wonder what she was doing last night to make her so jolly

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Five)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

My own Jamie,

Almost six months ago, I learned that you survived Culloden. You made history, my darling! Q.E.D.

As many nights as I’ve lain awake in those months cursing myself for not having looked soonerI know I shall thank God every day of my life for the series of events that led me at last to the right pages, to you. When I fully realized what it meant— that you had been spared the death you faced so bravely that April morning, the death that has haunted my thoughts and my nightmares for so long— It was like a wound, the oldest and deepest scar ripped back open, inch by inch. I was completely laid bare from it, from the storm of emotions warring within me: such joy, such anguish for the lost time (how many more years could we have had, Jamie, had I looked?), such fear—and then joy again, because the years of grief could now be ended, and *against all reason!* I could see you again.  

Likewise will I thank God every day for the small voice in my head that nudged me at the very last moment to go first to Lallybroch, rather than to your shop in Edinburgh. Please thank Jenny for me. She explained everything. 

It is for the best, that it happened this way; easier, I think, for all concerned. Perversely, despite the shock, I find myself smiling in this moment: for we promised there would be no lies between us, remember? It is a promise I make to you again, today. You can know, then, with absolute certainty, that it can be no lie when I tell you that I am glad glad and on-my-knees grateful to Heaven that you have found true happiness. 

After all the pain and the loss, the war and the hunger and the suffering you’ve endured, to know that you have a wife with whom you’ve found something new and wonderful; that you have had the joy of holding your own children in your arms, to have seen them be born and grow? It is a balm, Jamie, a comfort to know that despite all the cruelty fate has dealt you—dealt us— you have been blessed with such great and abundant joy. Never would I wish anything less for you, just as I know you would not for me. 

It is my deepest prayer that as you read these words, you will know the truth of them, will be able to feel my heart through the page, and KNOW that from its very depths, I wish you every happiness with your wife and your daughters. 

And yet I couldn’t leave, couldn’t go back from whence I came, without telling you about another little girl, who was born the 23rd of November the year of Culloden. 

I hope the contents of the brown packet, here enclosed, tell you more than any words could about your daughter—our daughter—Brianna Ellen.

Jamie was shaking—no, he was — crumbling

Every breath wrenched through him, agonizing, and the tears were falling, blurring his vision. He had to sit back on his haunches to keep them from dropping onto the page and blurring her precious words. 

Her words


His hands were quaking with



Jesus, GOD in 


He COULD NOT think

Thoughts, words, they were—

They failed him, simply abandoned him as he shook on the study rug. Only his body seemed to know the way, for he was snatching for the parcel, tearing at the string binding the paper. There was an oily, unidentifiable wrapping within, then a layer of soft flannel, and then —   

The sound that escaped him—He didn’t even know there existed such a sound within him. It was terrible and beautiful at once, and though it was in no language, what he felt, his lips over and over formed a word, the only word he could muster: “No….NO….” 

For as though a great knife had cut through those terrible, looming stones on the accursed hill, Jamie held his infant daughter, newly-born, sleeping there in the palms of his hands. The portrait—picture?—painting?—was all in shades of grey, and yet somehow lifelike as a true bairn in miniature before him, like peering through a spyglass straight into that distant life.

He had not a single thought to spare for how, or by what means…

He could only trace the bitty wee fists curled on the blanket, the sweet wisps of hair on the tiny skull.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” 

He couldn’t look away, could not even blink, though tears were coursing downward. 

God, the child —this very child — 

—delivered safely into the world and into the arms of her mother—her mother.

The babe had lived—LIVED.

The pad of his thumb caught slightly as he caressed her cheek, and the portrait slid upward just enough to reveal — “Ohh…Jesus…”

She was grown to a toddling child, eating a cake that was smeared all about her face. And damn him if he didn’t LAUGH amidst the weeping to see just how pleased with herself she looked for it, a cuddly toy raised in triumph like a sword, four wee teeth visible as she giggled out a victory cry.

There she was again, older, standing in a great snowfall, naught but wee cheeks and grinning eyes visible under the great padded suit she wore against the cold. 

Older, still. Three? Four? Sitting proper-like in a pretty frock with her hair combed smooth. 

Such a sweet face—

Older, still, standing with a wee box in her hand beside a giant something with wheels, proud and eager, eyes bright.

And then he was gasping as the spyglass world ignited into blazing, brilliant colors. He saw his daughter’s hair, red and victorious and shining against the black coat of the huge dog she hugged tight; saw the pink flush of her cheeks, spread down her neck as it always did his, when he was happy and exuberant.

On and on flashed the paintings, these captured moments of his daughter’s life.

Going fishing and doing a damn fine job of it. 

Playing uproariously in the sea-surf, splashing and laughing with complete abandon.

Absolutely lovely as as she grew out of girlhood, and God, how vividly he could see Claire in her, as she did—in the lines of her, the way she held her mouth, tilted her head—that broad, clear brow that begged to be kissed, reverently—

Laughing, carefree, safe

Braw and strong as she chopped wood. Good lass!

Gazing softly out a window, seeming not even to notice her image being captured. 


and on

and on 

until he was gasping and looking at the last portrait, of an achingly beautiful young woman sitting on a rock before a fire, making camp for the night, perhaps. Her face was cast in the same golds and red as her hair; the dreams of her heart seeming to dance across her eyes—as they always did her mother’s. His daughter…grown.  

The paintings were strewn all around him on the carpet, a tableau of her; her life. On his knees he bowed over them, overwhelmed and shuddering with great sobs as he looked, and looked, and looked.

She was—

She would be

…..she was well.  

The child HAD been safe.

It hadn’t been for naught. 

He fell, then, and sheltered her like a cloak, keeping his child, his daughter, safe and shielded from the world for just one moment; safe…his….


It was only sudden, ripping, screaming panic that yanked him out of the quiet calm, searching wildly, fumbling with desperate hands—

But relief tore from his throat just as suddenly as he found a second page: 

Not everything can be captured in a photograph, of course (that’s what they’re called. Did I ever tell you about them?), and there’s so much I long to tell you about this wonderful person.

Will you believe she’s been taller than me since the age of thirteen? She carries it like a queen, though, like I imagine your mother did. She doesn’t slouch or try to hide. Not Bree. 

Oh, yes: most people call her Bree, for short. 

She bites her nails, when she’s thinking hard. I don’t even think she notices when she’s doing it.

She’s absolutely brilliant, Jamie, studying at one of the top universities in the world to be a historian. You would be so very proud of her. 

She’s not perfect, of course. Perhaps her biggest flaw as half-Scottish is that she HATES whisky, haha. I’ll do my best to win her over, though, don’t you worry. 

She’s a spectacular artist, another way in which she takes after her grandmother. She captures you, completely. 

That statement, actually, is true in more ways than one. Our Brianna is captivating, in every way. 

She’s an absolute wonder with maths and figures —as natural to her as breathing, it seems, just like they are for you. 

She smiles in her sleep, just like her father. 

She’s so like you, Jamie, it breaks my heart. 

After Frank died—But Lord, I haven’t said anything of him. 

It was two years ago. He had a good, full life, and he loved Bree more than anything in the world. He could have been cruel, could have taken out his anger upon the child, the very breathing manifestation of the ways in which I’d betrayed him—but he didn’t. From the moment he first held her, Frank loved her as his own, and while things between he and I were tenuous, to say the least, I will always love him for the father he was to her, for the sacrifices he made for her. I hope that is a comfort to you, and not a blow. 

After he was gone, after giving her time to grieve, it felt important that Bree should know about you, about the stones. It took—well, it frankly took a bloody lot of luck and a jolly good miracle to get her to believe, *but she does.* She loved Frank with all her heart, but she knows now that Jamie Fraser was her father. IS her father. 

You should know that she was instrumental in finding you. She persisted when I would have faltered under the doubts and the fears. As ecstatic and overjoyed as I was at the news that you were alive, I was so afraid Jamie, for you, for me, for Bree. 

Even though I know she, too, was plagued with fears, she remained strong; and she kept ME strong. Even at the very stones, when I was so wracked with guilt over leaving her forever that I would have stayed, for her sake, she was there to strengthen me, to tell me not to look back. She said that she was giving me back to you, and that if I didn’t go, *she* would. ‘Someone has to find him and tell him I was born,’ she said, and she meant it. 

THAT is the kind of person your daughter is growing to be, Jamie: determined, and brilliant, and selfless for the sake of those she loves; *and that includes you.* She asked me to give you a kiss, just from her. I’ve left it here, on the page, for you to keep, always. 

Brianna has been the greatest joy of my life since we parted, a joy that would have been richer only if I had been granted the grace to raise her with you at my side. Thank you for her. THANK YOU for making me go on, for her sake. Despite everything, it has been a good life. Even in those long years of grief, I had the joy of seeing you every day, of seeing your spirit, there in the child of our love. And I’m so very grateful. 

I’ll keep telling her about you. There wasn’t enough time, before I left. She’ll be able hear everything, now. I promise. 

Jamie shook his head hard, fast, feeling for a third page that wasn’t there. “No…” 

Be happy, Jamie Fraser, and LIVE. 

“No,” he moaned. his eyes clinging to the fleeting words, even as he begged them not to stop. “Claire…”

Love, always

“Mo nighean donn, don’t —  


Those next seconds were everlasting, each terrible, catastrophic truth echoing in his soul like the toll of a great bell, over and over. 

She had been here

Claire had been here

She left

Claire left

Because Jenny—

She was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, crying hard into Ian’s shoulder. When the study door crashed open, her head shot up and she jumped to her feet, her face pure terror. “Jamie, mo ch—”

“When?” He snarled it, and Jenny convulsed with a deep sob like a swallowed scream, and covered her face with her hands. 

