#but you can’t tell me that if his wife hadn’t died that he wouldn’t have been a better person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satorena · 16 days

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❛ UNPROFESSIONALISM ! ❜

⟡ content warnings. explicit content. foul language. ceo!satoru. secretary!reader. mentioned past flings. fondlīng. fīngerīng. afab!reader. p in v. unprotected. brēēding. squīrtīng. gojo satoru is his own damn warning. 4.9k.

⟡ serena's note. oh if y’all knew the lengths i went thru just to post this damn fic. . .

“ugh, this is such a painnn!”

“the sooner you finish your paperwork, the sooner you’re off, sir.” you sigh, arms crossed over your chest. you’re used to your boss’ childish antics by now, having worked side by side with him for nearly a year. you check the time on your watch, “work ended about half an hour ago— you might want to hurry up.”

“but y/n!” he drags out your name, voice all whiny and pitched in a telltale manner. he pushes himself off away from his desk, chair rolling back from the impact as he lolls his head back. “this shit is sooo lame. didn’t i hire nanamin to take care of the boring stuff? how come he isn’t here handling this god forsaken load of terrorizing agony?!”

you click your tongue, clutching tighter at the clipboard in your hold. you wonder if he’d been dropped on the head as a child, his lack of self-awareness so painful it makes you reconsider if the check at the end of the week is ever worth it. “he’s scheduled the week off to keep his wife and newborn in check. he signed off about a month ago.”

he snaps his head up so quickly, you’re positive he’s gotten whiplash. gojo blinks at you through big blue eyes and snowy lashes, a dumbfounded look on his face. he lifts his index to scratch at the corner of his lips, and cocks his head to the side, “ahh. . . ‘s that right? wait— nanamin’s a dad?!”

you feel the vein in your head inevitably tick.

“sir,” you let out an exhausted sigh, completely baffled by his ineptitude. he must purposely choose to do this to you, there’s simply no other explanation. “we attended his wife’s baby shower a few months ago—the one you mistook for a bachelor party and had me escorting the escorts back home.” you lift your pointer finger, brows cinched as the memory burns into your mind. he tilts his head to the side, affirming the idea of his cluelessness even more.

you raised a second finger, “we showed up to the hospital to congratulate them on their baby— and you got them that ridiculous cutout board of yourself that sings when you press on the—”

“the button on my dick, yeah!” gojo cackles as if it’s the funniest story ever, as if you hadn’t need to dump a bucket of water on the cutout figure to get it to shut up before he could get his company sued for emotional distress.

you huff, the stressful reminder of that unfortunate day having you anxiously tugging at the hem of your skirt, “yep. that’s the one.” between the baby’s obnoxious cries and exaggerated mecha-gojo moans, you’d rather not think about that encounter.

“and this whole time i figured she was his sister,” gojo snorts, wiping a faux tear from the corner of his eye. he sighs when his laughter dies down, and pulls him chair back into his desk. “man, his wife’s a babe. guess that explains why she looked at me all crazy when i called her fine the other day.”

“you sure that’s the only reason?” you mutter under your breath, the insult flowing off your tongue so naturally that you couldn’t help stopping it, even if you wanted to. that man was all kinds of deranged, his ego and head much bigger than it needed to be.

“ouch, that’s mean, doll.” gojo pouts, clutching at the material of his blazer above his heart. the back of his free hand lands on his forehead as he dramatically leans back into his seat. his eyelids shut tightly, “you’re wounding me. ‘m too young to die. i can’t go on like this— tell my mother i loved her. sign off my will for me, wouldya? make sure to terrorize nanamin some more. oh, and empty out all my search histories. wouldn’t wanna ruin my reputation. and get rid of my porn magazines beneath my bed. ‘ve got some pretty nasty stuff there. and check up on my kid every now and then. and—”

“alright, alright. i apologize.” you cut his rambling off before it spiralled into something far worse. there’s a full headache throbbing at your temple, your feet ache from your heels, and your stomach rumbles in hunger. you’re ready to go home now, but that won’t be possible unless your big man baby of a boss finishes up his task. “i’m sure you’ve a very suitable man. many would be grateful to have you. my apologies, sir.”

he peeks through an eye, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. his beaten-puppy look is quickly replaced by one you know far too well now— the look he gets after beating his rival company in terms of stock. the look he gets after successfully shitting on his higher ups. the look he gets after getting you to cum on his fingers after a long day— you’ve stroked his ego. “i’ve trained you well, princess. always flattering me, ohh, however did i get so lucky?”

whatever have you done to get so unlucky? “time’s ticking, sir. you can’t afford to pick up megumi late from practice again.”

“nanamin’s wife might be a babe, but you’re a gem, y’know?” your boss entirely ignores you, leaning his elbow onto the pile of work he’s now completely erased from his existence. he leans his cheek into his palm, fingertips tapping at the side of his head. “one helluva girl. i mean it— i really lucked out with ya.”

you cross your leg over the other, shifting your hips over the suede material of his couch. you recognize the sultry undertone to his voice, and your clear your throat, “is that so?”

gojo chuckles, flashing you all thirty two teeth, “i mean it’s not everyday you find a woman with your patience. god, you must be in love with me or something.”

you roll your eyes, despite the small smile that creeps up on your lips, “that’s certainly not why i stayed,” which wasn’t entirely true, but it’s not as if you haven’t inflated his ego enough today. “you may be a handful but your pockets sure are generous.”

“wouldn’t kill you to make a guy feel good about himself from time to time, ya know?” he fiddled the black pen between his fingers, twirling the object from knuckle to knuckle. he pauses when you don’t answer, noticing you noticing his finger movements. and so he proceeds with a smirk, “you’re always so tense all the time. . . tell me, when’s the last time you’ve been properly fucked?”

you nearly lose the grip on your clipboard at his audacity, the question throwing you off guard. though, you quickly keep composure— a fierce facade that’s always labelled you as the calm and collected kind. though, you’re doubtful it worked against your own boss.

“that’s an unprofessional question, sir.” you grit through teeth, nails scratching at the wooden back of your board. highly hypocritical of yourself, as you’re absolutely no better than he is— having already opened a window of no return that fateful night you accepted his invite to come inside his home.

“pretty sure we’re past unprofessionalism.” he pushes himself off of his desk, rising to his feet. your eyes trail his movements, from the index finger that hooks at his tie to loosen the knot, to the cock of his head to the side that has his hair bouncing, to the sound of expensive shoes clicking with every stride closer to you.

his presence can be oddly intimidating at times— you’ve noticed while working with him for a while. there’re moments like whenever he steps up on a podium in front of thousands of people, or when the elevator doors slide open and presents him to the building. despite his childish antics, he exudes an aura so enchanting that serves as reminder of that at the end of the day, he’s the boss.

you swallow, eyes following his lean figure until he stops right before you. it’s hard to read him in moments like these, when he’s so unlike himself (or maybe finally truly himself). his hands sit in the pockets of his slacks, legs parted enough to entrap your own legs between his, as he tilts his head forward. his irises darken behind tinted shades, bangs curtaining the raise of an eyebrow.

“unprofessional?” he repeats, and your eyes narrow at him, subconsciously gripping at your board tighter. it’s the only thing that you seem to have control over, since it clearly wouldn’t be this conversation. “you mean like that time i had you creamin’ all over my fingers in the back of my car? or unprofessional like that time you bent over my desk and came all over my face? or was it that night when i had to tie your hands together to keep you from runnin’ away?”

your gaze flickers away from his, the heat of embarrassment creeping from your neck all the way to your face. he wasn’t wrong— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in closer to kiss you instead of pushing him away.

“we’re still at work.” you quip, the last bit of resolve tattering away the longer you feel his eyes on you. your roll your ankle nervously, thighs tightening against another.

“work ended half an hour ago sweetheart, remember?” he reminds you, voice as taunting as ever, and you sure as hell don’t need to see him to know he’s smirking. right side of his lips pulled with a moon crescent dimple on the side— he’s making fun of you. “forgettin’ already? can’t have my adorable secretary so overwhelmed that it’s meltin’ her brain. that should be my dick’s doing only, of course.”

you click your tongue, eyes casting back up to stare him dead in the eye. naturally, he’s already meeting your own, with the same damn smirk you’d predicted, “you have paperwork to finish, sir. better get on that quickly.”

“oh?” he laughs at your command, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest at his hips. he runs his tongue against the top row of his teeth, and you hate the way your mind instantly travels back to days prior when you’d once had that same tongue working in and out of you.

he hums in faux thought, tapping his index against his chin. his lips fall into a pout before instantly stretching back to its default state, his infamous smile, “i suppose you’re right. come help me finish then, hmm? teamwork makes the dream work.”

you’re skeptical— you know him too well, but you’d rather divert the focus of attention from you to those papers. anything to prevent your mind from wandering off further into endless unprofessional possibilities. “lead the way, boss.”

he curtsies dramatically as you rise to your feet, stomping over to his desk. you notice he’s got shit done, and you’ll most likely be here for a minute. and so, you stand next to the chair he’d abandoned and pick up the pen, waiting for him to sit so you both could get started.

only you should’ve known you’d fallen right into his trap the minute you agreed to his ridiculous offer. you feel him pressed up behind you, lurking over your shoulder to study whatever you had going on. he’s unreasonably tall, frame so large it has you feeling frail in his presence, and his cologne so strong you feel it already clouding your judgement.

damn it all.

clicking your tongue, you tilt your head to the side to narrow your eyes, “well? are you not going to sit?”

gojo blinks at you, “how come? i enjoy the view here much better anyway.”

you roll your eyes, before turning back to his desk. he was a complete idiot if he thought you hadn’t already anticipated his next moves. the more your wrist flexes, mumbling the words you read on your sheets as you write them down, the more you felt him. you could feel the back of your thighs meeting the from of his, you could feel his bulge rubbing at your ass, you could feel his warm breath fanning at the slope of your neck.

damn it all.

“sales have risen to a—ahhn!” your pen falters in your grip, scribbling on the white sheet as it hits the desk. your eyelids shut close, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as a warm mouth kisses at that sensitive spot behind your ear. your palm lays flat against the surface of the table, side by side with gojo’s, body tensing as his mouth trails down lower.

“oh you bastard,” you mutter, shaky hand attempting to grab the pen in an unsteady hold. his chuckle rumbles deep from his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your back. you’re determined to stand your ground, despite the urge to push your hips back into him. he may have soft lips and an annoyingly hot voice, but you would not falter— no matter the moisture of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

you think you have it set in stone, the pen in your hold— albeit unsteady— despite his large hand creeping up your thigh. every trail of his touch leaves an electrifying feeling, and you’re sure he’s noticed your trembling knees if the way he subtly slid his leg in between yours to keep you steady said anything.

it’s when you’re ready to scribble out your mistake to replace it that he decides to plunge his canines to your jugular. the moan that erupts from you is squeaky, your hand clutching tightly at the pen as your back arches into his chest from the painful pleasure.

gojo nibbles and sucks at your skin, running his tongue over the throbbing area to soothe the pain, fingers trailing closer to your now aching core. you’re positive your skirt has now hiked up with how much your hips are pushing back into his, head lolled forward.

“aweee, what’s the matter sweetheart? ‘s too much for you already?” gojo coos, sultry voice sending chills from the shell of your ear down to your core, finally slipping his hand inside of your skirt. his fingertips brush at your clothed clit, the material of your thong shamefully damp in arousal. you huff, nails scratching at his desktop when his index and middle finger rub painfully slow circles at your clit. “but we’ve barely done anything? tsk, can’t afford slowing the company down because you’re too distracted to focus.”

your thighs and arms threaten to give out, body heating with lust and desire. you want to say you hate this, that this is against your typical work ethics, to tell him to fuck off and do the work himself. but the focus on your pussy really has you melting puddle, bottom lip tugged on to suppress any louder sounds to escape.

“y-you’re the worst.” you complain, though it fades into another moan when he pushes his thigh up in between your legs. you’re internally thankful, because had this gone any further, you’re certain you would’ve sunken to the floor.

“love you too, pretty girl.” he presses a kiss at your jaw, fingers pushing past your panties. fuck any resolve you’d held onto— you chuck the pen far away, planting both palms down as you allowed him to take control. every rub of his fingers at your clit had you dripping down his thigh, to where your hips shifted and rolled down his leg, dragging out that blissful heat in your gut.

