s the infernal little chirping shits perched outside her window.  At five in the mcfucking morning, if she’s reading her alarm clock right.

“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep,” she mumbles, and buries her head deeper into her fluffy, hypoallergenic pillows.  Beside her, Satan shifts and yanks her blanket closer to him.  “You go make ‘em shut up, kid, I’m not your servant.”

“It’s Sunday, Luce.  If those birds don’t shut up in the next five minutes, we’ll be at Church in five hours for Mass.” Natalie smiles victoriously when the Devil practically leaps over her prone body to get to the window.  Human - 75, Devil - 125.  She’ll catch up soon.

She hears a bird squawk and says, “If you kill any of those birds, we’ll be going for evening Mass as well.”

Satan mutters out curses and grumbles about annoying little girls with too much power in their hands, but appears to comply as she hears the flapping of wings and then sweet, blissful silence.   

“Thank you, Lucifer,” Natalie coos as he flops next to her.  He tries to steal her blanket again but she merely rolls closer to his body warmth and sighs deeply.  

Human - 76, Devil - 125.

hypnictwitch  asked:

What was your vampire diaries otp?

*16-year-old me comes bursting into the clearing*

HOLD UP DUDES, BUCKLE UP BECAUSE I NEED TO INTRODUCE YOU TO THE OTP THAT STILL HOLDS A PORTION OF MY HEART, SIX YEARS ON FROM ME THROWING MY HANDS INTO THE AIR AND SAYING ‘FUCK THIS SHIT I AM O-U-T’.

Iiiiiiiit’s…

These fuckers!

Oh, I was happy and dandy, completely fine watching The Vampire Diaries as a sort of guilty pleasure. It wasn’t the best show around, I didn’t really follow the storylines, found Stefan a bit boring, Elena dull, Damon your average ‘vampire bad boy’, but I really stayed watching it for the minor characters, like Bonnie, Jeremy, Matt, Tyler and Caroline because I felt like they were really kind of the flesh of the show. Their dynamics were the meat of it, and that’s what kept me tuning in.

Then Caroline Forbes got turned into a vampire. This bright, peppy character suddenly had a power she never expected to have. A strength I never expected the stereotypical cheerleader in this sort of show to have. It changed everything.

The Vampire Diaries basically became the Caroline Forbes Show, for me. I wanted more of this sunshine with this unlimited life and power.

And then Klaus Mikaelson rolled up. Your standard vampire villain, with a tragic backstory of shitty dad being shitty, and a bloodthirsty need to take over the world via the conversion of numerous mortals into vampire/werewolf hybrids.

So, those are the two pieces on the chessboard. The white queen, Caroline Forbes, socialite vampire grappling with the organisation of prom and her own immortality. The black king, Klaus Mikaelson, British-accented vampire villain with a penchant for witty one-liners and slowly making his way up the list of favourite characters. Destined, pretty much, never to meet until the end of the game.

Then the show kicked things up a notch, some hybrid stuff happened in badly lit scenes, and Caroline ended up, on her birthday, slowly dying in her bed from a bite given to her by her boyfriend. Klaus shows up. Laying out the red carpet of faux concern: “oh my gosh Caroline got bit by Tyler, a hybrid??? Sired to me??? What an amazing coincidence!!! Now invite me in, there’s a good girl, toodle pip”. Obviously part of some bigger plan that’ll come into play. Sherriff lets him in.

So here’s the black king standing in the doorway of the white queen’s bedroom. There lies the white queen pale and sickly, dying, with ironic ‘Happy Birthday!’ cards arranged artfully on a bedside table. The king is in a position of power; this is acknowledged as soon as he walks in the door, as it always tends to be when Klaus Mikaelson walks into a room but hey, let’s focus here. 

Some standard 'you’re the Big Bad, I’m the friend of the Holy Good why the fuck are you here’ dialogue is exchanged. Klaus Mikaelson, the sage old king, mentions that he likes birthdays; that Caroline, the newly appointed queen, as a vampire, is duty-bound to celebrate the now non-existent commitment she has to human conventions.