Jamie was thundering toward her, a veil of red over his vision as he demanded, “WHEN?” 

Ian—in a shockingly deft and smooth movement given the leg—shot to his feet, shielding Jenny from Jamie’s rage with his body. 

In all truth, the rational parts of Jamie’s mind were glad for Ian’s presence, for that was the only thing keeping the blood rage from taking control, from taking revenge. “WHEN was she here, woman?” he bellowed over Ian’s shoulder,  “How fucking long did ye see fit to keep—”

Ian shoved him, eyes blazing. “You’ll NOT talk that way to—” 

Mor—ning—”Jenny sobbed, her voice a strangled whisper, “—gone before—Jamie! Oh, JamieI ken I’ll—never for—give mys—for—” 

HOW MANY MONTHS?”  he roared, overtaken by despair, overtaken by rage, becoming a nameless beast under it. “HOW MANY YEARS, JENNY?” 

“This morning—” she wailed, “To—TO—DAY—” 



And then a great wave, tall as a mountain, rose up within Jamie, blasting out everything within him in a single cataclysmic moment of clarity. 



Then she was—

She could be no more than—

He vaulted up the stairs four at a time, paying no heed to Janet and Wee Ian and the others who were gathered at the top of the staircase, wide-eyed and pale and gaping.

Less than a minute later, he thundered back down past them all, breeks only half-laced under his boots, traveling bag on his back. 

“No,” Jenny moaned, grasping at his sleeve as he passed and trying to hold him back. “Jamie, ye canna—Ye CANNA catch her, she's—GONE—she’s—”

He shook her off, hard enough to knock her off-balance, and ran to the kitchen, shoving what food he could lay his hands on into his sack and moving straight to the door, so crazed with determination he could barely see what it was he took. Food didn’t matter. Fatigue, already tugging at him, didn’t matter. Claire was— 

“Jamie, she’s nearly a day ahead—” Jenny caught the handle just as he did, eyes absolutely wild. “Ye dinna even ken where she’s bound or—” 

He spared his sister one look, and let all the hate and contempt, the rage and the betrayal show there as he growled, “I ken precisely where she’s bound.” 

✰ * º ❛   buzzfeed unsolved sentence starters  ( pt. three )   ❜

       (   part of the youtube starter series   )

‘  let’s just say some brutal murders happened in there which would lends itself into being haunted.  ’
‘  give that baby a ball.  ’
‘  why is it only people who get murdered? why doesn’t someone who choked on a peanut get a ghost?  ’
‘  you know, people don’t like their stepmothers.  ’
‘  so you think like 90% of people who have stepmothers are like ‘aw, my stepmother… i’d love to bury an axe in her face.’  ’
‘  that is fucking awful.  ’
‘  that’s strange because, if your pa is laying there, his head turned into blood oatmeal, and you hear ma come in, you’re probably not just like, ‘oh, i wonder what she’s up to today.’ you’re probably like, ‘hey ma, you should probably come here.’ not just, ‘oh i wonder if she’s gonna go take a little nap.’  ’
‘  i’ve got a life-changing thing to tell you here.  ’
‘  we should probably give her a little holler.   ’
‘  i mean, maybe she’s just thinking back on the good old mutton days.  ’
‘  it reminds me of downton abbey a little bit. it’s very proper.  ’
‘  i feel like a little fancy little lord in this room.  ’
‘  i’m not doing this because i want to steal.  ’
‘  i’m doing this because i want to give the ghosts significant reason to haunt me. i want them to be upset with me.  ’
‘  i stole from you, you hear me?!  ’
‘  cool….. that’s pretty… cool.  ’
‘  if people were already like, ‘we think you murdered them’ i’d be like, ‘fine, i guess i’ll spend their money.’  ’
‘  i’d like to see you put on a dress from that time period– that came out weird, i could’ve worded that better.  ’
‘  we’re sleeping here. we can’t even run away!  ’
‘  she’s gonna kill us tonight.  ’
‘  come on, buddy. times-a-tickin’. show up. murder us. be the first ghost to murder someone in history. we’ll get it on film. you’ll be famous.  ’
‘  just say something. you don’t have to get violent.  ’
‘  those are four pieces of circumstantial evidence that make him just as much of a suspect, in my mind.  ’
‘  both of them seem dubious as hell, that’s all i’m saying.  ’
‘ but you know me… i’m a fan of conspiracy theories.   ’
‘  i was gonna say this doesn’t seem that crazy to me.  ’
‘  wait, are we agreeing right now?  ’
‘  i’m not saying ghosts are real, i’m just saying.  ’
‘  can you imagine if you got sleep paralysis in this room?  ’
‘  why would you fucking say that right before we’re about to sleep?  ’
‘  dude, why would you say that? you know one of my greatest fears is a face staring at me through the window.  ’
‘  even if we get possessed tonight, we can have a nice brewski after.  ’
‘  well, i’m just trying to distract myself now.  ’
‘  the late 1800′s was peak ghost time. 90% of ghosts are from that era.  ’
‘  you never really hear about a ghost from 2010 or so that’s wearing like a flannel and ripped jeans or some shit like that.  ’
‘  they’re followed by doom.  ’
‘  they’re really just getting boned by fate now.  ’
‘  do you think because you believe in all of this stuff that you have a higher chance of being a ghost?  ’
‘  i’d be a pleasant ghost. i’d like pour people tea and stuff like that or i’d do chores around the house and i’d tip my hat and i’d tap dance out of the room.  ’
‘  right, doesn’t that sound great? wouldn’t you like to be haunted by me?  ’
‘  this is the sorrowful room. do you feel sorrowful in here?  ’
‘  i’m fine with not talking too much to he because she scares me.  ’
‘  i feel a little bit like i’m being watched, but i don’t mind it.  ’
‘  oh fuck, dude. i feel really weird all the sudden.  ’
‘  i don’t feel particularly strange, it’s just not a great chair.  ’
‘  now that’s just rude.  ’
‘  it’s kinda just a dick thing to do.  ’
‘  how do you arrest a ghost? you can’t.  ’
‘  you better watch out or the ghost of yankee jim will give you some taffy. some folks say they hear him playing a jolly little kazoo tune in the middle of the night.  ’
‘  he’s not a ghost. that’s not a spooky enough name.  ’
‘  if i were him, i’d haunt this place.  ’
‘  let’s do it before i change my mind. let’s just do it.  ’
‘  watch your language!  ’
‘  well, you’re not a man of your word.  ’
‘  it’s a nice sunset. enjoy it, it’s the last one you’re ever gonna see.  ’
‘  you don’t think ‘the grey ghost’ is a pretty cool nickname?  ’
‘  right, yeah, it’s a haunted ziplock bag.  ’
‘  before that toothpaste hit the floor, i didn’t believe in ghosts. i thought this was all b.s.  ’
‘  i swore i’d never return, but here i sit, like a freakin’ idiot.  ’
‘  who stores laundry detergent in a gin bottle, though?  ’
‘  by the way, i have a bottle of whiskey in my room if you wanna go drink it.  ’
‘  that just fucking cut through that thing like a hot butter patty.  ’
‘  ‘ugh’? that’s all you gotta say about that?  ’
‘  boats are tough, ya’know? it’s not an easy life, the boat life..  ’
‘  are you scared right now?  ’
‘  you’re not fucking scared right now?  ’
‘  could it have been my imagination? of course. could it have been a spirit? well, maybe.  ’
‘  i just think it’s embarrassing for them to drown in a pool… on a boat.  ’
‘  it looks like it’d be pretty easy to get crushed to death here.  ’
‘  a little seamen lubrication, huh? c’mon, that was funny.  ’
‘  do i feel strange right here? yep, i don’t like it.  ’
‘  okay, now i’m starting to get scared again.  ’
‘  you’re really gonna hate this.  ’
‘  i have a feeling i’m really gonna hate this.  ’
‘  you’re gonna lose your mind.  ’
‘  they laughed and told me i was an idiot to my face.  ’
‘  i don’t think we’ve ever attempted something more idiotic than this.  ’
‘  did you just fart? you piece of shit.  ’
‘  oh crap, i’m starting to psych myself out again.  ’
‘  i don’t know what you did. i’m angry again.  ’
‘  what the fuck? it’s morning.  ’
‘  she’s a beaut. you’re a beautiful lady. i love your bones.  ’
‘  alright, approach it with an open mind. let’s get started.  ’
‘  so this is just a bunch of hobos and rapscallions who were meeting down by the train tracks?  ’
’  28% of people believe in the existence of a new world order.  ’
‘  28% of people probably believe that the sun moves around the earth.  ’
‘  well, i don’t have any scientific polls for that, so…  ’
‘  i’m just sayin’ people are dumb!  ’
‘  that’s not creepy? that didn’t make your spine tingle a little bit?  ’
‘  oh, i can’t wait for that parade of other ‘experts’ you’ve got lined up.  ’
‘  4% believe that lizard people control our societies.  ’
‘  xeroxing is not how cloning works!  ’
‘  what are you, a clone expert now?  ’
‘  i don’t believe you. i’ll fucken look it up right now.  ’
‘  he looks like he just pooped his pants.  ’
‘  the name of their child, blue ivy, has been interpreted to stand for ‘born living under evil illuminati’s very youngest.’  ’
‘  so this has just moved to… like, frat-level hazing?  ’
‘  i am not in the illuminati, she is not in the illuminati… you may be.  ’
‘  by the way, if the illuminati is a real thing, the fact that they have a public relations director… fucking amazing, right?  ’
‘  i’m not saying that there’s lizard people– ah, fuck, i guess that is what i’m saying.  ’
‘  what the hell are you talking about? you’re making this all up.  ’
‘  what the fuck are we doing here?  ’
‘  get our little detectives hat out.  ’
‘  is this all in our mind?  ’
‘  this could be the most elaborate delusion of all.  ’
‘  these are true crime serial killer trading cards.  ’

          (   videos:   one,   two,   three,   four,   five.   )

Our last night || soulmate!AU Pt.1

“What’s the difference between the love of your life and a soulmate?” I asked.