“givin’ up already? y’didn’t put much of a fight this time, can’t say i’m a disappointed.” his free hand grips at your thigh and trails up to your hips, resting at your flesh to guide you down his leg. he’s all too enthralled by your sensitivity, gaze zeroed in on your expressions— from the slackness at your jaw to the way your brows furrow.

“just h-hurry up already,” you grit, eyelashes fluttering as your eyelids lift. your gaze meets his instantly, and gulp at the hungry look in his eyes. his skin is already flushed pink, lips parted as he pants heavily. “you’re no—ngh, better than i am, dickhead.”

“well aren’t ya damn mouthy,” gojo acknowledged, though clearly unbothered, as his fingers pinch at that bundle of nerve. you gasp, cunt clenching as it leaks more of your essence down on him. your head drops back against his shoulder, the slope of your back curving as you grip onto the closest thing in your vicinity— the hem of his blazer. “hm, whatever happened to my obedient secretary? always so polite and respectful, don’t tell me i haven’t trained you enough?”

“m-maybe you haven’t,” you pant, chest heaving as you feel his fingertips teasing the entrance of your folds. they’re slow movements, applying just enough pressure to ignite the spark in your guts but not enough to leave you wanting more. “can’t even do your damn j-job right and you call yourself boss? hah, wonder if mister geto would have this issue— fuuuck!”

“low fuckin’ blow, sweets.” gojo chuckles darkly, now two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. he wastes no time to plunge himself inside, knuckles rubbing at your velvety walls. you clamp down on his digits, desperate to keep him in for the sake of that orgasm you craved. “and here i was ready to put this pretty pussy in my mouth. you’re dickless for a few days and catch an attitude wimme? that’s cold, baby.”

“dickless?” you cock a brow, teeth gritting as you focus all your energy left on delivering your next line. he always got so cocky whenever he had a slight advantage. “a-according to who—ooh, god, shit!”

“ooh god, shit!” gojo mocks you, a third finger now joining the others. he scissors your cunt open, the slick of your arousal simplifying the slide in. you’re dripping down to his palm, so wet despite the front you’re putting up. he knows you love it whenever he angles his fingers at this angle, the one that has you knees weak and ready to fold. “face it sweets, i’m the only one who treats this pussy the way it deserves. see how well she responds to me?”

and you wish you could negate or deny him, but unfortunately, you both know he’s correct. he’s only got his fingers inside of you and you’re already at your limit. your hips eagerly chase his fingers whenever he pulls out just to thrust them back in, the pad of his thumb drawing infinity signs at your clit. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, knot in your tummy tightening from the stimulation.

“nghhh, ‘m gonna cum,” your hand slides down the slope of his forearm till where his wrist begins. you claw at the bone, clutching and grabbing at him eagerly. damn him and his damned fingers— driving you to mush with all six inches. “more, hah, need more— gimme more!”

“manners, pretty baby.” gojo coos at your ear, despite upping his pace. his hands reach all the right spots, pussy desperate to hold out to his fingers as they fuck your cunt open, soaking the digits in your slick. “c’mon girl, what’s the magic word? i know you’ve got it in you.”

“p-please! pleasepleaseplease—” you’re cut off by your own gasp as the dam in your stomach finally breaks. you leak on his fingers, squirting your juices as your muscles convulse, walls entrapping him in. your back arches away from him and you grasp at anything in your reach, your mouth gaped. you’re cussing like a sailor, vision blacked out beneath your eye lids as your hips twitch and stutter against gojo’s ruthless pace.

your high washes down, as you lose feeling in your limbs, falling face down to the desk. your skin is moist with heat, mouth parted as drool coats the abandoned paperwork beneath you. your body twitches with oversensitivity, thighs quaking as your last few spurts spray all over gojo’s thigh.

“don’t tell me you’re all worn out from a little foreplay?” your boss teases, his free hand delivering a blow onto your ass cheek. it recoils as you jolt, snivelling like a baby. you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, slacks falling next and pooling at his ankles. the next few moments happen in a blur, but sooner than you’d realized, you’d been turned onto your back with your legs propped over his shoulders and your folds were being played with again, the overstimulation having your toes curling in your heels.

“anddd there we go,” gojo strokes at his bricked cock, your essence serving as lube to coat his dick. he drags his fist from the base of his shaft to the tip, both your fluids and his pre cum mixture softening the jerk. “you fuckin’ water park. jeez, maybe i should plug this tiny cunt to prevent any further leakage, yeah?”

“fucking hurry already!” you don’t whine, or so you hope, though the grip of your legs at the back of his neck does tighten. with your skirt hiked up and your panties pushed to the side, gojo has a clear view of your twitching pussy, a hole designated intentionally just for him. he can already feel the cum in his balls ready to burst and fill your womb.

“and back to mouthy she goes,” he chuckles, using the leverage of his hand at his cock to slap his dick at your folds. the impact causes you to whimper, your hands clutching at the border of the desk. you wish you could wipe that smirk off his face, but fuck if the way he didn’t rub himself against you arouse you in ways that would surely haunt you after the orgasmic high faded away.

“take a deep breath for me baby, kay?” gojo instructs, thumb brushing over the skin above your hip bone, and before you’re able to retaliate, he slides in his dick.

his length is nothing to scoff at, and although you’ve already dealt with it in the past, all that prepping he’d done earlier seemed in vain. he bottoms out quickly, balls deep into you cunt. both your moans blend in harmony, overlapping one another as you settle with the aching stretch. your pussy clenches around his cock uncontrollably, both eager to push and pull him away.

“shittttt,” he whines throatily despite the huge grin on his lips. the flush pampering his skin has gotten significantly deeper, pale brows furrowed to the centre of his forehead. his hands grip at your plush thighs, fingers digging deep into your skin, surely enough to leave bruises. the bastard— he knew you’d be forced to wear your own slacks tomorrow to avoid suspicions.

“no fuckin’ way ‘m already set to bust— hah, fuck, what in the magical pussy is this?” gojo groans, snowy hair bouncing with his head thrown back. the tighter you grip at his cock, the tighter he grips at your thighs and the deeper his breaths are.

you push yourself up to your elbows, giggling at the irony of the situation. “already huh? so it wasn’t the liquor’s fault last time.” surely you were no better, entirely stimulated and body excreting all kinds of fluids from all over, but the ball was now in your court, and you planned on taking advantage. “s-should’ve known.”

naturally, he doesn’t rise to your bait, instead moving his hips away from yours, slowly dragging his cock out until the only part left in your cunt is his pink tip. “don’t make me make you eat your words, sweets.”

you raise your hand and rest it right above his pelvis, eyes set straight on his. you’re both clearly eager and ready to go, but you still had your dignity to uphold. you drag your palm upwards his torso, nails trailing up his button-up top teasingly before clutching at his tie. with the strength left in you, you yank him down and closer to you.

the shift in position stirs his dick in your cunt, knees now pressed closer to your chest. he hovers over you, a newfound look in his eyes you aren’t ready to divulge into—he was a very expressive man after all. both your lips ghosts one over another, breaths hot and mingling. you feel fuzzy, all senses fucked but collectively drawing at a same conclusion: wanting him to fuck your brains out on this desk.

“fuckin’ hell that was sexy.” it almost comes off a whisper, his tone breathless as his eyes bare deep into your. you feel the warmth of his hands fading away in favour to cup at your waist.

you tilt your head to the side, nose grazing against his. your fingers fiddle with the hem of his tie, despite never breaking the eye contact. “you gonna rock my world now?”

nothing more has to be said as he engulfs your mouth into his, knocking the wind out of you. his tongue explores the warm cave of your mouth, no inch left untouched. you moan and kiss him back just as eagerly, sliding the hand from his neck tie to his nape. your fingers thread through his soft locks, nails scratching his scalp and tugging at the roots.

he whimpers pathetically, the pain sending courses of arousal straight to his dick as his hips slam right back against yours. his thrust is rough and deep— leaving you gasping, as he takes the opportunity to kiss you even deeper while simultaneously working on his strokes.

the curve of his cock reaches even deeper than his fingers could manage, rubbing at your gummy walls and stretching them even wider. the sounds of your bodies connecting, your skins slapping, both your fluids mixing— everything felt so wanton, so filthy. he was everywhere, so far in your stomach you swear you could feel him in your throat.

the stretch of his cock at your pussy sent a fiery feeling spreading towards all of your limbs. the squelching of your pussy tightening and clenching at his dick filling the room. he soon picked up his pace, railing into you with every fibre in his body, loving the way your body bounced up in reaction to his thrusts.

“s-shit, oh fuck— don’t stop, ngh, right there!” you begged, throwing your head back against the hard surface. you’d given up on trying to keep your eyes open, the intensity of his dick ramming into your guts so fierce, you’d never felt anything like it.

he takes a sharp inhale of breath, followed by a whiny exhale. you were driving him insane, your sloppy cunt greedily clamping on his dick as if it were its lifeline. “suckin’ me in so tight, shitttt baby, ‘s like you want me to fill this perfect pussy full of my nut.” he dives his tongue deeper into your mouth for extra measure. you’re in a turmoil of multiple emotions at once but you kiss him back— until your lips feel tender and your mouth tastes of his breath.

he was annoyingly intoxicating, whether you wanted to admit it or not. your body spoke every word you were ashamed to say, responding with his own almost too perfectly.

when he slips his thumb to toy at your clit, your toes curl in your shoes and you’re accustomed to the oncoming feeling all too well, nails clawing at his skin. your words come out all fumbled mixed with tongue and drool, “s-satoru, i— ‘m gonna, don’t you stop— fuck ‘s too much— hnng!” you pull away just slightly, eyes all dazed as they roll to the back of your skull.

“shit, oh shit, me too,” he swipes at the drool dribbling past your mouth. from there, he plants more kisses at your skin, nibbling at every inch of you. he’s rutting like a madman, pace unforgiving as he focuses on that same spot that has you mindless. he finds you prettiest when you’re this way— all obedient for him. “my pretty girl— where do i— fuck, where—”

“inside.” as if you’d wanted to kill him, just as quick the word left your lips, he emptied his balls in your cunt. he sobs, his orgasm wracking over his entire body as he slams and fills your pussy full of him. the mixture of sounds is downright sinful, and whether it’d been the focus on your clit or his inhumane stamina, you soon met your similar end.

you cream on his dick once more, legs trembling as your second orgasm washes over you. your mind gone dumb, you do nothing but lay as you take the pounding inflicted on your worn out pussy. with each stroke you see stars, breasts juggling at the match of his pace. it’s damn near painful, but in the best enjoyable way. you feel yourself getting fuller by the second as you spray more of your arousal onto him.

the high eventually comes down for you both, the room reeking of sex. you’re both panting heavily, muscles twitching from overexertion. you couldn’t recall the last time you’d been fucked to the point of a momentary blackout— but you’d be damned if you’d ever let him know. he was too busy crying over your cunt anyways.

after a moment of silence, “. . .shit.”

“what?” you hum tiredly, rubbing the back of your hand to your tired hands. god, you could barely muster enough energy to do just that. what did this man eat?

he skips a few beats, before sheepishly chuckling, the hand that’d once been tracing patterns at the skin of your thighs now moving to your side. your gaze follows his movements, and it’s only when he retracts his hand does your heart sink to your chest.

“we definitely fucked these papers up.”

. . . shit.

io baby.. if you ever end up reading this i did it :c

#stargirl★rena.#jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n

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evita-shelby · 8 months

Note

Hi, hello

This is my first request ever, please ignore my spelling mistakes if there's any, I'm French so...

So how abt the femreader /OC (as you want) has an illness and is destined to die but Tommy pursue her and falls in love with her anyway and then she dies and we see how he copes. I'm a sucker for angst.

Thank youuu

You are welcome 😊

I cried so hard i ran out of tp to clean my snot.

Promise

Gif by @manie-sans-delire-x

Cw: death, illness, grief, suicidal thoughts

You hoped he’d forget about you while he was in France, but when he stepped down that platform he was as in love with you as when he had left.

You had broken things off with him before he even left and yet he returned to you as if nothing changed.

No matter how much you tried, Tommy never left your side.