“You’re free,” the old king breathes.

“No…” replies the new queen. She flicks her eyes up and meets the old king with a stare as deep as his. “I’m dying.”

A-ha! The playing field is equal. The moves have shrunk. They shrink further still as the king admits he still holds the ace – her life. He could indeed, let her die. At this moment, I expected some corny claptrap about how her death wouldn’t affect the grand scheme of things, how she was never to be a part of his plan—

“I thought about it myself.” Hello? What’s going on here? “Once or twice.”

The old king leans closer to the new queen, young and green in her reign, and tells her that there is a whole world out there, and suddenly, immortality pales in comparison to the promises of music, and art, “genuine beauty”. Immortality ain’t beautiful. The world is.

She can have it all, “a thousand more birthdays”. If the new queen just asks. She can reign everywhere, anywhere she wishes for as long as she wants. Human conventions be damned.

Textually, it’s obviously a power play. Klaus is gaining an alliance from Sherriff Forbes, and a debt from Caroline Forbes, which he will no doubt call on. Caroline surrenders, admits that she doesn’t want to die after all.

But what’s she saying yes to? She’s saying yes to all those birthdays, the art, the music, the promise of genuine beauty.

So drink up, whispers the king. The queen drinks, she sleeps, and she wakes to find a bracelet of astonishing, genuine, beauty contained in a black velvet box with a neat white bow and a scrawled note. “From Klaus”.

Then, nine episodes later, at a 1920s themed dance, the old king makes his intentions very clear to the new queen. It’s clear she knows the debt that hangs over her head, the connection that haunts Tyler, so she acquiesces to his request for one dance. “I don’t bite,” he says silkily. There’s the old 'Big Bad/loyal to Holy Good friend’ dialogue exchange, as before. Then, a reiteration of his promise of the whole world, worded differently, but still there. The old king speaks of waiting for 100 years for her to accept his offer, his promises, as if to do so is easier than breathing. Oh, the new queen side-eyes him, but the pieces shift, the game changes and she’s looking at him in a whole new way. He looks at her with a depth not found in the eyes of a small town boy. She breaks it with a scoff, and there’s your standard 'Big Bad is pissed off’ dialogue from Klaus before he storms off. And, quite crucially, she looks back.

Anyone who has watched any period drama ever knows the importance of looking back.

And just one single episode later, Caroline Forbes is running down a corridor, your standard horror film shot. She is alone, scared, frightened. She is caught by Klaus Mikaelson, her saviour not ten episodes ago, who has twice offered her the world and all its beauty. Not its glories, not its triumphs. Its beauty. 

He promises to save her friend and brushes his fingers over her hair as if it’s already second nature to him to treat her this kindly, this intimately. (Do not get me started on how he cradles her when she drinks his blood, do not.) He tells her, fiercely, to get home and stay safe.

“Do you understand me?” barks he.

“Thank you,” she says. She looks at him like she still cannot work him out, and is afraid because of it. But the thanks is as easy as breathing.

For reasons that are known as ‘I cannot put up with this shit writing for a moment longer’, I give up on the show come season 3 finale. I watch clips of their scenes on YouTube, scrabble for any desperate hope that the potential I saw and shipped and loved is still there. It falls down, down the drain and I personally like to pretend anything past season 3 doesn’t exist.

So now, here I am. 22 years old with 16 years old me screeching the dying screech of a frustrated fangirl whenever she sees a gifset of Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes together on her Tumblr dashboard because you had a queen with power yet to be unlocked and a king willing to give her that power in exchange for being allowed to worship her as he always wanted to, and because of some shit to do with hybrids, it all went tits up.

But those fuckers called Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes? They have a portion of my heart (the right ventricle, to be specific) that continues to beat for the queen and king that almost ruled together. #foreverbitter

anonymous asked:

Prompt: First time Dark!OQ sleep together.

I am terrible at writing smut so I went for the more emotional side of things…In my mind, I feel as though they wouldn’t jump into anything. I feel like this version of the Queen (with Regina’s shared light) would be more emotional somehow. I don’t know. It’s not the gospel, it’s just what I had in mind during this prompt and I listened to ‘I’m Kissing You’ - Des’ree so this is very tender. 