“One is a choice, and one is not”

Word Count: 7.5k
Genre: Angst | Fluff | Romance | Smut
Pairing: Reader(She) x Jungkook 
Triggers: Depression, Mention of suicide, lots of angst tbh, Mature content, Cussing.
Gif: AngustD©GIFs

⇻ Playlist   (Playlist Cover thanks to @basicallyadragon  ♡)

A/N: Much cry while making this…
Hope you guys like it! thanks for reading! and thanks for 400 followers!! <3
constructive feedback is always appreciated :)



—first 24 hours—

“This love was so pure it would smolder within their hearts for all eternity”

That one, single line from the book made your heart hurt. Is that the word? hurt? or…Is it something else entirely.
It pained.
That, you are sure about.
There is just something about it, that that made you go over it once again…not analyzing, just letting it sink in, let your mind absorb it, let your body absorb it, let your soul absorb it.
The book remains open on that one page; your eyes hovering above each letter and word for a long time.
What did it mean? How can a love smolder you? is that even possible? How can it be eternal?.
The more these silent questions spread through your thoughts, the more you feel confused, the more you feel empty; but at the same time, you somehow understand exactly what they mean.
You need someone to talk about this.
You read over the phrase once more:

 “This love was so pure it would smolder within their hearts for all eternity”

Without realizing, pools of tears flood your eyesight, trying to blink them away the big drops drip down your cheeks. A face on the back of your mind appears.
His dark and messy hair.
His big gentle eyes.
His goofy smile.

“Jungkook” a giggle joins the streams of water rolling down your eyes, while saying his name out-loud, making you realize you aren’t sad; In fact, you are desperate to see him again, to hug him and kiss him -just like you did every time you are together.
Putting the book down, you grab the cell phone on the nightstand, ignoring the piece of white paper, standing out because of the sapphire blue seal on the front, and tap over his name on the contact list.
-the dial tone causing you anxiety and a pang on your chest.
It is the first time you felt like this, so frantic and in a haste about phoning him.

Unwillingly, your eyes travel to the night stand once again, landing over the closed envelope with the blue sigil.
You knew this day might arrive.
Since the very beginning.

Keep reading


Scenario: You’re close friends with Jiyong but you want more. Your plan: tease him into submission or until he makes you submit to him. Either way, you win.
Genre: G-Dragon x Reader
Words: 3800
Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT! Shameless ass smut and a little rough play.
A/N: This was basically written because those pictures and vids of Jiyong smoking gave me life in a way I didn’t think possible. I hope you guys enjoy!

Disclaimer: Gifs belong to their rightful owners.

You exhaled deeply as you took in another look of yourself in the full length mirror. Your fidgeting fingers giving away your nervousness as you wonder for the millionth time if this was a good idea. Not just with your choice of attire, but with the whole plan you’d formulated in your head.

Tonight was the night. You were going to officially, shamelessly, flirt with Jiyong. A snort left you at the thought. Flirting, yeah right. Not exactly the correct word you’d use…

And god was it true.

You’d decided on this great idea last week. When you had caught him eyeing a leggy dyed blonde Barbie doll that left the bitter taste of envy in your mouth. You hated the fact that Jiyong saw you, but never actually saw you. Always giving you smiles of gratitude followed up with hand pats and hugs saved for people you friend zoned. Never the ones you fucked.

Sure, you’d been there for him through all his trials. All his shitty relationships and watching him go home to release tension with women whose names he didn’t give a damn to memorize, even after he’d met them. It was like he never noticed your side glances of jealousy; the ugly green monster turning your gaze murderous and your face vacant of any emotion. In fear of him being able to read the lividity that shimmered underneath.

How could he have never noticed that for months now things had changed for you? Jiyong and you shared a history. A lifetime of memorizes and hidden jokes. Taking care of one another when you were sick or nursing him back to health when he somehow drank himself close to oblivion. Overrun with exhaustion from tour dates and TV programs for publicity. You never coddled him like a mother, but loved him without judgement. Both of you listening to one another’s dreams and fears and staying up way into the next morning aimlessly watching old movies or playing a song that the other just, “had to hear.”

A few times you wondered how much longer you could honestly continue to go unnoticed. To be the good friend. The feelings of being ignored and not good enough haunted you, which was stupid. Jiyong cared about you. There was no denying that, but you just wanted…more.

You craved for those light touches on your hands to be placed against your cheek, lips, and neck. Craved for him to tease you like he did with some of the noona’s. Witnessing one teasing display when he gave CL a hug. His hands had sneakily slide down her back until the rested just atop her backside; giving her ass a playful smack that left her exasperated; mouth agape in mid-laugh.

He was always shamelessly flirty with all of them, except when it came to you. The lack of flirtation left you feeling nauseous, your stomach turning: Jiyong just didn’t find you attractive.

That’s when you formulated your plan. Once and for all you would find out for yourself.

Jiyong had invited you to Café Seoul last week. It was a celebration for Teddy or Kush, you couldn’t remember. Jiyong knew you weren’t overtly fond of clubs. Actually, you tended to be allergic to them. The idea of getting dressed in uncomfortable clothes that threatened to rise up and flash underwear if you so much as sneezed left you wary. And the shoes! Oh sweet baby Jesus the shoes! At just the thought of them you glanced down at the four inch stilettos and prayed your clumsy baby giraffe legs wouldn’t betray you tonight.

Tonight you were going to be everything you wanted to be: Confident, sensual, and above all, sexual. Tonight you were going to make sure that you were seen and damn it, you would get his attention. One way or another.
The bass from the club was deafening. It rattled the glass in your hand sending the liquor inside to bounce and shake to the beat. It felt oddly comforting knowing something shared the same fate as your confidence.

You’d been at the bar for over thirty minutes. Nursing a few shots to help boost your confidence before it broke, and it was working. A few men stopped by to talk to you offering to supply you with more. Their eyes glued to the sight of you and your revealing choice of attire. You politely declined their offer, giving up snippets of what little conversation could be heard over the music before making your departure.

Jiyong hadn’t noticed you yet. He was, as per usual, in the VIP section. A few females were up in the box with him and the guys. Women you didn’t know who were equally dressed like you. You watched coolly as you made your way towards the group. One girl in particular leaning in and placing a hand on Jiyong’s chest. Her body lining up with his in all the right ways to whisper something in his ear. Whatever she told him, it was enough to make a seductive smirk crease his lips. His eyes lighting up with heat as he looked her up and down.

That was enough to send the jolly green monster inside you into overdrive. It helped replace the unease you felt in your steps earlier into something fierce and predatory. Tonight you weren’t going to be overlooked.

You made your way up the small stairs that lead up into the DJ booth. A security guard put a hand out to stop you.

“I’m sorry miss this section is off limits.”

“I’m G-Dragon’s guest,” you informed him with a smile.

He gave you a side look of disbelief but, nevertheless, leaned over and called him over. It took Jiyong a minute to peel himself away from the bleached blonde attached to his side. As he made the short walk over, cutting in between his crew, it gave you enough time to admire the way the dark denim clung to his thighs and the white shirt that opened up to show the black shirt underneath.

How could someone make casual look so damn sexy?

“She says she’s with you?”

Jiyong glanced up to see who the guard was talking about. When his eyes landed on you, it took him a minute to realize who he was looking at. His eyes widened slightly as he leaned over the railing.


The disbelief was evident on his face. His eyes racked over your body taking you in. Did you really look that bad?

“Yes?” you called back.

Jiyong was still staring when the guard inquired one last time if he should let you in. Jiyong shook his head, as if to clear it, before giving him the nod of approval. The guard stepped aside and Jiyong outstretched his hand to help you clear the rest of the stairs.

Once you were inside the booth his hand gravitated to your waist and pulled you in close to his side. His lips finding your ear and you fought not to shiver as hot breath cascaded down your neck.

“What are you wearing?”

“Ugh, I think they call it a dress,” you teased.

He didn’t share in your joke. Instead his eyes wondered to the delicate strip of cloth that showed the tops of your breasts.

“I know that but what are you doing wearing something like this?”

“It’s a club, Ji. I wanted to dress for a night out. Why you don’t like it?”

Your heart was thundering with mixed emotions. On one hand, you felt damn good. It could’ve been the added effect of the liquor or just finally feeling damn good in your skin. The fact that he had you pinned so close to him with the musky scent of his cologne overpowering your senses didn’t hurt either. On the other hand, you could feel your confidence chip away just a tad as he continued to assess the outfit. Finally, his eyes caught yours as he replied, “I don’t think “like” would be an appropriate way to describe it.”

A smile lifted your lips as wiggled out of his tight hold. Tease him, that was the plan.

“Well, I guess I did good then.”

You made your way to the back of the booth where Teddy and what looked like a few of Jiyong’s friends from YG were posted. The minute their eyes caught sight of you they widened; smiles and cheers greeting you as you got closer.

“Damn Y/N I didn’t think it was possible for you to look this good.”

A bubbly laugh escaped you as you greeted them all with a hug.