Eventually you had to tell him the truth.

You were dying.

You had a year at most, the tumor was not operable, and it wouldn’t be long before you were dead.

“I can’t leave you, love, not when you need me most.” He had said as he held your face in his hands.

And he hadn’t.

Not when the barmaid showed up and made it clear to all that she wanted him, not when he provoked Kimber and certainly not when Campbell threatened to have the hospital deny you care if he didn’t give him the guns.

Campbell hadn’t expected you to laugh and spit at his face, “Do it, do your fucking worst, Inspector. I am dead anyways.”

You were dying, but you were never going to let Tommy and his dreams die with you.

You had a year.

And you had decided that your last wish was to see Tommy get the hell out of here and be the great man you know he is.

This you tell him as the two of you stand as witnesses for Freddie Thorne and his sister, Ada.

He couldn’t say no to you, he said so as you tied his tie for him and told him to drive you and Ada to the courthouse where Freddie was waiting with his cousins and a rabbi.

“It could be us up there,” he said quietly knowing you’d say no.

“Ask me again in a year.” You love him, and that is why you refuse to tie him to you like that.

Time passes slowly, you encourage him to pursue Grace because he needs the distraction. There was something there, on her side at least.

Not that he budged, said he didn’t need anyone else. Not when he had you.

“I’m going to marry you.” He says the words you feared the most. He did never learn to let go, even when death took those he loved most, he stood there refusing to let go.

“Tommy, I do not want to tie you to me like this. Not like this.” You plead for him to move on weeks later when he takes the barmaid to the races.

“I’m gonna marry you, when you go, I want you to go as my wife, y/n.” he vowed just as you vowed to see him succeed.

You supposed that is what had you say yes.

He wants to do things proper, keeping almost every tradition and custom in place that you find to your liking. Whatever you want for your big day, he and Polly make it happen.

Its sweet and thoughtful you think as he gets the two of you on a table at the Garrison and announced to all that the two of you will be getting married.

He had bought you a ring, a Claddagh ring like the one his mum had worn. Only difference was that the other one was lost in the Cut and yours had a red garnet heart to represent his love and devotion to you.

Tommy was a romantic, no matter what he did to hide it.

You dance in the dark of your room nights later to some old record your mama had since she settled here with your father.

“We could always elope, go somewhere just us and come back like our parents did.” He suggests and you nod.

As much as you’d like to do things properly, you’d rather get the things on your list done before you meet your maker.

Besides, that trip to Liverpool before the war had been lovely and you’d like to see the sea again before you go.

“I’d like that.” You say and that next morning the two of you set off to Liverpool like the wild teenagers the two of you used to be.

The wedding is lovely even if it happens in front of strangers, but the weekend the two of you spend as newlyweds is enough to make you forget your time is running out.

Perhaps when your health becomes worse you could return here, die somewhere beautiful away from everything.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” He admits as the two of you lie down on a blanket and enjoy the sun on your faces on your last day here.

“Once its over, we should come back here.” You say as if you knew for sure you’d be alive by then.

Zilpha Lee saw your death in the first chills of December. A black star and blood on Tommy’s heart.

It was late July now.

Only five months left in your clock. And you were going to make the most of it.

And you did, you danced at John and Esme’s wedding like there was no tomorrow. You gave the barmaid a good enough thrashing she never even got to call the police on Freddie and when little Karl was born it hurt your heart to know you would never have this with Tommy.

You wept like a baby in his arms as everyone celebrated down at the pub.

“Promise me you will love again.” You dry your tears and make him swear to live for you.

He cannot die with you, you refuse to let him.

“Don’t make me promise that, love, I’ve only ever loved you.” He shook his head, refusing to even think of a life without you in it.

It becomes the first of October that night.

You can’t hide your illness no matter what you do. A girl from the neighborhood is hired to help you and from your bed you play cupid between the sweet but never spineless Linda and the most unlikely dashing knight, Arthur.

When they finally go out ---with Finn to keep things proper--- it is late November.

And as if by magic, you are bursting with energy enough to leave your bed and make sure there is no loose string left by December 1st.

You are laughing with Polly over something when you see it in Tommy’s carefully annotated diary.

A black star on December 3rd.

He plans on having everything done by then, to deal with Kimber and Campbell that same day and spend the rest of your time on earth in a cottage by the sea.

It was supposed to be a surprise until you answered a call back from the woman renting it.

If only you could live long enough to get there.

But you won’t.

Zilpha had said on the day of the Black Star.

On December 3rd your time was up.

And you had fulfilled your mission, on that day Tommy would have reached the first step towards getting the hell away from here.

Only Polly knows what transpired during that meeting with Zilpha Lee and she holds you as your heart breaks all over again.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” You ask her as she holds you tight enough to put you back together again.

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Just like I told Martha Strong I’d take care of her boys and John’s Martha as well.” The older woman promised you as she gave you her Black Madonna.

Its is December 3rd when Tommy leaves the house as giddy as a boy on boxing day.

“After this it will be just us in that little cottage by the sea, love.” He had promised kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

And there wouldn’t be.

The moment the bullet strikes his chest, you collapse at his desk and never rise again.

By the time Jeremiah lets him go, you are gone.

That night, after the undertaker has taken you away to prepare you for burial, he takes your ring, a bottle of whiskey and his gun.

When he pulls the trigger, there are no bullets and he curses you for leaving and refusing to let him leave with you.

He wakes up in Charlie’s Yard, with his aunt and uncle wearing black for mourning.

“I promised her I’d take care of you, don’t make break that promise, boy.” Polly said as she helped him back on his feet.

After your funeral he leaves for the seaside, hoping to have the peace and quiet to finish what he started and yet as he sits there in ghe sand looking at the ring he gave you, he remembers your voice making him swear to live for you.

And he does.

On December 3rd 1922, he returns to the beach with May Carlton now wearing your ring on her finger.

“Thank you.” He whispers to the wind.

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader

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marshmellowrio · 2 months

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Flight of the Night | Chapter 4

A/N: A bigger one, this scene goes on forever, ughh. This hasn't been proofread, like every other chapter I have posted (oops?).

Word count: 3.5K

I watch as Feyre addresses Azriel, “How did you meet?” Azriel turns to look at Cassian, I follow his gaze. Cassian is a way better storyteller than Azriel, that’s fact.

“We all hated each other at first.” A grin ghosts over his lips as he starts, his eyes flickering between the four of us, Illyrians. “We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians… We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them.” He holds my gaze before continuing, pointing a thumb in Azriel’s direction. “Az, was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.” I see the casual shrug of his shoulders for what it is, a way to dampen the vicious, ancient anger raging through his veins at the thought of his mother. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

“Like the daemati,” Rhys says to Feyre, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things other can’t.”

Something I have been wary of for centuries. Being secretive around Azriel was a feat not easily accomplished.

Cassian continues, “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

“They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff,” Mor snorts.

“Oh, definitely,” Cassian says, his grin sharpening. “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

A silence falls, simmering anger hanging like a cloud in the air.

“The Illyrians,” Rhys cuts in smoothly, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel’s vacant eyes lock on mine, my face schooled in a stone-cold expression.

“They’re barbarians,” Amren says and neither of the males object.

I keep silent as Mor nods. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

Rhys cringes. “My mother was low-born, and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are… clipped. Just a small incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” I tell myself to keep breathing, keeping the memories at bay and listen to the story. A story I’ve heard countless times, but never becomes easier. “And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother trashing and fighting like a wildcat, and… The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Misted?” Confusion laces her voice. As Cassian chuckles sharply.

Rhys floats a lemon wedge into the air and flicks his finger, turning it into citrus-scented mist. I lean forward to catch the look on Feyre’s face, she takes misting entire beings better than I did the first time. She hasn’t seen him do it yet, but the insinuation of it, was enough to make me still when I realised the extent of Rhys’s powers.

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys goes on, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.”

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbles. I cast my head down, he never did me wrong. But his methods could be…harsh.

“At least he liked you,” Rhys counters. “my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other.” I grimace, I sometimes wonder how often a mating bond is set between two beings while they’re not right for each other. “My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

“She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws,” Mor says, swirling her wine. Azriel finally looks away from me and I let loose a breath, his memories finally clearing. I have no doubt I was involved in that memory from the way he had stared for the past few minutes.

“That, too,” Rhys adds drily. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

“She abandoned you?” I understand Feyre’s deduction but it still has me narrowing my eyes.

“No—never,” Rhys says, with as much ferocity as I felt for his mother’s memory. “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Cassian laughs, catching the look on Feyre’s face. “Backward, like he said.”

“I was scared out of my mind,” Rhys admits. “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” His eyes flit to me and I give him a lopsided grin. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible—the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.”

“So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord,” Mor teases.

Rhys rolls his eyes. “The camp-lord banned me from using my magic for all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.”

“You were so clean,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes.” I snort, I can totally imagine young Cassian thinking like that.

“Cassian,” Azriel’s dark voice cuts in, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” The flatness in his voice revealed how much he cared for the Illyrian ways.

Cassian chuckles, he had a completely different experience, just as horrifying, but different. “I’d beaten every other boy in our age group twice over already, but then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

From my side of the table, I see Feyre flinch.

“They do worse, girl,” Amren cuts in, “in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

“Your mother willingly sent you into that?” Feyre asks with a soft voice. She has a lot to learn about Illyrians and their customs, I think to myself.

“My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” Rhys says. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me; to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

“Those mountains,” Azriel adds, his hard gaze locking on mine again, “offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.” I know he still feels guilty about what happened to me, but I only duck my head not being able to bear his loaded gaze.

“After my lessons,” Rhys ignores the exchanged looks, “my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

“Apparently not,” Cassian takes over. “Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed.” She had done some good for all of us. “I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

“And you were friends after that?”

“No—Cauldron no,” Rhys says. “We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian’s grin stretches as he reaches around Amren to clap Azriel on his shoulder. A sigh falls from the shadowsinger’s lips and I smile fondly at the two of them. “A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even fly thanks to—”

I clear my throat interrupting him as Mor lazily cuts in, “Stay on track, Cassian.” He looks at the both of us, the apologize clear in his eyes, but he shrugged feigning indifference to Feyre. Mor kept her eyes on Cass as I shifted mine to Azriel, noting the tense shoulders and faraway look in his eyes.

“Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.” Cassian finishes their story and I turn to Feyre.

“Do you have any gifts? Like—them?” She jerks her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

“A volatile temper doesn’t count,” Mor says and I grin at her, sometimes I wonder if we spent too much time together. Or if it’s Cassian that’s so predictable.

“No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” I lean forward at the same time as Rhys, but Cassian continues, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” I roll my eyes at that.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren says.

“Repulsive,” Mor clicks her tongue and I laugh softly.

Cassian only shrugs. “Rhys’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He taps his Siphon with a finger. “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

I feel Feyre’s eyes slide to me, probably remembering I am pure-blooded Illyrian. Cassian notes her gazing as well and confirms her suspicions. “ This fucking priss of a lady, as Rhys said, is the only pure-blooded Illyrian out of the four of us.”

“Shouldn’t you let her tell her own story?” I raise an eyebrow at Azriel’s low voice intercepting.

“If you are wondering,” I turn to Feyre properly. “I am not one of those, born and bred for that killing power.”

“You were bred for it.” Cassian intercepts, pointing out the fault in my statement.

I hum lowly, “While that may be true, sadly, for my parents anyway, I was born female. Not the son they wanted. My father is a camp-lord,” I see Feyre mentally note the present tense. “Although I was bred to kill, he wouldn’t allow me to train. He’s very traditional in that sense.”

Feyre’s gaze moves to my wings, trying to see if I bear any clipping marks, not that she’d know what to look for. Her scrutiny makes me tuck them tighter against me, straining the muscles as usual. “I haven’t been clipped.” Her gaze snaps up again to meet mine, my face void of emotion. ‘Rhys’s mother helped me in that matter, got me the illegal herbs she used herself when she was younger, stalling my cylcle. She helped me, along with these three, get away when my first bleeding came.”

“You got away.” It’s not a question. I frown, it doesn’t feel like that.

Cassian says, “Oh, she got away, alright.” Amren shoves his broad shoulder and I’m thankful for her respect for me.