Ultimately, he couldn’t truly be sure how they had gotten here, to this place. Of how he had gotten here. But they had, somehow. And, if the softness of her expression was anything to go by as he leaned in to press another soft and lingering kiss to her full lips, she too was feeling the same as he.

It was something he’d never experienced before but he knew the name for it.

He wouldn’t utter the words though for she was just as wounded, just as afraid of them and of what they could mean so instead, he made the conscious decision to show her.

His fingers trailed around the curve of her waist as his head tilted and he took her tentative invitation to deepen the kiss with a care he’d shown to no other before. Her mouth was sweet but laced with a danger he felt in his very core. She could kill him with nothing more than a flick of her wrist. Her hands a dangerous weapon, fingers instruments of death that threaded into his hair and held his head in place as she whimpered against his mouth.

He moved slowly, undoing each small button with care when his fingers reached the base of her spine, ignoring the urge to cup her rear and squeeze her against him. Tender had never been something he had favoured during these encounters in the past but he wanted to savour her despite the aching need growing stronger and stronger within him.

He wanted to fuck her against the wall like a damn animal but he also wanted to treat her with the care and with the respect he didn’t think she’d ever been shown before – at least not this half of her.

She felt different from the other Regina, the Regina he’d left behind in Storybrooke. That woman belonged to a different man but this one, the one he held so carefully in his arms as though holding her any tighter would break her, she was different and, he hoped foolishly, perhaps she could be his.

Her dark curls tickled the backs of his hands as they moved higher, fingers tickling over the soft, warm skin of her back and pulling breathy sighs from her that he was finding rather addictive as her tongue swept his mouth. He was glad to find, despite the way that she pressed closer, that she kept the pace he’d set. Wonderfully slow and incredibly intimate.

Robin’s lips dropped to her fragrant neck the moment he’d reached the top of her dress, hands lifting to guide the loose material from her shoulders so that he could suckle gently at the join of her shoulder and neck, something she very much enjoyed if the low moan that sounded in his ear was anything to go by as her nails bit into his biceps.

His hands continued pushing the material of her dress down the length of her arms even as he moved back the way he’d came to bite gently at her jaw before finding her mouth with his own once again, smiling when she grew a little impatient and pulled her arms free of the sleeves so that she could begin pulling his shirt from his trousers and feel the warmth of his stomach beneath with soft hands that had him breathing a moan into her mouth this time.

He wanted to open his eyes and to look at her, to see her bare chested and beautiful before him but her kiss was intoxicating, her mouth a wondrous thing that he couldn’t pull himself away from and so she took the opportunity to begin undoing the button of his trousers, fumbling with it for a moment when he dipped his head in harder against her own. He soon felt the material slip from his hips however and shivered when a soft hand wrapped around his hardening length.

He didn’t want her like this though. “Turn around,” he whispered in a short break for air, accepting her desperate kiss once again before forcing himself to pull away and guiding her confused self away from him with hands on her upper arms. He moved her only enough to begin pushing the dress over the curve of her rear, biting his lip at the sight of her bare bottom when the material fell to pool at her bare feet before he dropped slowly to his knees, tracing the line of her spine with his kisses and holding her hips in his hands.

“Robin…”

His forehead fell to rest against the base of her back as his fingers flexed upon her hips because hearing his name breathed in such a way from her lips was something he’d never known he’d needed before. She was slowly consuming every single inch of him and he wasn’t sure he would survive not having her with him now. It was terrifying but he knew there was no stopping it now. His heart was hers for the taking, whether she wanted it or not.

Robin’s head lifted as he encouraged her to step from the confines of the dress on the ground and guided her around to face him once more, remaining on his knees and trailing his eyes over the olive toned flesh now revealed to him.

His breath caught in his throat as he found her eyes again and saw the depth of emotion within the dark orbs as she stared down at him with her bottom lip held between her teeth. Christ, she was, “Beautiful.”