“Gee thanks assholes.”

You went to stand next to Teddy hyung when you felt an arm slide across your lower back pulling you in the opposite direction. You were grateful for the loud music when a shriek of surprise left you. Only to find yourself back against a very protective Jiyong.

“Stay close,” he yelled towards you.

It took everything in you not to smirk in satisfaction. This was going easier than you thought it would. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted the bottle service the boys started. Jiyong’s favorite tequila sitting front and center. Still pressed against him, you reached your arm out, your chest pressing against his as your fingers laced around the cold glass. Lifting it from the tray he looked at you, a question forming on his lips.

“Do you want to pour it for me?”

Your eyes held the heat of a challenge and when Jiyong’s eyebrows quirked up, you knew you had him. He took the bottle from your hand, his fingers playing delicately over yours.

“Tilt your head back,” he commanded, and you obeyed.

Closing your eyes, you opened your mouth welcoming the liquid inside. If it wasn’t for your stint at the bar earlier, you were sure you would’ve coughed at the taste. The warm liquor slid down your throat and to your core sending out heated signals that danced across every nerve. You found yourself giggling as you open your eyes; your tongue running over your lips as you looked at him.

What you saw staring back at you almost cut it short. Jiyong was looking at you, really looking at you, as if for the first time. His eyes locked on to your lips. A hunger so intense resonating through them that it threatened to turn your legs to jelly. As soon as the DJ turned on a new song you immediately started dancing.

Pulling away from Jiyong just enough to give you space to fight off the effects of the desire he’d ignited inside you. Your hands went up above your head as your hips found a rhythm. The tempo of the music just fast enough that your hips swayed without effort.

You didn’t have to look behind you to know that Jiyong was watching. His watchful gaze left your body feeling hot, making you dance faster to try and shake it off. He wasn’t the only one watching you dance, however. Everyone who usually saw you as the innocent best friend had their eyes on you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You let your hands fall over your body as the song dipped into a slow bass. One hand playing with the hem of your dress; teasing before letting it go and skimming up and over the fabric. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your body up against a chest you knew all too well.

The mixed scent of his cologne and cigarette enveloped you as he leaned in again. Hot words whispered into your ear: “Yah Y/N, what are you doing?”

You leaned back until your head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder. Your movements never slowing as your back side slid across the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Can’t a girl have a little fun?” you purred in response.

It pained you to do it, but you disconnected yourself from his grip. Turning around to see a mixture of that hunger with anger; sending a shiver up your spine. His hand snaked out fast, folding itself against your lower back, and brought you back against him. This time your faces inches apart. Close enough you swore if either of you breathed, your lips would touch.

“Depends on what kind of fun.”

You didn’t have an answer for him. Not when he was this close. When his lips were mere centimeters from your own. You saw the flash of a camera go off and it was just enough to jolt you out of your lust-filled haze. Your eyes came alive with mischief as your lips curled in a smirk. You pushed yourself away from him, eyes still on him as you moved away from him.

“You have to behave, Jiyong. I’m allowed to cut loose every once in a while.”

With those last words hanging between you, you fully turned and headed back towards Teddy hyung. He was more than happy to great you in a hug. One arm staying on your shoulders as you both swayed to the music, hips bumping into each other in an intoxicated mess of rhythm.

Let Jiyong stew in his own juices, you thought.

Tonight was the night you would play hard to get. As you continued to dance and talk to the others, you kept a watchful eye of Jiyong in the corner. He was lighting up cigarette after cigarette. His eyes boring holes into you as he watched every touch you laid on Teddy’s arms. Every time you both leaned in to be heard over the music. Every now and then he’d start dancing to a beat, but never long enough to make him quit staring.

When he went to light up his sixth cigarette you decided to intervene. Your fingers hooking into the cotton of his shirt, as you closed the distance between the two of you with confidence. It was your turn to brush your lips against his ear as you spoke: “Don’t you think you should slow down?”

His eyebrow quirked up in challenge. His words biting as he shot back, “Are you my mother now.”

You felt the words like a slap in the face but refused to retreat. You knew Jiyong was only bitter because you’d abandoned him. So instead of giving in and cowering you shot back with your own demand.

“Shotgun with me.”

Your request earned a look of shock as he tried to see if you were joking. You most definitely weren’t. Without giving you a chance to back down he inhaled sharply on his cigarette; two large hands wrapped around your face as his lips closed in with yours.

You knew this wasn’t the brightest of ideas to do. You were out in the open and already seen plenty of fans taking pictures, but you couldn’t help yourself. And as your fingers tightened in his shirt and his lips neared yours you realized you wouldn’t have stopped it even if you wanted too.

Right when the tips of his lips brushed yours was when he slowly exhaled the smoke. Instinct took over and you inhaled, feeling your lungs burn at the toxic intrusion. When it was over you moved to take a step back, but Jiyong wouldn’t release his hold on you. You looked up at him, perplexed. A question sitting heavy on your tongue when his hand reached out to grab yours abruptly.

He dragged you through the crowded booth and beyond it. You tried to shout a question a couple of times. Each time the booming music in the club drowned it out. It wasn’t until he pushed through a door that indicated the bathrooms did you understand what was going on.

A large part of you thought he was taking you there to bait you. Yell at you and demand to understand what the hell you were doing. You never acted this brazen with him. But that wasn’t what happened at all.

As soon as he slammed the door to the bathroom closed, making sure it was locked, he had your back pressed against it. His mouth finding yours in an instant and your world exploded.

His lips were intoxicating as they possessed yours. It wasn’t sweet, but demanding. His teeth nipped your bottom lip as his fingers from one hand grazed over your scalp. Tightening just enough to send your body into overdrive as the other hand found its way under your dress. Nails grazing along the spot where thigh and ass meet.

His tongue grazed along your bottom lip asking for entrance and you gave it willingly. The minute you opened up Jiyong wasted no time running his tongue along yours. Devouring you as he moved down suddenly, leaving a trial of bites and kisses along your throat and jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Y/N?”

God, his voice was like liquid sex. Husky and running along your skin like velvet.

You found yourself unable to speak; to conjure up words as a skilled hand moved the short fabric up higher. A finger tracing delicately along the thin cloth of your panties. He gave a slight tug on your hair. The jolt of pain mixed in with your desire and you couldn’t stop the moan from breathlessly escaping your lips.
Jiyong ate it up in an instant. Grinding his body against you enough to feel the growing bulge straining against his pants.

“Did you like acting like a little tease?”

“It was fun watching you squirm for once,” you shot back in a breathless retort.

He stilled against you and for a horrible moment, you thought this would all end. He moved his hand from underneath your dress. His fingers untying themselves from your hair as he took a step back. His eyes locking with yours as you struggled to focus. You opened your mouth to say something, maybe even plead for him to continue, when he beat you to it.

“You liked seeing me squirm? I guess I’ll have to return the favor.”

Using his foot, he kicked your feet open until your legs were wide apart. His hands lifting the remainder of the dress up exposing your panties you’d picked out just for tonight. By the smirk on his face you knew Jiyong approved. You wanted to ask him what he was going to do, but all words ceased when his hand cupped your sex. A finger rubbing against the wetness he’d created sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. Making your mouth gasp open and your back arch. His thumb finding your sensitive bud and circling it.

Jiyong moved his free hand up; fingers gliding delicately over your collarbones as he pulled the straps of your dress down. Exposing your breasts to the cold air making your nipples harden instantly. So many words filtered through your head, but none of them made it to your mouth.

Another moan tore loose from your lips as mouth found your breast. Sucking your nipple in between teeth as a skilled tongue circled around it. His free hand kneading the other before switching. Your legs felt close to buckling as he moved the hand that had been stroking your sex down into your panties. A finger gliding over the slick wet folds sending your mind into a frenzy.

Your fingers clawed into his shoulders trying to find support. Your breathing halting for a nano second as he slid two fingers inside you. His teeth biting down gently on your nipple at the same time, causing your hips to jerk into him. A silent, “fuck,” filled the space between you and you weren’t sure if it had been you or him. At this moment you honestly didn’t care.

His skilled hands worked you over. His fingers curving just right, finding that sensitive spot inside you. Your fingers were digging into his shoulders as your legs began to shake. You were so close already: and just like that it stopped.
When his hands and mouth left your body you couldn’t stop the whine of displeasure that left you. The smug smirk on his face making you want to hit him if you could just feel your legs. You opened your mouth to speak but he quickly laid his back down on top of yours. His kisses hungrily eating every breath you tried to take until you felt dizzy.

Placing strong hands on your hips he pulled your forward and towards the sink. Giving you a second to grab a hold of the white porcelain before the sound of cloth tearing jolted you back to the present. You watched through the mirror as he pocketed your panties, smirking at your reflection.

“You won’t be needing those back.”

“How considerate,” you sighed.

You watched as he started to unbuckle his belt, realizing too late that you didn’t have any condoms. They were in your purse back at the table. You were about to voice the bad news when you watched Jiyong take out his wallet and producing a foil package. Noticing you were looking he simply said, “I’m always prepared.”

“Thank god.”

He chuckled as he ran a hand over your back side before giving it a slap. A yelp of surprise left you and immediately he appeared worried.

“Was that okay?”

All you could do was shake your head yes because, hot damn, you couldn’t describe how that felt. All you knew was that you liked it.


Jiyong wasted no time ripping open the foil packet with his teeth, tossing the paper, and rolling the condom on. When you felt him at your entrance, his hands on your hips, you felt your body tense. This was it. There was no going back and even if the option was there, you wouldn’t take it.