“Something like that.” I respond to Feyre. Rhys and Azriel flinch in unison, I might’ve never actually talked about it, but they know.

Feyre furrows her brows, not able to hide her curiosity as to what went down all those years ago.

I don’t answer her questioning gaze, opting to stare at Rhys instead, I do not want to get into that with her on her first day with us. No matter how open Cassian is with her.

Azriel breaks the silence, taking over another part of the story. “Over a decade later, the War came. And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

“My father,” Rhys says, swirling his wine, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

Cassian snickers. “So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Turns out he already had Lyss in his tight quarters so she didn’t pose a threat to him. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They’d send around casualty lists among the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—”

“That is a story for another time,” Rhys says sharply, making me lift my brows. We all had our boundaries in sharing past memories. Cass might be the most open one but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell her everything, there are some things even he wouldn’t tell her upon first meeting. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of three females and two Illyrian bastards.”

“What—what happened to them , then?”

Rhys shrugs. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

“Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?” Feyre asks.

“In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.”

“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor says as all are faces grow tight, thinking about that horrid place.

“Ans what is this court?” Feyre gestures to all of us, and the darkness clears.

It was Cassian, who answers with bright eyes, “The Court of Dreams.”

Feyre contemplates for a moment. “And you?” She says, and I know it’s directed to us females.

Amren merely says, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.” Always a person of little words.

Mor leans back in her seat and I focus on her. “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor says, twisting a curl around a finger. “So I got out.” I almost scoff at the simplicity of that statement. Her escape from the Hewn City was as simple as mine from the Illyrian camp.

I take a breath, “My father was camp-lord when those three were in the camp. Cassian was a nuisance, he followed me around everywhere to annoy my father. Even as a five-year-old he knew how to get on someone’s nerves.”

Cassian’s grin only reveals truth as he takes over. “And when Rhys and Az came to the camp, they joined in.” I purse my lips at his statement. “But she had fire, handed our asses to us, multiple times. Her father might’ve not let her train, that didn’t mean she didn’t find a way to do so anyway. Slowly, the annoyance turned into acceptance that we weren’t going to leave her alone as long as it meant pissing off her father.”

“He still seethes whenever we join her in the camp.” Rhys adds.

I smirk, “He still seethes because I outrank him now.” I hold Feyre’s gaze and see she knows there’s more to the story than what we’re telling, so I give her another crumble. “I am Cassian’s Second, Colonel of the Illyrian armies.”

A/N: Let me know what you thought! Maybe any theories on how this story is going to progress? Obviously this is a romance fanfic (I'm sorry if you didn't realise that already), but I wanted to give my character some depth and not just have her exist because of her love interest. Do keep in mind this is a slow-slow-burn. It will be some time before we will be happy go lucky, not to say that there won't be any tension. Because there will be, a lot of it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment saying so!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

#acotar #acotar imagine #acomaf #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #rhys acotar #morrigan #mor acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar series #cassian acotar #flight of the night

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 1 month

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Baltimore Part One (Will Graham)

Description: Will and his wife have a plan to take Hannibal's house from him

Warning: Oral sex

Word Count: 1,720k

I loved Hannibal. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. But was I in love with him? My husband and I were both teachers and helped the FBI with cases. Will had this special power that he could see how people died and give it in very specific detail. Each time it seemed we’d catch somebody there was a copycat killer. Will had started seeing this physiatrist named Hannibal Lector. He was rich and had a huge mansion. He was very smart and helped us on these cases. He seemed to have everything. “He wants us to come over for dinner.” Will had told me. I was excited once I heard he was a good cook. We had gotten dressed up for the dinner as Hannibal requested.

I had a nice red dress that went down to my legs and showed some of my chest. Will didn’t have anything crazy fancy but we managed to make it work. I watched as he buttoned up the fancy dress shirt that I had gotten him for our anniversary years ago. We have been together since we were 16. He is the best man I've ever met and I love him so much. He looked so good in the shirt that it made me melt. I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You look wonderful baby.” He told me. I blushed everytime he complimented me. “But you look very sexy in this shirt.” I told him. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I wanna rip it off you.” His breathing picked up some and I gave him a little bite on his ear. “You can’t say things like that to me when we have somewhere to be.” He says.

Hannibal made us some really fancy dinner that I hadn’t heard the name of before. He had the most expensive wine and a crazy big kitchen. The food was amazing as was the wine. I closed my eyes and almost moaned at how good everything was. “You are a wonderful cook Mr.Lector.” I said to him. “Hannibal please and thank you!” He was also very handsome and charming. I loved Will but damn there was something about Hannibal. His accent was incredible and sexy. The fact that he could cook added to it. Will and him talked about the case we were currently working on as I ate the dinner in silence not really caring about the case right now. “So Will tells me you are very smart and almost went to Harvard.” Hannibal says now turned to me. I blush and chuckle “Yes but I took a different path.” I say. “Teaching is it?” I nodded as I chewed the rest of my food. “At least you’re putting your talent to good use.” “Cheers to that.” Will said, holding up his glass. I laugh as they both do it.

“Dinner was lovely Hannibal thank you for having us.” I said as we were leaving. “Thank you for coming Mrs. Graham.” “Y/N please.” He smiled and nodded. We left his big mansion and sighed. “It would be amazing to live in a house that big, especially with the dogs.” Will said. “Yeah it would.” I say.

I looked at Will like he was crazy. “You think Hannibal is doing all of the killings?” I asked him. “Y/N/N he isn’t the copycat he’s the chesapeake ripper.” I couldn’t believe what my husband was saying. Why did he think that Hannibal was the Chesapeake ripper? “Will that’s crazy. I mean what evidence do you have to support that?” I asked. “Babe, I've seen him do it in my visions and he drugged me.” I wanted to laugh at the first part but in reality Will’s visions were spot on. “How do you know he drugged you?” I asked. “I remember everything now from that night I couldn’t.” I felt like I had to believe him but he sounded crazy. “Ok let’s just say he did and is the Chesapeake ripper. What are we gonna do about it?” He shrugged. “Tell Jack?” I laughed at him “Baby he is sucking Hannibal’s dick. He wouldn’t believe that.” He sighed. “Maybe you’re right.” He said.

I stood in shock as the cops arrested Will. My body was frozen and my mouth was wide open. I couldn’t move as they took him away from me. Why the fuck was Will getting arrested? He didn’t even do anything. “He murdered all those people Y/N.” Jack said. Yet I knew he didn’t even believe that. “Bullshit and you know it Jack.” I said, “All the evidence points to him.” He tells me. “Hannibal did the killings, Jack not my husband.” I say. “Was that something Will got in your head?” I rolled my eyes. I’d rather Hannibal be in prison than my husband. “He might not remember doing it either.” Will did sleepwalk but I was always there with him. “I wanna speak to my husband, Jack.” I say ignoring him.

“God I miss you so much, being in here is a nightmare.” He tells me. I smile at him and sigh. “And how do you think I feel?” I asked him. “Sleeping alone, Having to wake up alone, having to touch myself.” I whisper the last part and he groans. “Trust me babygirl when I get out of here you won’t ever have to do that again.” I was dripping at his words. “Can’t wait.” He smiles. “So did they find evidence on Hannibal?” He asked. “No. They don’t even believe he would do something like that.” I say. “Oh but I would?” “Will I know you didn’t and whether or not I believe you about Hannibal, I'd rather him be in here than you.” “Yeah me too.” I hated seeing him locked up like this. “Maybe he’d let us take care of his house for him.” I joke but I saw something in Will’s eyes change. He didn’t say anything but I felt the tension.

“Will, are you kidding me? You hired someone to kill Hannibal?” I asked him. “He’s the reason I’m in here.” “So that doesn’t mean you get to have him killed!” “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.” He tells me. “What did I say?” I said a lot of things to him the other day. “About his house.” My eyes widened a bit. I was joking about it and after I said it Will had a different look in his eyes. “Will that was a joke I don't think-” “But it’s genius.” He shifted on the seat a bit. “Think about it. With all the dogs we have and the room we need.” Maybe he was dark and maybe he did kill all those people. “How would we go about this?” I was very curious about his plan. “We’d play him Y/N. We’d be friend him, fuck him, make him think he has us under his wing.” “Fuck him? You’d fuck another man?” I asked. He chuckled. “If it meant we’d have that house. I deepthroat him.” He told me with a very serious look in his eyes. “Well you’d let me watch right?” I asked with my lip in a pout. He chuckled and nodded. “Of course baby.”

Once Will was out of jail the plan was in action. Hannibal Lector’s house would be ours. “So I was thinking about how we’d go about this even further.” He tells me. “We act like we are having trouble in our marriage.” I hated that he thought of that. “Babe there’s other ways to do this.” I say. “But he’d think we are vulnerable. And that’s what we need.” He says. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around with neck. “It’s gonna be so hard to act like that baby. It better be worth it.” I say. “It will be baby.” “Oh and I wanna make the last move in our plan.” He shrugged. “Of course baby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He says.

I started seeing Hannibal days later. He agreed to be my psychiatrist after I told him that Will and I were having marriage problems. Will has been telling him that too. “He just doesn’t fuck me like he should anymore.” I say. “But he still fucks you?” I shrugged. “Barely. It’s all about him.” That wasn’t true, Will was a great lover. “I guess I just need to be fucked like I should be.” I made eye contact with him after. He clears his throat. “Are you implying something Mrs. Graham?” He asked. I stand up “Y/N and Do you think i’m implying something Hannibal?” I walk closer to him. “Well it appears to be that way.” I got on my knees in front of him. “What are you going to do about that doctor?” I asked. My hands take the notebook out of his hands and set it down. I undo his pants and pull his dick out. He was already hard. I started jerking him off and he groaned. I look up at him and smirk. He was breathing hard and his eyes were closed. Without warning I take him into my mouth and slowly take him to the back of my throat. His hands grabbed my head and forced me to take him deeper. I held back a gag as his dick was down my throat a little. He gasped out as I swallowed around him. He was twitching and his hips started moving. I could tell he was close. “Fuck i’m close.” He grunted and I went faster. Within seconds he was yelling out my name as his cum went straight down my throat. I swallowed all of it and pulled off him. After a few seconds he put himself back in his pants and adjusted himself. “Well that was something.” I smirked at him and stood up. “See ya next week Doctor.”

“So how was it?” Will asked me as I took off my shoes and greeted the dogs. “I sucked his dick.” I told him as I sat next to him. “How’d he taste?” I shrugged. “Like victory.” He laughed at my words and wrapped an arm around me. “Like in a few months that house will be ours.”

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen #will graham #will graham x reader #hannibal imagine #will graham x you #will graham smut #hannibal smut

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mxtxfanatic · 5 months

Text

Gossip Following the First Siege (and Where They Are Directly Debunked)

1st Lie:

“Rejoice, rejoice! Say, which hero dealt the finishing blow to the Yiling Laozu?”

“Who else could it be? His shidi, Chief Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan!

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

Debunked:

“But that’s not what I heard. I thought one of his evil tricks backfired and he was shredded to pieces by those ghosts of his. Some say that they bit and tore at him so viciously that by the end of it, his body was no more than a slurry of flesh and bone dust.”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

“Jiang Cheng, Clan Chief Jiang, brought people to encircle and besiege the Burial Mounds. He killed you, sir.”

“I have to clarify this. He didn’t kill me. I died because one of my techniques backfired.”

–Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

2nd Lie:

“Exactly! He thoroughly deserved it! If the Jiang Clan hadn’t taken him in and raised him, that Wei Ying would have spent his whole life as a worthless vagrant. What else is there to say? The old Chief Jiang raised him like his own son, yet he betrayed them and made an enemy of everyone. Not only did he humiliate the Jiang Sect, he killed nearly all of the Jiang Clan! He’s the definition of an ungrateful, treacherous bastard!”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

Debunked:

Wei Wuxian was the son of a servant of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, Wei Changze, and a wandering cultivator, Cangse Sanren. Jiang Fengmian and his wife were both close acquaintances of his mother and father, but Jiang Fengmian had never reminisced about his old friend in front of Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Fengmian’s wife, Yu Ziyuan, had never been interested in having a conversation with him at all. If she didn’t whip him a few times and tell him to get out, kneel at the ancestral shrine, and keep far away from Jiang Cheng, he already considered that pretty good.

