onceratheart18

GIVE IT UP FOR DAY 15

GIVE IT UP FOR DAY 15

GIVE IT UP FOR DAY 15

Sam and Bucky in the very last row:

(secret bonus: the other side of her tag)

it’s been a few weeks, I suppose we should check up on the AHSGSHGAFB?!

ajdhf.

well that’s just,,,

REXCELLENT

HELL

YES

HELL

FUCKING

YES.

HAIL TO THE QUEEN

LONG MAY SHE REIGN!

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Tired of losing Lost Boys to Hook’s sword, Peter Pan decides that the pirate will be replacing the ones he took—the old-fashioned way: by growing (and birthing) them himself. As Killian grapples with these unexpected pregnancies, it will test not only his body and his endurance, but especially his heart. (Eventual Captain Swan)

An: Back again! You may noticed I updated the number of chapters–I apparently can’t count, so that means this chapter is roughly the halfway point. Hope you like it! And thank you again to @sancocnutclub​​ for the inspo :D

rated T / 2.2k / part 1 / part 2 / AO3

Meeting Tinkerbelle was perhaps one of the better things that had happened to him since his arrival in Neverland, even if it took several decades to occur. Granted, their relationship was primarily physical, but they’d struck up a friendship beyond that as well. 

It certainly made things less awkward in the afterglow of their comings together, usually in her treehouse, where they found themselves on one such evening after his return from an out-of-realm trip. 

As the sweat on their bodies cooled, she wrapped the new shawl he’d bought for her in Agrabah around herself as he stood and stretched, then pulled his trousers up. 

“I think you picked up some new tricks while you were away,” she said, leaning back and sighing. “That was fantastic.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he replied with a wink. “Now, I could go for a drink; how about you?”

“I’m good, but it looks like there’s some wine on the shelf over there; help yourself.”

A small bottle sat on top of her equally tiny dresser; even if she was no longer technically a fairy—the reasons of which had yet to be explained, but were really none of his business—she was still diminutive in all things. He picked it up and uncorked it with his mouth, spat out the stopper, then took a long swig. 

“Damn, that’s good,” he assessed; he hadn’t had a decent vintage in decades. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“Not much of a red wine girl,” she shrugged. “Go ahead.”

He took another long pull. “More for me, then.” And in a few more drags, it was empty. 

He settled back on her bed next to her. “Why keep red wine around if you don’t like it?”

“For special occasions,” she teased, then ran her fingers through his chest hair and leaned in to begin Round 2. 

However, they’d hardly gotten past light fondling when Killian’s stomach turned—quickly and violently. He barely got out an apology before he was making a dash for the entrance to her house and losing the contents of his stomach over the side. 

“When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, Either hand On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace Of my face, Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each.”

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. I love you all. 

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Part Four on AO3

“Keep going, love, you’re doing great,” Ruby says, trying to keep Mary Margaret from breaking the bones in her hand. Sweat is caked on everyone in the room, even with the chill in the air. Outside, the rain pounds against the windows, the worst spring storm any of them have seen in years, wind slamming the branches of the trees against the glass. 

“We’re almost there, dear,” Granny says, her voice soft and smooth, and Emma makes the mistake of turning to the older woman sitting at the foot of her friend’s bed. Her hands are coated in a deep red, but she shows no signs of the lightheadedness Emma feels. In the chaos of the room, Granny stays steady, her focus never failing, never distracted by the wind or the weather or the cries of Mary Margaret. 

That’ll be me soon enough, Emma says to herself, distracting her mind by going back to her recent conversation with Granny, just three days before. 

Captain Swan

Not only that—I go back and reread comments when I’m feeling low. I look at tags and reblogs and asks and wish I could hold them in my hand like a note from a friend on an old, torn piece of notebook paper.