When he pushed inside you a moan instantly tore between your lips. Your sex stretching to accommodate his length. He waited a few seconds before he pulled out and pushed back in. His grip on your hips tightening until you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. His pace began to pick up speed; his body claiming yours without mercy.  

One hand let go of your hip and slid up until it was wrapped around your throat, lifting you up and back against his chest. Turning your head until you faced him so his lips could claim yours. His pace never slacking until your legs were shaking and your orgasm was building.

“Are you close?” he breathed against your lips.

You couldn’t answer him. You could only give a shaky nod of your head. He drove inside you faster; a hand reaching out to grab you under your knee to place it up against the sink. The angle intensifying his thrusts until the last one left you screaming his name. Your orgasm crashing against you as your body struggled to keep you up against the sink. A few moments later, Jiyong followed. His pace slowing until it all together stopped. His head resting against your back as he struggled to catch a breath.

After you both felt like it was possible to stand without falling over, you righted yourself. Starting the awkward process of cleaning yourselves up.

“That was awesome, but next time, let’s try for a bed,” you stated.

Jiyong sent you a smirk. He took a second to fix his hair in the mirror before he turned around to give you a chaste peck on the lips.

“That can definitely be arranged.”
I hope that you guys enjoyed this. I was up in the air about posting it but, what the hell right? -J

I dreamed this last night and woke up with my heart hurting, so uh… here’s some fic for you?
Pure spec and completely not how s7 is going to go at all.

There’s a girl at the door.

Henry pauses at the foot of the stairs, keeping his grip tight on Lucy’s hand; strange that two weeks ago he had no idea she even existed, but now she’s the most precious thing in his life; he’d do anything to keep her happy and safe.

This must have been what Mom felt like after he found her all those years ago.

The girl is tracing the letters on Killian’s door, light glinting off the jewels in the small braids woven through her long, curling blonde hair. When she turns, hearing Henry’s footsteps on the stairs of the porch, he can see she can’t be old enough to have driven here; maybe fourteen or fifteen? Old enough to be out without supervision, but young enough that Henry doesn’t like the thought of her out alone.

More new feelings awakened by fatherhood.

“Henry?” the girl asks, peering at him curiously.

He looks at her skeptically. Something about her red jacket looks familiar, and the cautiously hopeful look in her blue eyes, but he can’t place it. When he tries to pin it down, the memory slips away like an eel. “Please don’t tell me you’re also my daughter, you look too old for that.”

She grins and that also looks maddeningly familiar. Lucy drops Henry’s hand and shoves him forward, making him stumble. “No, she’s your sister.”

Henry’s jaw drops, old, buried memories of Mom’s pregnancy and a blonde toddler rushing back. No wonder he hadn’t been able to place her, he hasn’t seen her since… well, since before he met Ella. “Cassie?”

Her mouth sets in a line. “CJ,” she states firmly. “It’s been a long time, big brother.”

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Fic: Only The Beginning

Title: Only The Beginning
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the final battle, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin begin their happily ever after. Featuring a nursery, reunion sex, and the return of Belle’s wedding ring.

A/N: So this is basically all of my post-finale Rumbelle feelings summed up in a 9,000 word fic. I still can’t believe Rumbelle got their baby back, and a happy ending!

[On AO3]

The walk back from the mines is quiet.

Rumple has already explained what happened while she was nursing her ankle, the confrontation with his darker self that – even if she had been capable – Belle would have known he had to fight alone. It came out in a rush, disbelieving and shaking as they held their son together for the first time. He told her everything, and she is proud of him, prouder than she has words to express. He had fought the darkness, rejected it, and won. He had felt the shift: his darkness, the thick black magic in his veins, had turned to light. She had been right all along, and he is sorry, so sorry, for having doubted her.

The baby in the basket in Belle’s arms, their precious boy restored to them whole and innocent, is proof enough of Rumpelstiltskin’s victory. Belle tells him so, again and again, and he almost looks as if he believes this might be real after all.

But as they leave the mines, they lapse into silence.

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The Counselor (Taehyung x Reader)

Genre: Fluff & Smut

Words: 6,508

Summary: You’ve been feeling a bit…depressed. At your friends recommendation, you go to see a counselor, but…he’s a lot more than you expected.

A/N: Well! This has been a long time coming, haha. My first Taehyung smut-I figured it was time. Though, it does have lots of fluff too (because to me Taehyung is such a sweetiepie). Anyway! Please enjoy!

You are…struggling. And you know you are. Classes are rough, and homework and work makes you want to rip all of your hair out. You’re losing sleep and adapting terrible eating habits (aka not eating at all and/or eating only quick and unhealthy food), and your friends are worried.

“The University Health Department has counseling available almost 24/7,” one of your girlfriends tells you, her eyes begging for you just to listen for once, because she know that you don’t want to. It’s only another 2 months until summer, and you only need to last that long, then things will get a little better. You’re sure of it. However, you still patiently listen to her nonetheless.

“They’re not professional—they’re trained kids, our own age. People who go to the university with us that are just…listening buddies. They’re there to help us in any way they can, and I haven’t heard anyone say anything bad about them.

“And they don’t judge you!” she continues quickly when she sees your lips part, liking going to give her an excuse as to why you don’t want to go. “I’ve had friends who have gone in just to talk about their day—because it helps them to have the company around. And I’ve also had friends who have gone in and gotten deep—and it still works out fine in those situations too.

“The counseling is good,” she tells you, smiling as she grabs one of your hands between hers. Your heart aches at that moment, because you know that she’s such a good friend to you, and it’s not like you enjoy feeling this way, it’s just…

“Give them a chance, Y/N, and if you don’t like it I won’t ask you to go back. But what can it hurt?”

“My pride,” you mumble in response, and when she sends you a sour pout, you sigh. “I’ll…go soon,” you say, managing a smile. You place your free hand atop hers and squeeze, hoping to portray your sincerity. “I really do appreciate you being so concerned for me. Thank you.”

She shrugs, the atmosphere becoming a bit more comfortable she slides off her seat and moves around the café table, grabbing you in a tight hug.

“Just trying my best to be a good friend.”

“You are, trust me.”

Despite it all, you do end up going to the counseling—but only after lots of internal struggle and reasoning.

On a Friday night—when you for once don’t have work—you pick yourself up and shrug on a too-big sweatshirt and slip into a pair of trainers and then leave your 1 bedroom apartment, trudging towards the Health Center on campus.

You’re not even sure if counseling will be available at—you slyly slip your phone from your pocket and check the screen—10:03 on the weekend, but hey—if you go and no one is there, then at least you tried. You can tell your friend that at the very least you made an effort to get counseling, and then you’ll never have to go back again. Perfect!

Sadly, when you reach the health building, a woman at the front desk points you in the direction of the student mental health rooms. Tempted to sigh at your luck, you slowly make your way up the dimly lit hall—most of the lights off in order to cut electricity costs.

After a minute you find the area you’re looking for, a semi-large waiting room with 5 doors connected to it. 4 of the doors are closed—the ones labeled ‘Jackson’, ‘Hani’, ’Kai’, and ‘Jonghyun’—and through the small window you can only see darkness, so you assume they’re out for the night. The farthest right door, however, is illuminated.


You take a deep breath, reading yourself for judgment and fear and anxiety—because despite your friends reassurance and all the good remarks you’ve been hearing about the counseling and counselors—you’re still terrified.

Eying the nametag hanging on the door handle—one which is bright blue and decorated with a mismatch of drawings (which may have been done by a kindergarten, but you can’t tell)—you wearily lift your hand and knock your knuckles against the solid wood.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually the door opens, and you suddenly find yourself face to face with a thin, chestnut haired boy. His face reflects subtle surprise, his perfectly shaped eyebrows raising on his forehead.

“Hi,” he says after a moment, and then breaks into a large boxy smile, gripping his stomach as he laughs. You take a step back, wanting to run. Is he laughing at you??—but luckily he quickly explains himself.

“Sorry, I just…I’m so used to being here alone on Friday nights, usually no one shows up, so you took me by surprise. I was laughing at myself because I’m sure I looked a bit stupid standing there, hehe~.” Reaching out a hand, his brown eyes turning kind, he introduces himself. “I’m Kim Taehyung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you respond, still hesitant, but take his hand nonetheless. It’s large, you note.

“Well—come on in!” he says, stepping back and motioning to his little, private room. You poke your head in, surveying the area. There’s a pink and a blue beanbag on the carpet floor, a stack of books in the corner, and an old TV with a N64 hooked up. On the screen is a paused game of California Speed, which is what you guess Taehyung must have been playing before your unexpected arrival.

“I…um…,” you manage, embarrassed at your own awkwardness. But you feel bad—maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you, he was probably have a jolly fine time before you’d shown up at his door.

“Y/N,” Taehyung coaxes, his face melting into a look of understanding. He’s so beautiful to look at, and with such sincerity portrayed on his features, you’re beginning to wonder if perhaps he’s an angel of sorts.

Extending his hand towards you, Taehyung waits. Patient. He and you both know that it’s your decision to come inside, and he’s not going to force any kind of decision upon you.

You don’t want to be here, and yet…with Taehyung here in front of you…

You take his hand.

Grinning, Taehyung tugs you into his little, cozy pad, and shuts the door behind you. Immediately, in time with the sound of the room closing off, you feel emergency barriers forming around your heart, scared to let anyone in or anything out. Because in the most basic sense you are ok. You have food and shelter, and you find it in yourself to roll out of bed every day. You’re alright, but…you’re not. Not really—and while Taehyung seems like a nice guy, you don’t know him. So are you just supposed to suddenly open up and tell him all of your problems and expect him to listen and be nonjudgmental? That’s seems impossible.