–Chapt. 29: Morning Dew II, fanyiyi

Jiang Fengmian nodded, “Well done.”

[Wei Wuxian] was able to kill a four-hundred-year-old beast at the mere age of seventeen. It was much more than a ‘well-done’.

–Chapt. 56: Poisons, exr

Jiang FengMian stared into his eyes. Suddenly, he reached out. Only after pausing in the air did he finally touch Jiang Cheng’s head, slowly, “A-Cheng, be well.”

Wei WuXian, “Uncle Jiang, if anything happens to you, he won’t be well.”

Jiang FengMian turned his eyes to him, “A-Ying, A-Cheng... you must look after him.” ... In his heart, Jiang Cheng knew clearly that back in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter at Dusk-Creek Mountain, even if Wei WuXian hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, the Wen Sect would have found some reason to come over sooner or later. But he had always felt that, if the whole thing with Wei WuXian didn’t happen, maybe it wouldn’t have been so soon, maybe there would’ve been some way to turn things around.

—Chapt. 58: Poisons, exr

3rd Lie:

“Not only that, Jiang Cheng tolerated that arrogant, up-jumped servant for ages... Even if you grew up with them and loved them like a brother, you can’t show people like him any mercy. ”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

Debunked:

Chapter 13: Elegance III – Chapter 18: Elegance VIII, fanyiyi (no I will NOT be writing down every instance of storm cloud Jiang Cheng appearing to darken Wei Wuxian’s mood in the Cloud Recesses arc. Too many quotes; you gotta read it yourself)

Gradually, [Wei Wuxian] grew deathly frightened of all manner of dogs, big or small, and had endured no small amount of Jiang Cheng’s mockery for it.

–Chapt. 20: Sunshine II, fanyiyi

Not a single lenient or merciful word left Jiang Cheng’s mouth if he could help it, nor was he ever willing to offer charity and kindness.

–Chapt. 23: Malice I, fanyiyi

4th Lie:

“...Don’t you remember when he annihilated more than 3,000 high level cultivators?”

“Wasn’t it 5,000?”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

Debunked: here

5th Lie:

“It just goes to show that cultivators have to stay on the proper path. Taking up demonic cultivation, ‘free spirit,’ pah! Sounds to me like he was arrogant and egomaniacal. Heh, and what was the result?”...

...“But it wasn’t only demonic cultivation that killed him. At the end of the day, it was also his horrible personality and rotten character...”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

Debunked:

“Aye, this Wei Wuxian...back in the day he was a promising cultivator from a good background, and not without high merits. When he was young—what a glorious, free spirit! ...”

–Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

In [Wei Wuxian’s] previous life, because he couldn’t let people chatter on about how he hadn’t been brought up properly, there were certain limits on how far he could take his mischief.

–Chapt. 3: Feral II, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian had always considered himself protective and caring of women, so seeing her state, he moved to create space for her and went to bother the donkey.

–Chapt. 6: Pride I, fanyiyi

Even if the Yiling Laozu’s reputation was bad, people had to admit that prior to Wei Wuxian’s defection from the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, he had been famous far and wide for being a gorgeous man, cultured, sophisticated, and proficient in all the arts of a gentleman. Among the young masters of all the clans of cultivation, his appearance and personality were considered the fourth best, and he was described as “bright, clever, and full of life”...

–Chapt. 10: Pride V, fanyiyi

#human reads mdzs: take 2 #don’t know why i never posted this

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im-a-wonderling · 4 months

Text

The Chosen One ~ Anidala

Well...I don't often write ficlets, and if I do, I don't post them. Buuut I was working on Rescue Me, and this just kinda happened, so I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: Unedited angst I guess?

Word count: 1.5k

To be the chosen one with no choices.

That’s how Anakin felt, standing on the balcony, fresh off his fourth nightmare this week. He watched the nighttime traffic of Coruscant whirl past, wishing he himself could hop on a ship and run away. He would never be able to describe the relief he’d feel if he and his wife just…left. If their responsibilities ended, and they had the chance to leave, to go to safety, to have their child in peace.

He let out a shuddering breath, trying to get ahold of himself.

The dream tonight had been worse. He’d seen her die. He’d felt her life…stop.

His ears caught the soft sounds of padding feet.

“Go back to bed,” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

The feet only came closer. He closed his eyes, a fleeting smile gracing his lips. He should’ve known better.

“Ani,” Padmé said softly. Just his nickname, nothing else.

Arms—his favorite arms in the galaxy—slid around his abdomen, and a face buried into his back. “Come back to bed with me.” Padmé’s coaxing voice lulled him back to sleep like nothing else had, not the excessive exercise, not the staying up until his mind was too tired to manufacture anything, not even sleep aids he’d taken from the infirmary.

Padmé made everything better.

A searing pain started in his chest as he remembered his dreams.

“I’m not going to sleep anymore tonight.” He meant it. He wouldn’t sleep, even if he had to glue his eyes open. Being exhausted tomorrow was a small price to pay for the hope that he would feel less haunted when the sun came up.

The arms loosened, and Padmé swung around to face him.

The day her beauty failed to make his breath catch was the day his heart no longer beat. Her warm brown eyes held more power over him than anything else in this world. The rosiness of her cheeks reminded him of her luscious home planet of Naboo, and she was now more his home than the desolate planet on which he’d first fallen in love with her, thirteen years ago. And her hair?

He reached up to touch one of her curls, running it between his fingers with a sort of juvenescent fascination.

Padmé studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. He knew his wife well enough to recognize the alarm in her face, but he didn’t want to give voice to the horrible images he’d seen, not in the presence of his angel.

“If you don’t tell me what’s bothering you,” she said, her voice like balm on a burn, “then I can’t help you.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “The longer I can’t help you, the longer we’ll both be out here, not sleeping.”

How anyone in the Senate could resist Padmé’s silver tongue, Anakin didn’t know. He certainly was never able to begrudge her anything for long.

Padmé’s hand found Anakin’s hair. She didn’t smooth it down or comb through it, but just sank her fingers into the soft locks, holding onto as much of it as she could. “Talk to me.”

He shut his eyes, leaning into her touch. He hadn’t realized how much he needed it. “The dreams–” he broke off. “They won’t stop.”

He felt Padmé lean away from him, and the distance made his anxieties skyrocket.

“Ani, I’m not going to die in childbirth.” Her voice, while loving, was stern, and he hated it.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked, his voice shaking, opening his eyes again. “How can you discount–”

“Listen to me.” Padmé lifted her chin, the same way she did in Senate meetings when she was about to end a discourse. “I’m fine. All my check-ups have been normal.”

“My mother died,” Anakin croaked. “I dreamed it, and it happened.” He reached out for her, his hands settling at her waist. “I…I can’t survive losing you,” he confessed. “Without you–” his voice cracked. “Without you, there’s nothing left in this galaxy for me.”

Padmé remained still in his arms. He knew she was formulating the right thing to say, but he didn’t want her to say anything, for how could she have a solution if she didn’t even believe in his dreams in the first place?

“Anakin, if I die–” Anakin shrank away from her, unable to bear it, but Padmé walked after him, her eyes blazing with stubbornness. “You have to let me finish.”

“If you die, I die!” He knew he was being too loud, but there was no way to say these things quietly. “I won’t even think of living without you!”

Padmé’s retaliation was sharp. “Do not condemn this child to a life without a mother or father!”

Anakin froze.

Padmé drew nearer, reaching out for him, pressing Anakin’s metal and flesh hands to her belly. “If I die, this baby will need you more than ever.”

Anakin furrowed his brow.

“You’re not only a husband anymore,” she said softly. “You’re a father now too.”

Father.

Anakin blinked.

He hadn’t had a father. Obi-Wan had been the closest thing, and Anakin was already nine years old when Obi-Wan came into his life.

A different fear gradually came into Anakin’s mind.

“What if I’m a horrible father? What if the baby hates me? What if it goes hungry? My mother did the best she could for me, but…there were times when we both went to bed hungry, times when Watto took advantage of us.” He shut his eyes, overwhelmed both by the memories and the compassion in Padmé’s face.

Padmé’s soft and cool fingers ran comfortingly down his face. “You’re not on Tatooine anymore. And the baby won’t hate you. It’s half of you and half of me.”

Anakin didn’t reply at first, the gears in his mind turning. “I’m a Jedi. I don’t make any money, and the council wouldn’t let me raise the baby in the temple, not without me telling them I’m the father, and if I did that–”

Anakin had to choose. He had to make the choice which hovered over him for years, the sacrifice he’d avoided being forced to make.

The Order or his family.

Obi-Wan, the Jedi Temple, and Anakin’s very way of life or Anakin’s mother, his wife, and his baby.

He tried to imagine the two different paths.

If Padmé died, the baby lived, and Anakin didn’t step forward, their baby would likely be sent to Padmé’s parents on Naboo. Her parents were unaware of their daughter’s marriage, and Anakin’s child would live with no clues as to their father’s identity. Meanwhile, Anakin, wracked with grief, would devote himself to the Order and bring peace to the galaxy, as the Chosen One was prophesied to do.

However, if Anakin did step forward…he didn’t know the first thing about parenting. He didn’t know anything about babies, how to keep them healthy and entertained. He would flounder and perhaps fail miserably multiple times. But Anakin had always been a quick learner, and if he made up his mind, eventually he would figure it out.

He could show his child the galaxy, teach them all he knew about piloting and fixing things. They would meet all kinds of people from all walks of life. And he would tell them stories. He’d tell them about wise Master Qui-Gon Jinn and powerful Obi-Wan. They’d learn all about the Clone Wars. They would know all about their strong, beautiful mother, and they would live every day knowing that both their mother and father loved them.

But he’d be separated from the Order.

Neither future was perfect. Neither one felt like destiny.

But that wasn’t the way to think about it, Anakin could see that now. The Order could continue without him. Obi-Wan could continue without him. If Padmé died, their baby would need him.

He opened his eyes again, suddenly calmly resolute. “If the worst happens, and you…you die, I’ll leave the Order.” His wife’s wide eyes told him she understood the weight of what he was saying. “Anything you could ever ask of me, I would do,” he told her. “And I will provide anything and everything our baby needs.”

“Anakin–”

“Without you and our baby, there’s nothing else for me,” he said simply. “Without the two of you, it all means nothing.”

“I–”

“I know, it’s a little bit crazy, but–”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Padmé looked up at him. “I was going to say I love you.”

“Oh.” Anakin let out a long breath.

The pinch telltale of worry appeared between Padmé’s eyebrows. “Ani, are you sure about this?”

He brought his hands to her cheeks, holding her in place while he kissed the adorable scrunch. “Yes.” Padmé’s arms wrapped around him, holding him so tight, he couldn’t think of anything but her, just what he preferred.

Neither one of them spoke for a while.

Then, wordlessly, Padmé led him back to bed. When Anakin settled under the covers and closed his eyes, he was still afraid, but he knew that if he woke up from another nightmare, he would wake up to see the woman he loved and remember the promise he’d made her. Because, as it turned out, the chosen one did have choices.

Tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#star wars #sw #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #anakin #anakin skywalker #padme #padme amidala #anakin x padme #anidala #angst #star wars angst

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imaginefan · 7 months

Text

Every Problem *Part 2*

Klaus Mikaelson X Grandson!Character

Word Count: 619

Requested: @emaz-0225

Request: Hello can you do an part two for Every Problem where Elena kills Y/N ( Damon's Wife and Klaus Daughter) right in front of Y/N and Damon's son who then curses Elena and turns to the originals side and he turns to partying ans Drinking and Klaus takes him to New Orleans where he meets Hayley who is pregnant with his aunt or Uncle and Y/S/N starts to hear voices telling him to kill himself and one night he gets super drunk and cries for his mom and Hayley and Klaus get him to calm down and Klaus call Stefan to get Damon to help with Y/S/N

Warning : Reader is Dead, Depression, Grieving

*Part 1*

No one knew what Elena was thinking when she killed you and Elena refused to talk about it, it left an orphan and a very powerful family angry at them but to their surprise they all just left, Klaus was first to leave and he took (Y/S/N) with him both of them heading to New Orleans, followed by Elijah and finally Rebekah. Damon knew that he should check on his son but he was sure that he didn’t want that considering how much he hated him before you had died and now his girlfriend was the reason that you were dead and he still loved her.

In New Orleans Klaus was knee deep in a scheme to take back the Quarter while (Y/S/N) occupied himself with drinking and cornering young tourists to drink from. One evening he came home to find Rebekah sitting on the steps with a girl, he knew that she had been staying at the house however he hadn’t asked what she was doing there. “Where have you been!?” Klaus asked, his eyes shifted to the Hybrid as he held up the bottle of boos that had been swigging. “Having fun.” (Y/S/N) answered. “Is that all you do all day?” Klaus asked. “It’s about the only thing that I have left that I like.” He answered with a shrug “so it’s the only thing that I’m going to willingly be doing for a long time.” “(Y/S/N), you know your mother wouldn’t-” “Don’t! We don’t know what she would want because the Doppelganger killed her and last I checked I wasn’t allowed to kill her because you needed her for a plan that you’ve ultimately abandoned so don’t… Please don’t tell me what my mother would have wanted.” (Y/S/N) warned as he turned back towards the house “good luck to anyone else born into this fucked up family, I don’t think there’s a single one of us worth saving.” They all watched as he walked into the house slamming the door behind him. “You didn’t tell him about the baby?” Rebekah asked. “As you can see he’s not in any shape to be keeping a secret.” Klaus said.

It was a couple of weeks later that he walked in on one of Camile and Klaus’ meetings and got roped into a therapy session that he didn’t ask for, it ended just as terribly. That night he was far more drunk than he usually would be and he cried, Klaus was the first to find him as he reached out a broken voice asking for him to bring his mother back. “I can’t bring her back.” Klaus said softly “but it will do her no good if you spend the rest of your life angry and bitter Klaus muttered as he pulled the boy into his chest. (Y/S/N) saw Hayley standing at the door and sniffed. “Is it true that you two are having a baby?” He asked. “It is.” Klaus answered. “I didn’t mean what I said before, I just thought if I could hurt someone like they hurt me, it might make me feel better but it didn’t, I don’t know how to feel better.” You admitted. “How about we talk to Camille tomorrow about some proper sessions and we look for something to live for like protecting the little one?” Klaus asked “surely we can agree that she deserves a better life than the one that we’ve both lived.” “Yeah, okay.” He nodded. “Let’s get better together.” Klaus said softly, Klaus finally admitting that he was grieving he had lost his daughter and his brother but maybe you could both get better together.

Requests and general question!

#the originals imagine #the originals imagines #the originals #klaus mikealson imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaelson #imagine #oneshot #one shot #reader insert #x reader #male reader

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kaunis-sielu · 1 year

Text

Payment: End

You hear his voice. It takes a second for it to process that Steve is awake and talking but when you do your eyes fly open.

“Steve.” You breathe, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Hey Baby.”

“Oh my god.” Tears fill your eyes, it’s so so nice to hear his voice again.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m okay, they’re taking Lance off the ventilator too.” You can’t help the tears pouring down your face. Steve takes a couple of minutes to just hold you and press a few kisses to the top of your head.

It’s not until the door opens that you move, Bucky comes into the hospital room.

“I need to talk to Stark.” Steve tells him.

“You need to rest.” You argue as the door swings open again and Tony strolls in.

“Thought I heard your voice Rogers.” He says with a grin,

“Tony. Good, I need-,”

“To listen to your wife. Besides, she’s a badass and took out the entire Hydra empire in about twelve hours.” Steve looks over at you with shock on his face.

“Well, I was pissed.” You tell him with a little shrug and Steve laughs before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“So, Queenie, now that you’re the head of Hydra and you’ve pretty much burned it to the ground what’s the plan?” Tony asks.

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” You admit, “did you guys have a deal in place?”

“Yea, but we’re not the ones that killed the head and the heir.” Tony says nonchalantly as he pulls up a chair to sit at the opposite side of Steve’s bed. Steve glances down at you in concern,

“Bucky why did you let her kill them?”

“Let her?” Bucky asks with an astonished laugh, “I didn’t let her do shit. And she didn’t kill the heir he died first from Daisy.”

“He was hers to kill. He took over her company when they got together and I wanted to give it back.”

“You shouldn’t have had to kill anyone Honey.” Steve murmurs, his eyes soft when they meet yours.

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t be the head of Hydra.” You point out and he hums softly,

“I still don’t like that you had to get your hands dirty.”

“I’m fine.” You promise him and he kisses you softly.

“Okay, now that we know that she’s fine can we get back to business?” Stark asks sounding bored.

“Sorry Tony, was my near death experience not entertaining for you?”

“I’d just like to get home to my own wife. Let her know that everything is okay so we can go off of lockdown.”

“Alright, so Sweetheart?” Steve says and you look up at him, “Let’s sit up a bit more.” You scoot away from the head of the bed and Steve uses the remote to lift the head of the bed into a fully sitting position. You cuddle back into him once he’s got it adjusted to his comfort level, Steve takes a breath to start talking when the door opens and your least favorite of his nurses comes stalking into the room.

“Mrs. Rogers! I told you that if I caught you on his bed again that I’d have to have you removed.”

“I’d love to see you try.” Steve growls and the nurse scowls at him. “She stays right where she is or I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave.”

“Watch me.” Steve snaps and you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Steve, let’s just get this over with so we can go home.” You tell him but when you go to get off of the bed he holds tightly to you.

“She can work around you Baby. I’m not letting you go.” He says before pressing a kiss to your cheek. The nurse checks his vitals on the machine then pages for the doctor to come and listen to his lungs. She leaves with another scowl in your direction.

“You’re going to get us into trouble.” You tell Steve with a small laugh but he just shrugs. “Do whatever the plan was before with Hydra’s resources. I don’t want them, I don’t want anything from them.”

“Okay, Tony you want to handle the press release?” Steve asks and Bucky says,

“We make it look like a car accident.”

“But I shot them.” You tell them with a furrowed brow, “There’ll be a gun shot wound.”

“Queenie, this isn’t our first rodeo.” Bucky interrupts with a little smile, and you suppose that it isn’t.

“Right.” Steve presses a kiss to the side of your head and you tuck your face into his chest. You let him and Tony iron out the details, you don’t really care what happens to your family business, you don’t want any of their blood money but you also don’t want anyone else to be able to rebuild what you’ve destroyed by killing your father.

“Is that okay with you Sweetheart?” Steve says pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“We want you to take the legit business, then Tony and I will take over the less, legit parts.”

“I don’t know how to run a business.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Okay, what if I just sell it to you?”

“I don’t want to give the government any reasons to look too far into my business. You’re the natural successor and you’ll do amazingly. I promise.” He soothes and you take a steadying breath before you nod. You’ll figure it out, you always have.

Tony leaves then, he gets his press person, a woman he calls Friday, to do the press release that both you and Steve are fine after the tragic fire at your house. It’s not being called an arson so you’re fairly confident that some money greased some hands.

You report your father and Grant missing after three days, you give the police the excuse that you’d been too distracted by the fire and Steve’s time in the hospital to realize that he and Grant are missing. You do a press release too, asking for anyone who may have seen either man to come forward.

Unsurprisingly, no one does.

Steve had been released from the hospital with a clean bill of health on the day he’d woken. You hadn’t let him do much, worried that he might overexert himself or something.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” You tell him looking at the ruins of the home he’d welcomed you into.

“This isn’t your fault.” He assures you but it sure feels like it is. “Honey, you didn’t ask for any of this. This attack on me would’ve come sooner or later, I’ve been a threat for a while.”

“What can I do to pay you back for all of this? I feel like I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Steve says and you knew this was going to be his answer so you level him with a look, “Alright, alright.If you won’t take that, how about this. How about you marry me?”

“That’s it? You just want to get married?”

“For real Baby. Not to protect you from your father, or your bother, but because I wanna be married to you. Because I want to love you for the rest of my life.” You stare at him, god he’s just the sexiest man alive.

“Yes.” You say, “I’m going to let it slide that you’re not down on one knee because you almost died a few days ago.” You tease him and he laughs,

“Thank you Darlin’.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you as close to him as he can possibly get you before kissing you soundly. You bury your fingers into his hair as you kiss him.

You’re going to spend the rest of your life with him. You didn’t think that you could ever be this happy, when you’d agreed to marry him you’d assumed that you were marrying a cold man, one that was like your father and would only use you for his own gain. You never thought that you could be so lucky, to actually love the man that you were married to. You’ll rebuild the home that you fell in love in. You’ll fix your father’s shipping company into something that you can eventually merge with Nomad airlines and you’ll get married. Legit this time, not because you have to. You’ll live a long and happy life with Steve and you cannot wait.

Tag list:

@andahugaroundtheneck @connie326 @also-fangirlinsweden @lumar014 @loving-life-my-way @pagina16ps @emdying @dumblani @valsworldofcreativity @blackwidownat2814 @sky0401 @dontbescaredtosingalong @abschaffer2 @patzammit @inkedaztec @newdaynewyearnewlife @sophham @sass-masterkittenmama @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

#a payment story #steve rogers x reader au #Steve rogers x reader #mobster steve rogers #mob!steve #mob boss!steve #mobster!steve rogers x reader #mobster!steve rogers #mob boss au #avengers mob au #mob boss!steve rogers x reader

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spartanguard · 9 months

Text

sons of love and death, 5/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: Little later in the day than my usual posting for this @cssns story, but hope no one minds too much! (This one is worth a bit of wait, IMO ;) ) (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 4.5k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Regina probably could have installed a more modern security system in her vault; she’d had plenty of time to do it. But honestly, anyone who didn’t know what they were getting into would likely be hurt far worse by whatever they found—those Agrabah vipers were still down there, after all—and it would be useless against anyone who did know what they were after.

However, she did have a sixth sense for when her shit was being messed with, and transported herself inside the vault once she was done helping Gold get his shop straightened out. A hooded figure was poking around her potion supplies, though a far more contemporary hood than had often been down here—that of a sweatshirt instead of a cloak. Must be one of the Lost Boys, getting into trouble.

She silently strode up behind them. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” And then she yanked the hood down and turned the boy around.

Only she wasn’t looking up into the face of a pubescent youth. It was—not Hook, no; there was an edge of desperation around this guy that the pirate hadn’t had in years. “Ah, so it’s the twin,” she realized.

“I have my own name, your Majesty,” he snarled back. “And I know what I’m after, so I’ll kindly ask you to leave me to it.”

He turned back around and studied the shelf, glancing between that and a book open in his hand. She didn’t recognize the tome at first, and tried reading it over his shoulder, mainly out of curiosity before she reprimanded him.

But then she read the page, and wasn’t quite sure how to react, other than to let him know, “It won’t work.”

“You say that now,” he tossed back, looking over his shoulder at her. “Bet people said that about the Dark Curse, too, and yet—here we are.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no reason to lie to you. You can’t resurrect the powers of the Dark One.” The book in his hand was one of her oldest and hardest-won—but also contained some of the darkest magical theories ever published.

“This seems to suggest otherwise.” So both the sass and the stubbornness were genetic, as well as the one-track mind. “And you were so kind as to leave it out for me. ‘Guide to resurrection,’” he read. “How perfect.”

Well. She had been reading it. Ever since Henry left on his realm-hopping adventure, she’d been feeling rather lonely, and helping her sister raise little Robyn had just made it all the more clear how much she missed her own Robin. It had been a moment of desperation after last Valentine’s Day that she’d dug it out.

But she pretty quickly deduced that it wouldn’t work—not with the way he died. And even if he’d died a more normal way, it would be cruel to drag a soul at rest back to the chaotic world of the living.

Bringing back magic, though? She could easily tell him why this wouldn’t work, but professional curiosity demanded she get in his mind. “Just how do you plan on resurrecting magic without a tether?” Especially magic that had relied on one for so long, Gold’s interrupted experiment with the Sorcerer’s hat notwithstanding.

“By creating a new one,” he answered simply, and flipped to another page in the ancient book, bearing an illustration of an ornate dagger. “Looks simple enough; just needs something touched by all past users of the magic to forge a new weapon. And what luck—I have a couple options at my disposal.”