“Well, pop a squat!” he tells you, diving stomach first onto the pink bean bag. His smile and personality, so far, reminds you of a little kid with no care in the world, and you begin wondering if you can confide in a person like this. Nonetheless, you stiffly step farther into the room and lower yourself onto the other beanbag, not quite sure where to look. If you look at the floor, you’ll seem shy. If you look at Taehyung, then you’ll seem a bit creepy, you think (even though you honestly would love to get a clearer look at Taehyung, because despite the dim light in the hall, you had been able to tell that he is…blessed in his features). So, you decide to stare at the TV instead, back straight and lips pressed together tightly.

God…you wish you hadn’t come.

“Hey,” Taehyung suddenly says, catching your attention. You look up just in time for him to shove the 2P controller into your lap.

“Oh c’mon!” he says when he sees your shocked looked. “This game is fun, I promise! Let’s just play a few maps!”

“I…ok,” you agree, if only because you still feel bad for intruding, and Taehyung grins happily.

“The analog stick is…kinda touchy in this game, so be careful of that,” he tells you as he exits the race he had paused and backtracks to the main menu, this time choosing the 2-player option.

“I’ve actually played this game before,” you inform him quietly, unable to help the amused grin that overtakes your lips when Taehyung’s face turns dumbfounded.

“You have???”

“I have,” you confirm, your smile unwavering as you choose your car on the selection screen. “And I’m pretty good at it too, so watch your back.”

“Ooooooohh~! I see how it is!” Taehyung teases, picking up his controller and thumbing the analog stick until he’s hovering over the golf cart option on screen. You send him a questionable look, and Taehyung licks his lips, raising his eyebrows challengingly. Your heart jumps at the sight, and you wonder if Taehyung knows that he’s making you sexually flustered at the moment.

“Golf cart is gonna win,” he simply says, picking out a course to play, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention to the screen as the race begins.

Maybe a little too into it, you and Taehyung battle it out, the barriers around your heart seeming to inch open with each line of friendly banter exchanged between you both. You’re not sure what time it is when you finally end up tossing your controller down—frustrated that Taehyung had beaten you 15-14 ONLY because an NPC had nudged you out of first place and into third just seconds before the finish line.

“That’s such bullshit!” you scream, though laughter is bubbling in your throat, and you’ve been smiling for a long while now. “I refuse to accept that!”

“Too bad! I win~!” Taehyung sing-songs, setting his controller down on the carpet and getting up to do some kind of awkward victory dance. You shake your head in disbelief, your laughter fading into desperate wheezes for air, and reach over to smack him.

However, in an embarrassing turn of events, you somehow manage to miss his arm…and smack his ass. Just a little smack! Right on the top, but…it’s enough to have both you and Taehyung immediately freezing in shock.

“You…,” he starts, brown eyes wide. Cheeks erupting with color, you open your mouth to try and explain yourself, but no words come out—because what exactly are you supposed to say?! You hadn’t meant for that to happen…!

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Wendy Darling Comes To Town

Summary: When Wendy Darling, Peter’s long-time best friend, arrives in Neverland, you’re thrilled to meet her. However, you soon start to suspect that seemingly sweet Wendy may have ulterior motives-and wants to be more than just friends with Peter.

Word Count: 1574

Warnings: Mild Language

You were sure something was up.

Something had to be.

You’d reached that conclusion whilst sitting in the tallest tree in Neverland with Wendy Darling on the branch below you.

She’d arrived a week ago, and Peter was thrilled for you to meet her. However, after a while, you couldn’t help but feel that something was…off.

Within two seconds of reuniting, they had each other bent over laughing hysterically and sharing stories of the adventures they’d had since the last time they met.

At first, you were unbelievably happy to finally be able to meet someone important from Peter’s past (since meeting any of his family was out of the question). When you heard that you would able to meet Wendy, Peter’s best friend since childhood, you were ecstatic.

You hadn’t thought you had anything to worry about. Peter had introduced you to Wendy as his “perfect other half”, which turned your face red as you shook Wendy’s hand.

Wendy was also incredibly nice, and you could tell why she was one of Peter’s only real, close friends. She’d listened to your stories about how rough it was getting to Neverland, and how when you first met Peter, you’d tried to decapitate him with the sword you’d stolen from the pirates on the Jolly Roger.

She just seemed so…perfect.

Until a few nights ago.

It was dinner time, and Peter and Wendy were out on a walk. Naturally, you were sent to go find them.

You were about to call out their names when you saw them through the trees, standing in the clearing talking.

It was clear the conversation they were having was a serious one, and for a second, you wondered if you should just leave them alone and give them a few more minutes.

That’s when Wendy’s hand had reached out, touching Peter’s arm and she said, “Pete, I have something to tell you.”

It felt like a slap in the face. You’d emerged then, staring at them both coldly.

“Hey, you guys.” You managed to say in only a slightly cross manner. “Dinner’s ready.”

Since then, you realized it seemed Wendy was always trying to corner Peter by himself. To “talk” to him.

Now, Peter passed by below, and you watched as Wendy’s gaze followed him.

You weren’t one to be petty or jealous, but the whole thing made your blood boil.

“What were you saying, Y/N?” Wendy asked, her attention cutting back to you once Peter was gone.

“Oh, it wasn’t anything important.” You muttered, almost wanting her to detect the edge in your voice.

Wendy beamed up at you, placing a hand on your leg. “Of course it was important. Y/N, you have some of the wildest stories I’ve ever heard. You’ve been practically everywhere!”

She let her hand linger on your skin, and it only added to your anger.

Does she honestly think she can just try to make a pass at my boyfriend right in front of me and I won’t even notice?

It goes without saying that by the last night of her stay, you were pretty damn sick of Wendy Darling.

You didn’t have the heart to say anything to Peter. He was even more oblivious than Wendy (at least, you hoped Peter was oblivious). Plus, you were still the one who got to crawl into his bed at night, not Wendy Darling. (Again, you hoped).

Essentially, you were bursting to tell someone how much you hated Wendy Darling, preferably Wendy Darling.

After the meal was finished, one of the Lost Boys proposed a fun game to play with the entire group.

However, Wendy piped up, “Actually, Peter, care to take a stroll for one last time before we start any nightly festivities?”

Your brain exploded with expletives you wanted to scream.

You waited until they disappeared into the woods, and then you followed them.

Hiding in some shrubbery (yes, this was a new low for you), you watched them carefully as they stood beneath the stars in the same clearing as a few nights ago.

Wendy cleared her throat, turning to Peter. “P, there’s something I’ve really wanted to tell you. I’ve been keeping it from you for a while, actually. It’s just, you mean so much to me, and I didn’t want anything to change…”

In that moment, some god above did you a favor.

Felix appeared into the clearing, grabbing Peter’s arm and informing him, “Peter, one of the boys has become violently ill. He won’t stop vomiting. Will you come back and make him a potion?”

“Yes, of course!” Peter turned back to Wendy. “You don’t mind waiting a bit, do you Wen? I’ll be back in a hurry, I promise.”

With that, Peter left with Felix, leaving Wendy all alone.

That’s when something unexpected happened.

Wendy dropped to her knees on the ground and started crying.

Wow, I get you dig my boyfriend, but crying over missing your chance to hit on him? That’s a little much.

After a few minutes of sobbing, you decided it was time to intervene. You stepped out into the clearing, startling Wendy when you did.

When she saw you, she started wiping her tears instantly, springing to her feet. “Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I was, uh, I was just-”

“Wendy, what’s going on?” You asked. It was about time you found out the truth.

“Y/N, it’s just…” She took a deep breath.

You braced yourself. Here she was, about to confess to you that…

“Y/N, I’m gay!”

Your jaw dropped open.

That was not the confession you were expecting.

“Oh, um…” You started to say, but then Wendy collapsed again, weeping.

Jesus Christ.

You crouched down, rubbing Wendy’s back comfortingly.

In that moment, you were so, so, so incredibly thankful you hadn’t called her a bitch.

“I’ve been trying to tell Peter this whole time!” Wendy wailed. “But every time I try to, something gets in the way. And I’m just so god damn afraid that…”

She trailed off, swatting tears off of her cheek angrily. You tried to get her back on track.

“Afraid of what?” You asked softly.

Wendy looked up at you, her ocean eyes filled with tears. “Afraid that he wouldn’t think of me the same. That once I told him, everything he perceived me to be would change. Peter is…” A horrible sob released from her throat, and your heart sank to the very lowest of your chest.

You waited until she calmed down a bit to finish.

“…Peter is the only best friend I’ve ever had. Before I met him, I was just some boring girl living in a small, stuffy apartment in London. He helped show me the world, Y/N. And now I’m gonna ruin it.”

It was then that you couldn’t imagine how you could have ever hated Wendy Darling. Because, at the end of the day, you two both just endlessly loved Peter Pan, even if in two different ways.

“Wendy, you could never ruin you and Peter’s friendship. You don’t even know how excited he was when he first heard you were coming to visit! Wendy, he was absolutely elated. He kept telling me stories about the times you guys ran around London causing mayhem, or when you guys hopped on the backs of crocodiles to try and get across a lake but then Peter fell in and almost gotten eaten. And you know what else he tells me?”

Wendy gazed up at you, quietly sniffling while she waited for you to continue.

“He tells me how you’re his best friend, and how much he thinks the world of you. He loves you now, and he’ll still love you when you tell him this. Okay?”

She nodded, and you watched a smile finally appear on her face.

You stood up, reaching out a hand and helping Wendy Darling up. The two of you walked back to camp together, arms linked.