“You really think you can just walk up to Hook or Rumple in the street and, what, pick their pockets? And while her magic is still fairly unrefined, Ms. Swan-Jones would blast you into tomorrow if you tried to even touch her or her pirate.”

“You don’t seem to be her biggest fan,” Dorian noticed quickly.

“We have a…complicated history,” Regina replied, as succinctly as she could manage. “But we’ve at least come to an understanding.” Then she laughed. “Actually, she’s the reason I’m not on your list of former Dark Ones.”

“Gotta love those hero types,” he said, though it came out more as a complaint. “Perhaps you can help me, then? Maybe we could share.” He stepped into her space and bit his bottom lip, raising his eyebrow in question.

It hadn’t worked when Hook tried it, years ago, and it wasn’t working now. “I’m good. Maiming isn’t so much my thing; call me when you need a heart.”

He glanced back at the book and flipped between pages—a little too quickly for the ancient book, in her opinion. “Huh; neither of these spells seem to require one. That’s odd; most like this do.” She was surprised; he knew his stuff—and he noticed her shock. “Oh, I’m not the only one here who had to crush the heart of the thing they loved most.”

She had to look away at that. “For someone who’s done their research, you still don’t seem to understand that you’re on a fool’s errand.”

“If there’s anything left of the Darkness in this realm, then I can bring it together and restore it to what it once was. We both know that magic never fully dies.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she had to concede. “But this isn’t a normal situation; this had divine intervention. Hades didn’t just die—he was destroyed.” She swallowed down her rising emotions at the memory of that night. “He was killed with the Olympian Crystal; completely obliterated—both him and any magic he held.”

“Then why can I still feel it?” Dorian practically whined. “You all keep telling me it’s gone, but no one can explain that one detail to me.”

“Maybe no one wants to,” she snapped back.

Dorian glared and the light even seemed to flicker as his rage threatened to boil over. But her stare back was just as fiery, she knew.

But then his look softened, and weirdly, he even smiled a bit. “If no one wants to, then that must mean it’s sensitive information. Perhaps the kind that could be life-threatening.”

She scoffed. “Only if you know how to harvest a soul.”

That cocky eyebrow arched again, and she immediately regretted her rash statement. “I’m sure I can find a way. See you ‘round, sweetheart.” Then he and his dimpled smirk disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke edged with a lick of flames.

Dammit. She was pretty sure his quest was a dead end, but she’d inadvertently put a target on the backs of her friends.

Quickly, she took a mental stock of what he’d taken: the book, as well as a few rare and potent herbs. Not enough to cast any sort of spell, but enough to get him started—or at least get him high.

She ran out of the vault and up the stairs, magically sliding the stone cover over the entry. Then she locked the door to the mausoleum and put a blood lock on it to make sure Dorian couldn’t get back in; unlike when she was trying to keep Zelena out of her spaces, she was positive she wasn’t related to the Jones men.

And then Regina headed back into town, using the walk there to figure out how to tell Emma that her husband’s evil twin probably wanted to kill them.

The whole situation had “mess” written all over it, but at least it was some excitement; she certainly could use some of that.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Though Killian was beginning to feel at ease for the first time in over a day, he still had a lot of questions regarding his twin and the powers they apparently shared. They hadn’t flared at all since his chat with Emma, and the tea seemed to be calming him even more. Though most assuring was the fact that Dorian was no longer in town, and that his life might continue in peace.

But still—his academic nature demanded he learn more. Were the legends he’d just been told about Cailleach Mountain real or fiction?

Good thing he was working at the library today, and therefore spending time with the one person who’d be sure to get him the answers he needed.

“Morning, love,” he called out when he entered the library—but was surprised to hear baby Gideon squealing in reply rather than his mother.

Behind the counter, Belle was struggling to get the boy to go down in his—what was it called? Play pen? But he was having none of it; instead, he was reaching for his favorite uncle.

“Oh, Belle,” he said, rushing over to grab the little lad. “I wish you’d told me you were bringing him today; I’d have grabbed you some tea.”

Gideon almost immediately wrapped himself around Killian’s neck and nestled into him. He was always a bit in awe of the steady trust this tiny person put in him, and he dared not take it for granted.

“I did tell you,” Belle answered, setting her diaper bag on the circulation desk. “Texted you as soon as I left Ashley’s; Alexandra was running a fever so she had to cancel today.”

“Damn; my apologies for missing that. I’ve had…a long day already.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off, and headed to the back room (most likely to make some tea). “It was obvious you’ve had a lot on your mind, and after yesterday, I don’t blame you.”

He swayed in his spot with Gideon, slightly taken aback by Belle’s assessment of his mental state; she knew him well, but wasn’t aware it was that well. “How could you tell?”

“I mean, anyone could guess,” she called out over the sound of the microwave. “But you had that look on your face.”

“What look?”

She poked her head out of the room. “The one that says we’re doing some research today,” she answered with a teasing smile.

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

Gideon still refused to be put down, even though he’d settled against Killian and was content to play with his necklace charms. But the quiet at least let Killian give Belle the run-down on what he’d been told so far; he was getting fairly good at summarizing everything by now.

“Cailleach…I know I’ve heard of it, but the name is ringing a bell for another reason. I think it translates to something. Maybe it’ll come to me once we get started.”

They spent the rest of the morning in the reference sections, save for attending to the few patrons that trickled in. Gideon did eventually let them set him down in his playpen (once they moved it to the reference area), which meant they could dig into research even harder.

The books they were consulting were among the oldest in the collection—ones that had somehow come over with the second curse. Killian had found several mentions of the inherent magic in the area around Cailleach, but nothing more specific.

There was a growing stack on the table next to him of books he’d already looked at, and the ones he’d yet to read were dwindling. He sometimes wished it was as easy to search through these as it was to find information on the computer box, but it was worth it to be surrounded by the smell of old parchment; it reminded him of the library at the naval academy.

On her side of the table, Belle had a few translation dictionaries on one side of her as well as a similar set of stacks, all being carefully handled. She was still the expert when it came to these books, so he fully expected her to find the answer before he did. And he was right.

“Oh, I think that's it!” she exclaimed, looking up from her book and reaching for one of the dictionaries. She muttered to herself in a different tongue, but one he seemed to recognize, as she flipped through the pages of the other book, all while keeping the first one open with a carefully placed elbow.

“What’ve you got?”

“I knew the legend sounded familiar, but couldn’t place the name to it. It is a different language: it’s Gaelic—or whatever it’s called in our land; the same one your name comes from, actually.” She found the page she wanted and skimmed it with her finger. “Yeah; it means ‘witch’—and what you were describing sounds like the story of Witch Mountain.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s one that sort of spilled into this realm; I think we actually might have the book in the YA section, though, like most things, this realm probably got it wrong.” She went back to the first book. “It’s right here: ‘Though it happens rarely,’” she read, “‘All twins born in the area around Witch Mountain are inherently blessed with gods-given magic, in balance of each other.’”

He was both surprised at that, but also not, based on what Regina had told him. But it confirmed that whatever these powers were, they were definitely his—and had always been. That was going to take some getting used to.

Although, he was left curious about the phrasing of what Belle had read. “In balance?”

“Probably from an elemental standpoint; this is a book on natural sources of magic. Did you notice his powers manifesting a certain way?”

“No; his magic has been blocked both times I talked to him. But we’ve both seen evidence of his ability to melt through metal.”

“So it’s either the ability to manipulate metal, or heat-based magic. Which means yours would probably be connected to either wood or water.”

He immediately thought of his inherent connection with the Jolly Roger, which suggested either one, and he told her as much.

“Oh, let’s test it! Try to do something in my tea.” Her mug had long since cooled, despite being half full, so she pushed it toward him.

“You think I have any idea how to control it?” he tossed back.

“Well, not with that attitude.” (Truly, she was the sister he’d never had.)

“Perhaps not, but if he’s not around anymore, then it’s a non-issue. Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.”

Belle pouted a bit, but then turned her attention back to the book and read ahead. “It also says here that twins’ powers will develop as they grow together; the fact that it makes a point to say ‘together’ suggests that’s why yours haven’t manifested until now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, then.”

He was content with that answer, though she did insist on comparing that story to the novelization and temporarily took that one out of circulation. He put the books away while she sought about giving Gideon his afternoon snack, and realized he was finally feeling at peace about this whole situation.

And, with any luck, that would be the end of it.

But, Storybrooke being Storybrooke, he should have known it wouldn’t be.

“Hook? You here?” Regina’s voice called out even before the doorbell could finish ringing.

“Aye, back here,” he replied, as loud as he dared to shout within the confines of the library.

“We’ve got a problem,” she stated, sounding annoyed, as the clacking of her heels on the tile floor grew closer. “Your twin is out for blood.”

“What?” He’d still been putting books on the shelf, but whirled around and nearly dropped them; he caught them at the last second, though, lest he face Belle’s wrath. “I thought Emma sent him out of town; are you sure?” (And then he carefully placed the books on the table, just to be safe.)

“Well, he must have found a way back in, because I caught him in my vault not 10 minutes ago.”

“Wasn’t he wearing the cuff?” Belle had just laid Gideon down for his nap and joined the conversation. “He shouldn’t have been able to get past the barrier without his magic.”

“Then he got it off somehow, because he definitely had his powers. Nearly set the vault on fire.”

Belle gave Killian a knowing look, but he ignored it. “What was he doing?”

“What he’s been doing—trying to become the Dark One. But now that he knows the powers are gone, he’s going about it a different way—and a bit more gruesome.”

“How so?” Belle asked.

“He wants to recreate the dagger and manifest the powers from that last bit of Darkness left in you, Emma, and Rumpelstiltskin.”

Killian was confused. “The part you said was attached to our souls?”

“The very same.”

“How the hell can he do that?”

“By detaching your soul from your body. And there’s only one way to do that.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed; Regina didn’t need to explain it—he knew she meant murder. His stomach turned at the idea of not just him, but Emma being a target for his brother’s deranged plot.

On the table, Belle’s half-empty mug cracked, water flying everywhere. He glanced down, and his palm was glowing again; shit. (At least it had somehow avoided the books.)

“That answers that question,” Belle muttered. “But—his name is Dorian Gray, right? Like the book?”

“Yeah,” Killian confirmed.

She gave a cautious smirk. “I think we might actually have something we can use against him.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Above the library but behind the clock tower was a little-used, mostly empty storage area. At least, it had been empty, until recently. Now it was filled with boxes, sheet-draped furniture, and large frames—some covered, some not.

“This is all stuff that came over from the Land of Untold Stories,” Belle explained as she led Killian and Regina through the maze that had taken over the room. “Anything of value, at least; they obviously didn’t want it exposed to the elements, but I made sure to intervene before it ended up in my husband’s shop, never to be seen again.” She loved her husband, but she did have to admit he had a tricky relationship with the concept of ownership, and the black hole that was the back of his shop. Inventory always took forever.

In her down time, she’d been trying to catalog all of this stuff for their new residents, and either get it back to who it belonged to or perhaps start a museum with some of it. (Assuming she could get Rumple to donate some items, too—but she was pretty sure she could convince him.)

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Regina asked from behind her, clearly perturbed by the amount of dust up here; Belle hadn’t had a chance to clean it up before everything moved in, but it was at least dry and fairly climate-controlled.

“We’re not looking; I know exactly where it is.” Killian was bringing up the rear, Gideon in his arms once more. She swore that was her son’s favorite spot to sleep. Their friendship was probably odd and unexpected on paper, but despite their vastly different lives and rocky history, there wasn’t anyone she trusted more.

Which was why she’d be damned if his maniac evil twin did anything to hurt him; he’d been through enough for more than one lifetime.

In the far corner of the storage room was a gathering of smaller paintings, filed together in an old armoire and covered with a sheet. “It’s over here,” she called back.

She wasted no time in yanking the sheet off, but it made them all cough from the ensuing dust. “Sorry,” she choked.

“‘S alright, love,” Killian replied, but his voice was raspy.

She didn’t waste any more time in digging through the stash of ancient portraits. “It stood out to me because—well, obviously everyone’s heard of it; I just had no idea it was real,” she explained. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised,” she conceded as she found the frame she was looking for.

She carefully pulled it out and looked it over as she turned to face the others. “Gosh; and now that I know, I should have seen it—even if it’s not pretty.”