The next day, bright and early, you stood a few feet back while Wendy hugged Peter goodbye.

When the two of you had returned back to camp the night before, you let Wendy resume her talk with Peter, giving her an encouraging thumbs up as they’d walked away.

They came back laughing, and Wendy ran up and gave you an emotional hug before she went to bed, telling you that you were right, and thank you.

Now you felt a tiny pang in your heart, and you found yourself sad at Wendy leaving. You felt so stupid for being crazy the entire time and barely even getting to know her.

Wendy hugged all the Lost Boys goodbye and, at last, she turned to you. She wrapped her arms around you, digging her head into your shoulder. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything.”

Then, before she pulled away, she whispered, “I can see why Peter’s in love with you.” She winked.

As you watched her ship sail off into the horizon, Peter came up behind you, slipped an arm around you, and kissed you on the cheek.

You looked at him skeptically. “What was the for?”

Peter just smiled. “Wendy told me what you did for her. Thank you for being the best other half I could have asked for.”

Just like that, Wendy Darling was gone, almost as fast as she’d appeared.

And, although you’d never thought you’d say it, you couldn’t wait until the next time she visited.

At Your Service


Prompt: When Emma sent old fat drunk Hook back to the Jolly Roger, she wasn’t aware that there was no Jolly Roger in the Wish Realm. So instead, Old Hook ends up on the deck of the Jolly… docked in Storybrooke. What happens when he comes face to face with this new realm… and his spry younger self?

Author’s Notes: Thank you, @irishswanff for letting me use your prompt, I had a blast writing it! And thank you, once again, for your on-point beta skills. <3 Everyone should visit @irishswanff‘s Tumblr to see more amazing prompts!!

Read on FF.net


Strange things were happening in Storybrooke. Strange, strange things. Unusual things usually happened in Storybrooke, but this was by far the strangest. Even stranger than that time Emma’s boy accidentally found a way to bring pixies into Storybrooke. But at least Killian understood what was going on then. Sort of. But this…

It had started this morning. He had decided to pick up a grilled cheese sandwich for Emma. She remained in their bed, fast asleep. It was to be expected after all the sleepless nights spent in the Wish Realm. Especially considering when she came home, she was forced to battle Belle and the Crocodile’s infant.

Well, not an infant. Not anymore at least.

So he thought she at least deserved a surprise. And if a grilled cheese sandwich could put a smile on her face, he was happy. He knew, as always, that he would have to ask for onion rings over fries, and that alone would keep him in her good books.

He pushed open the door to Granny’s. It wasn’t very busy; only a few people sat in booths, mostly the dwarves. There wasn’t a queue, which was good. It meant that Killian could order, grab it and leave. He would return to Emma before she even awoke, and he would wake her, with kisses and grilled cheese.

His gaze flew to the counter as he stepped inside. There was an intake of breath and a, “There he is! Get him!”

Before Killian knew what was happening, he was ducking to avoid a bottle aimed at his head. It shattered above him, sprinkling crystal-like glass into his hair. He emerged to see Granny pointing a shotgun at him.

“What the bloody hell?” he shouted.

“Don’t you ‘what the bloody hell’ me, mister!” Granny growled. “You know what you’ve done. And you’re going to pay for it.”

What he’d done? What had he done? He didn’t remember doing anything. He’d been with Emma all night and all morning, for heaven’s sake.

He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “Pay for what?”

She cocked the gun higher, right at his face. Her eyes were narrowed as she checked her aim. He heard the damn thing click. He raised his arms slowly above his head, heart beating fast.

“Don’t you give me that. Once a pirate, always a pirate, huh? Did you think that disguise would fool me? Granny?”

He kept his hands above his head. “What bloody disguise?” He wished his Swan was here. Emma would sort this out. She was the Saviour, after all. She would slowly talk Granny down, and ask her what on God’s earth she was accusing him of. Perhaps Granny had finally lost it.

“That wig. And that pot belly. But I knew it was you. I saw you! I know what you did.”

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Sing Me To Sleep

A Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir fanfic
Summary: In which Marinette nurses a concussed Chat back to health. Unabashed MariChat fluff.
Snippet: Marinette observed him briefly as he reclined on the couch, eyes closed with a look of self-satisfied contentment on his features. She was tempted to snap at him and tell him not to get too comfortable – she wasn’t going to wait on him hand and foot indefinitely – his cockiness definitely didn’t need any bolstering. But he just looked so peaceful, like he was right at home and this was the most natural place in the world for him to be. ‘I wonder how mom and dad would feel about taking in a stray cat…’

Originally posted on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org on 03/26/17, reposted here since I want to make my more memorable one-shots available on tumblr.

Pinks and yellows, frills and lace, sparkles and glitter – these were the things cherished most by the merry toddler as she twirled about the room in her favorite dress-up tutu. Today she was Princess Belle, beloved by all her plush animal subjects in the kingdom of her living room. An elaborate spread lay in front of her as she danced, so she was careful to avoid the delicate plastic teacups and the croissant Maman and given her for her afternoon snack. Her world of make-believe was full of sunshine and rainbows, despite the grey and wet atmosphere that hung around her ‘castle’.

Rain began to patter against the windows, but she fancied it to be the sound of the court minstrel striking up a jolly jig for the beloved princess to dance to. As her pace quickened, she became lost in her performance, her adoring subjects cheering for their beautiful leader to dance faster and faster. It was in her fervor that she forgot to carefully check each step before she made it, so when a flash of bright light shone in her peripheral, her distraction cost her an unfortunate misstep and she found herself tumbling headfirst into her tea party. The clap of thunder that followed rattled her nerves even farther, and soon the shock of her fall gave way to the realization that she was in pain, and scary loud monsters were coming to storm the castle.

“Marinette! What’s the matter?” her most loyal knight hastened to her side, leaving his post in the kitchen, where he had been working on preparing that night’s royal feast.
Through sniffles and sobs, the child fell into “Her royal knight, Sir Papa!”’s consoling embrace and first chastised him for getting her title wrong – again. “I’m not Marinette; I’m the princess!”
With a soft chuckle, Papa argued, “Every daughter is a princess, so even if I don’t always call you my princess, you always will be, mon petite Marinette.” Rubbing her nose affectionately with his own until she giggled, he then repeated, “Now tell me, Princess Marinette, what seems to be the trouble?”

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Bloom (2/?)

The story of Captain Swan’s pregnancy, told in many parts. Affectionately nicknamed “The Happiest Pregnancy Ever.”

In this chapter, Henry and Hook discuss brotherhood. Many, many thanks to @unfolded73 for the beta!

[Chapter 1] 

You can also read on AO3!

Chapter 2: Brotherhood

There were few things that made Killian happier than spending the afternoon on the open seas, the wind whipping through his hair, and the smell of salt in the air. He was grateful Storybrooke was a seaside town, allowing him to set out whenever he pleased. Though the pirate in him bristled at having to keep permits and licenses on him at all times, he worked with the law now – Deputy Sheriff Jones, what a title! – and reminded him that he couldn’t enforce the law if he was also breaking it. Killian supposed it was a small price to pay for the happiness he was feeling now. He had a home, a family, and a child on the way. It was everything he thought he would never have.

He wished Liam could see him now.

He was comforted by knowing that his older brother was in a better place now, unburdened by his own unfinished business. However, he wished that he could show Liam how his life had turned out, that he had finally done something right and had carried out the hero’s journey that they both so wanted many years ago.

I hope you’re proud, brother, he thought wistfully.

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you outshine the morning sun, my son

obligatory bit of captain cobra while cleaning out cs wips folder. obligatory hamilton reference. obligatory baby jones. i couldn’t stop myself.

Henry Mills, to be honest, was tired of the crying.

Yes, he was a fifteen-year-old who was just now experiencing the pain of a baby sibling—Roland didn’t count; the child was walking and talking completely normally by the time they met—but he was still terribly annoyed.

Liam was adorable. According to his moms, he looked like Henry himself as a baby. Henry didn’t really see it; Liam looked exactly like Killian except with hair of a lighter brown, more like his. According to Regina, Liam was a much better baby than Henry—she said it with a reminiscent smile just tinged with pain and remembrance.

But good heavens, Liam cried so much.

He spent as much time over at Regina’s as he could, but really he needed to see Emma too. So every now and then he suffered through a night or two of a screaming six pounds of young infant.

He read to the kid as much as he could, since Killian claimed that the boy sometimes actually slept a few hours at night after said story. Therefore, Henry tried to be decent and take Liam off Emma and Killian’s hands for a while so they could get a modicum of sleep. He held the kid in one arm—after Killian showing him how to not drop the wiggling child—and flipped the pages in the book.

He could have sworn that Liam preferred the tale of Charles and Leia without being told that the two were his parents.

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The Art of Remembering (7/?)

Summary: Killian hasn’t seen Emma in months, not since she ran off in the middle of the night. But when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that she’s been in an accident he rushes to be by her side. Nervous and anxious to see her again he’s not sure what to expect—but he definitely doesn’t anticipate that upon waking she would have no idea who he is. Modern au

Word Count: ~4,000

Rating: T

Also on: ff.net, ao3

Catch up: first chapter, previous chapter 

a/n: Thanks for reading (and putting up with angst) Your reviews and kind words about this little story mean the world to me.

Killian usually loves being out on the boats this time of year—the air is cool, and October is beginning to paint the leaves around the harbor brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange. But no matter how breathtaking the scenery around him might be, he doesn’t really see any of it.

Instead his focus remains firmly fixed on the brush in his hand as he scrubs the deck of the Jolly Roger with a bit more intensity than the task actually warrants. With his shirt pushed up to his elbows and his hands wet with suds, Killian pushes and pulls the scrubbing brush with enough vigor to wear a hole through the wood.

But he has to get his frustrations out somewhere, and so the poor deck gets the brunt of it.

His thoughts have been a non-stop torrent all morning long. Racing an incessant path back and forth along his mind as he tries to figure out what to do about Emma and her desire to look at the pictures he has of her.

When she’d innocently suggested it last night—so hopeful and happy at the prospect of triggering more memories—Killian had panicked.

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The Long Way Home (5/10)

I’m so excited to finally get to release this chapter! It contains a few of my favorite scenes, a couple of which you got to preview in the snippets. Be sure to check out the gorgeous art by @waiting-for-autumn that accompanies this installment. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to you all for your continued support. Your comments give me life!

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback.  Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3.  Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut.  Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

The morning air is warm and balmy, but the breeze that greets Swan as she emerges above deck is still a great relief from the stifling heat of the space below.  It’s just over two weeks into their journey, and they’ve crossed into the tropics – the hottest part of the oceans – with the weather growing steadily less comfortable with each passing day.  The crew has taken to seeking shade whenever possible, and today she’s elected to join most of them in going barefoot, her jerkin and gloves also left behind in her berth and her shirttail fluttering loose.  

“’Morning, milady,” Smee calls from above.

She shields her eyes and cranes her head upward to see the bare-headed first mate climbing down the standing rigging. “’Morning, Mr. Smee.”

“It’s going to be a hot one,” he comments, jumping down.  He pulls out his red cap and mops his brow with it before tucking it back into his belt.

Swan rolls up her shirt sleeves, squinting at the eight o’clock sun and leaning her back against the side of the ship.  “Yeah. Is this typical?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve been in this part of the world at this time of the year,” Smee admits, sidestepping a passing crewman to stand next to her.  He leans on the gunwhale and looks out over the azure landscape.  “But this is warmer than I remember.  The men are talking about sleeping on deck tonight.  It’s getting too thick down below.”

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Out of the Frying Pan (40/40)

“Then ask me a straight forward question.”

“You didn’t answer it,” Emma argued. “I asked why you were here and you told me you finished early, but that doesn’t time up at all. You couldn’t have filmed and made it to Gowanus, done much of anything and made it back here by now. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Killian took a step back, eyes narrowing, but his hand didn’t move away from her waist, fingers still tight despite his outstretched arm. “You’re very smart, Swan.”

“What are you doing here?”

AN: Aghhhhhhhhh. I’m just going to scream forever. I can’t believe this is over. You guys have all been incredible and wonderful and a slew of other adjectives and I cannot thank you enough for your response to this story. It has meant the actual world to me. This would be nothing without @laurnorder who is the greatest human and @distant-rose who listens to me whine and makes gorgeous aesthetics for my words. Heap praise upon them, world. 

Also on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr if that’s how you roll. 

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game night

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @optomisticgirl!!!!!! Remember when you asked Emile de Ravin that awesome question about what she and Killian did on the Jolly Roger and it prompted a “do the thing” convo? Well…here’s the thing! I hope you like it and I hope you have a beautiful day—as beautiful as you are, because you deserve it!!!

Summary: The first “sleepover” between Belle and Killian on the Jolly Roger turns into an impromptu board game night. 2.2k.

“Takeout ahoy,” Killian called as he came down the steps to his cabin. Belle was just taking the tea kettle off the Jolly Roger’s tiny stove as he arrived with dinner for the two of them, ready to tuck in for their first shared night on the ship. She was still astonished that he’d offered it, but it was definitely the last place her husband would look—and most likely to sting. And frankly, she found herself in the mood to let him be burned. (Though maybe that was the hormones talking.)

“Looks like you’re settling in okay,” Killian observed, glancing around the room after setting the bag on the already-set table. She hadn’t wanted to impose, but he insisted she make herself comfortable, so she’d stopped by her father’s shop on the way over to grab some bouquets and had placed them around the cabin, along with her few boxes of essentials. There was something a bit wistful in his gaze as he took in the feminine touches she’d added; it took her back to a time when their relationship was so very different from it was now, when he told her of the last woman to take up residence within these floating walls. It suddenly struck her that, in some ways, history was repeating itself.

They both shuddered at that moment, though whether it was from the same thought, or he was shaking off the ghosts of the past, was up for debate (probably both). He looked up at her and smiled, moving on and gesturing to the table. “Shall we?”

Over dinner, they discussed the oddities of living in Storybrooke versus the Enchanted Forest, some of the gossip around town, books they were reading—anything other than the reason she was there in the first place, and it was a welcome reprieve from the worries that consumed her in quiet moments. It truly was astonishing to think how far they’d come, from being caught in a centuries-old rivalry to basically having a sleepover with her best friend. But, she supposed, if anyone in Storybrooke analyzed their lives too closely, none of it would make any sense.

Once the meal was done and trash taken care of, Killian was trying to step around one of her boxes to refill his tea mug, but tripped, knocking it over as he stumbled and partially spilling the contents. She rushed over to check on him—maternal instincts kicked in early, apparently—and he started to apologize, but trailed off as he studied what had slipped out onto the floor. “What are those?” he wondered curiously. She glanced down, and then bit back a chuckle.

Apparently, Captain Hook had never seen a board game before.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d brought them, but it looked like they would be coming in handy. So she bent down to right the box, and eyeballed a few good ones. “Let me show you!”

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Don’t Peek

Summary: Jensen has feelings for the reader, will he get over his nerves and come clean at the gang’s Christmas party?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 2,190

Christmas Request by: @frickfracklesackles

“Ok so…Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Holly Jolly Christmas, Silent Night and Last Christmas. We good with performing those four?” Jason asks lazily strumming his guitar.

“Uh yeah. Let’s add one more though.” Jensen responds, ignoring the immediate feeling of uncertainty that washed over him.

“Ok. Shoot.”

“Christmas (Baby Please Come Home).”

“We’ve never played it before, dude. Do we really need to add it?” Jason lets out a curious laugh eyeing his close friend.

Jensen nods his head determined to pull this off for you. He knows it’s your favorite Christmas song and he really wants to do it justice. He’d do just about anything to make you smile.

“We have an hour to rehearse it before everyone starts showing up. I’m not worried about it.” Jensen waves Jason off hoping his nerves don’t get the best of him.

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Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 105: The Next Phase of the Operation

Fluffy Fridays—Chapter 105: The Next Phase of the Operation

Pairing:  Captain Swan

Rating: T

Summary:  A series of unrelated, fluffy one shots featuring  Killian Jones and Emma Swan and the relationship that makes us all  swoon. Will contain both canon and AU stories. My contribution to  Operation Rainbow Kisses and Unicorn Stickers (aka, my attempt to drown  out the season 4 finale angst with ridiculous levels of fluff.)

Missed the beginning? ( 1) ( 2) ( 3) ( 4) ( 5) (6) ( 7) ( 8) ( 9) ( 10) ( 11) ( 12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (40) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61) (62) (63) (64) (65) (66) (67) (68) (69) (70) (71) (72) (73) (74) (75) (76) (77) (78) (79) (80) (81) (82) (83) (84) (85) (86) (87) (88) (89) (90) (91) (92) (93) (94) (95) (96) (97) (98) (99) (100) (101) (102) (103) (104)

Tagging a few people who may be interested: @sailormew4@annaamell@flslp87@emmateo26@fleurreads @doracianstormrose@mermaidswans@bethacaciakay@ultraluckycatnd@allfangirlallthetime@effulgentcolors, @ilovemesomekillianjones@kat2609@brooke-to-broch@missgymgirl @hellomommanerd @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven@charmingturkeysandwich@jennjenn615 @laschatzi@kimmy46@snowbellewells@iamanneenigma @daxx04 @lapi-lazuli@nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior @in-spirational @gillie@manic-pixiefangirl @britishguyslover@ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst@nofeels@holmes-a-holic@kmomof4 @linda8084


CS Genre: Deleted scene from 6b

Killian rolled over in bed, propped himself up on his bad arm and just looked down at Emma.  She lay sleeping peacefully, her hair piled up on top of her head in a messy knot, her mouth slightly open, her hands tucked beneath her head as she lay on her side facing him.  She wore an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of baggy pajama bottoms to bed, but even so she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Waves of love crashed over him, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and tucking a small fly-away strand of hair behind her ear, his hand resting on her soft, smooth cheek for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Emma smiled slightly in her sleep, murmured his name and then scooted closer to him.  Killian smiled gently to himself, lying back down and gathering her to him until his chest pillowed her head, and her hand covered his heart.  It was her favorite way to sleep.  She said it brought her comfort to hear him breathing, to feel the beat of his heart, to know that he was still there with her.

He would always be there with her.

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Out of the Frying Pan (29/?)

“What’s his deal?” Ariel pressed, nodding towards the hallway. Killian shrugged, tapping his heel loudly and Ariel crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “You learn that from Regina? You tap your foot when you’re angry.”

“That’s never happened in my life.”

“And you do that hair thing. But everyone knows that. Even Emma knew that and that was long before you and her were making out everywhere.”

“No one is making out anywhere.”

“You are. Everywhere. Including in front of the bar last night. You’ve stopped even pretending to care. I don’t mind, but you might want to consider your customers.”

AN: I love Roland Locksley and Ariel and I just want to give Killian Jones all the family he can handle. Here is like…7K worth of that. @laurnorder had a ridiculous amount of typos to fix in this one, so also go tell her she’s awesome. And then tell @distant-rose she makes beautiful aesthetics. 

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed on Tumblr

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