“Seen what?” Killian asked, but his tone was more concerned than curious.

Her answer was to simply flip the painting around. “The Picture of Dorian Gray. In the flesh, so to speak.”

The novel had gotten the details of the painting correct: the man on the canvas could only be described as ugly and twisted, a nearly skeletal, aged face with grayed, wild hair and a hunched frame.

But one thing that stood out were the piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and slightly pointed ears—the same ones she was looking at on her best friend.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.

“Gods, I think that looks even worse than the guy Emma met in the Wish Realm,” Regina added.

“So, in the book, Dorian died when he tried to murder the portrait,” Belle went on. “Obviously, that didn’t actually happen, but I’m wondering if it’s not far from the truth—although I don’t know exactly what kind of spell this is.”

“It’s a curse,” Killian replied. “He told me.” He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the details of the painting. “He crushed the heart of the woman he loved to cast it.”

Oh—that was indeed morbid, and Belle shifted to a more careful hold on the frame. “Well, bare minimum, it probably gives us leverage over him; or…it gives us a way to potentially stop him.”

She didn’t miss the way Killian was studying the floor and clenching his jaw at that; it wasn’t an idea she was thrilled with, either. “Last resort,” she added.

Regina shuddered, no doubt having some of her own bad memories stirred. But then she jumped again and looked up. “I think there’s a leak in here,” she said.

“Odd, there shouldn’t be,” Belle replied. “The dwarves redid the roof last summer.”

And yet—as she looked up, a drop of water hit her square on the nose. Another few fell around them, and one landed on Killian’s shoulder, but he barely noticed.

“Snap out of it, pirate,” Regina commanded, and Killian jumped. “That’s you, with the waterworks.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, but sounded somewhat bewildered. Belle did notice a blue glow coming from his clenched fist, though.

“Looks like magic lessons just got added to the calendar,” Regina commented dryly, while brushing the wet spot on the shoulder of her jacket.

Screaming then came from outside, and the general hum of commotion. The group ran to the nearest window, boarded-up as it was, and peered out into the street.

Cruella’s long-abandoned De Ville had finally met its end, and was now engulfed in flames. Near it, a figure was disappearing into a cloud of fiery smoke.

“I suppose they did,” Killian sighed.

Belle didn’t like to see the conflict written on his face—gods knew he spent enough time brooding—but she had to admit: she was curious to see how this went.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian certainly didn’t regret coming back into town, but he was rather frustrated at the lack of negative reception. He’d fully anticipated coming to blows with the Evil Queen—honestly, half the reason he’d gone to her vault was in hopes of running into her. (Perhaps doing more, if she’d been interested, but she had the stink of heartbreak around her.)

(Actually, Rumpelstiltskin’s lass was the one who’d really caught his eye, but for very different reasons—nostalgic ones. The resemblance to Sybil was more than passing, though Sybil’s hair was in ringlets, and her irises more violet. But the potential of both he and his twin having taken both of Rumple’s wives was a tempting one…if she’d go for it.)

So he assumed it would cause an uproar when he set fire to that auto, and perhaps draw the heroes he sought out of the woodwork, particularly the sheriff. But after a brief stir, the onlookers merely went about their business, and the elderly woman from the diner anticlimactically put it out with a fire extinguisher while he watched from an alley.

For someone who was fond of having a dramatic flair, it was disappointing. Doubly so when he realized just how big this town was and how he really could have used that car to get around; it just screamed supervillain. (Not that he knew how to operate such a vehicle…but that was everyone else’s problem.)

Instead, there wasn’t much he could do but putter about, trying to figure out the best way to enact his plan. He’d gotten the information he needed from Regina’s vault, but had to assume he’d not easily be able to get in again. Perhaps the town had a blacksmith shop? It’d be a lot easier to forge a dagger and later imbue it with the Darkness than create one from scratch. Obviously, he could melt metal on his own, but shaping it was a whole other skill.

Alas, the town center came up empty, and the only directory he could find was a phone book dated from 1983 that fell apart nearly as soon as he touched it. Bollocks.

Maybe it was time he invested in one of those smart telephone things; he’d long since broken the burner flip phone he got on one of his previous trips to this realm.

As evening approached, another issue arose: where he was supposed to sleep. He’d been with Tisbe the first night and the hospitality of the sheriff department the next. While he was no stranger to camping, he’d rather not if he didn’t have to. He was at least able to salvage enough of the old phone book to determine there was exactly one inn in town, conveniently attached to the diner he’d tried to eat at yesterday.

Perhaps the second time would be the charm? The fact that he was far more sober now would surely help. That said, he still tried to blend in when he entered and calmly took a seat at the counter.

“What’ll it be tonight, hon?” the elderly proprietress asked him quickly. He started to enquire about a room, but was promptly cut off. “Oh, it’s you. Out.”

He blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, sonny. Out. This is a private establishment and I can choose who I serve, and I ain’t servin’ you.”

“On what grounds?” He could feel the flames of indignation rising within.

“We don’t need you causing any more trouble around here,” she told him sternly. “Hook’s been through enough without you stirring the pot. So out with ya.”

He could burn this place to the ground in a minute, but that would only play into the accusations she was already leveling at him.

“Fine. I’m on my way,” he said, as calmly as he could, and hopped off the stool and slid out.

Perhaps the reception at the drinking hole would be less discerning. He ignored the glares he received on the way there and merely wondered how slow he’d have to nurse his drinks until he found a suitable partner to head home with.

The bartender didn’t appear to judge him when he sloughed down at the counter, but everyone else seemed to keep their distance, even as the hours wore on and the crowd grew larger and seedier.

This was frustrating; he wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not with a face like his. He could typically get any man or woman he wanted, yet every time he made eye contact with someone from across the bar, they quickly avoided his gaze.

What the hell?

He finally took his drink and started to make his way to the small dance floor, hoping for some kind of connection. But the crowd seemed to part around him. Bloody fuck.

Even Tisbe from the other night appeared to be dodging him. He sidled up to her while she was at the jukebox, greeting her with a tried and true, “Hello, beautiful; fancy seeing you here again.”

She looked over at him, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. “No thanks.”

“That’s not what you were saying the other night,” he murmured, trying to seductively get in her space, but she backed away.

“Yeah, because I thought you were actually Hook,” she tossed back. “And I wanted to piss off the sheriff after she screwed my family over.”

He drew back in disbelief. “Did the fact that I have two hands not escape your notice?” he asked, holding both of them upright in emphasis.

She just shrugged and walked away.

Fine then. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He headed for the door, summoning a bottle of top-shelf whiskey to his hands as he exited, and headed back out into the night.

Briefly, he considered breaking into a car and crashing in the back seat, but apparently the town was on high alert when it came to him. And if he was going to go through with his plan, he should probably stay out of sight long enough to get it done. (Not something he was used to, but he could give it a shot—this was important enough.)

He eventually found a bench near the docks that looked comfortable enough, and cast a protection spell around it that would keep him hidden from all passers-by. Then he dug out the herbs he’d pilfered from the Evil Queen’s hideout, rolled them together in a paper he’d had in his pocket, lit the end of the roll, and took a long drag; the effects hit him quickly and a hazy bliss settled over him.

When the joint was spent, he drank the whiskey until he passed out.

The last thing he was aware of was the twinkle of the stars and the gentle lap of the waves against the pier; at least he had picked a relaxing place to crash.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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lya-dustin · 11 months

Text

All is bliss

Chapter 4

Cw: mentions of infertility, consensual infidelity, manipulation, surrogacy, spying

Gif by: @merlinaddams

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @aemondx @darylandbethfanforever9

“And this is a good thing how?” He asks her, because if there is no child they can’t usurp her mother that easily.

As much as Aegon is against it, it is going to happen.

Aemma was a valuable hostage and gave them legitimacy and a reason Rhaenyra wouldn’t rise against them.

House Velaryon would have no choice but to fall in line given she is Laenor’s only trueborn child after all.

Besides women needed children lest they be seen as failures even when the fault lies with the man.

“I never want to have his children, most women do not get that gods-given luxury.” She answered, moving away and sitting at a respectful distance.

Aemma had come so close she’d been half sitting on his lap. Really, she had been so happy to tell her the secret he already had guessed at, she hadn’t noticed her knee on his thigh as she clasped her hands on his shoulders in her joy.

Her perfume alone had reminded him of her wedding night, of that moment he saw her so beautiful and vulnerable in the candlelight he had to seek out a lady of dubious reputation to scratch that itch.

Gods, he might have to seek Lady Wylde out again.

His hand is no longer good enough for him.

“The entire purpose of your marriage is to prevent a war. What happens when he dies without issue?” he really hates bursting her bubble on this, had Aegon not been needed he would have been happy for her.

“You get to inherit his claim.

Although mine is much higher, so really, your brother dying without legitimate issue is more of a problem for the Greens than it is for the Blacks. I get to appoint an heir from those available or marry someone of my choosing and have my own.

I might even marry you if you’re still available and prevent your mother and grandfather from putting my family to the sword.” She answers, having thought all of this through already.

It is a tempting prospect, he could go ahead and skip the wait and just marry her.

Even if Aegon set her aside for being barren, one lucky man gets a crown and a chance to plough that fine fertile field of hers.

If he had been the one put forth to marry her, she’d be fat with his child already.

“How long have you been planning for this?” he is not shocked at her logic, and yet he couldn’t fathom when she’d have the time for this.

“For a while now, my scheme is fool-proof.” She grinned with pride.

Four moons pass and the court is afire with the gossip.

Someone ---possibly Aemma--- has let it be known what his true illness was.

She has her blood without fail no matter what they try and if Viserys’ health hadn’t had a turn for the worst nor Rhaenyra announced she is four moons pregnant, Alicent wouldn’t have told Aegon about it.

“You need an heir.” She said after pretending she is saddened by his plight.

He brought it upon himself and now he must live with the consequences of his follies.

Alicent had never been stern with him and now look where it got them.

“You heard the Maester, I cannot sire children anymore. His mercury ointment shriveled up my seed.” Her son said not seeing the forest and focused on his barren tree.

“Your wife needs a lover. I hate this as much as you do, but the only way to keep her claim with us is by making her owe us her life and that of her heirs.” They could claim the child as Laenor claimed Rhaenyra’s sons, and use that as leverage to keep her loyal to their cause.

A mother would do anything for their child, even become a kinslayer if need be.

“Do I get to choose who my little wife cuckolds me with or have you decided for me?” He asked morosely.

“You may choose. Just remember they must be discreet and that it won’t be a man who goes against you.” She said hoping he exercises that unused organ of his.

He'd be an idiot not to see it.

Aemond has never looked at a lady that way unless you really knew him.

His one eye allows him a good cover for when people rightly guess where he was looking.

Aemma was fond of swimming, wearing breeches and a shirt and sometimes only the knee length shift she wears under her clothes .

Like today.

Aemma thinks no one can see her from here, but Aegon ---and Aemond and sometimes even mother--- have come and seen the show she puts on.

She is a long legged beauty, even if her figure isn’t close to full like Rhaenyra’s or Helaena’s.

But the way the wet fabric clings to her like a second skin is enough to make any man’s prick stand at attention.

Aemond is no exception.

“You can admit it, little brother, you desire her.” Aegon had the perfect man in mind. “Everyone does, even Cole

He was loyal, looked close enough to them to cast no obvious doubts like Harwin had and was on good enough terms with Aemma not to be rejected.

Aemond freezes and yet Aegon knows his younger brother has always envied him for everything.

“If she wasn’t such a shrew and a terrible lay, I’d say she was perfect.” He adds knowing how much Aemond dislikes him speaking ill of her.

They were evenly matched, Aemond was as dull and bookish as her.

Once Aemond had been invited to dinner and Aegon had tried his best to find common ground but he felt stupid and resorted to drinking the night away.

It wasn’t that he an idiot, he just didn’t care for things beyond the simple pleasures of life like eating good food, drinking great wine, flying Sunfyre and fucking any woman that said yes.

Aemma liked reading, having opinions on everything most men agree women are too weak and emotional to grasp, music and worse, taking an active role in governing.

He will be happy to leave the Seven Kingdoms in her hands one day.

And for that to happen, Aemond needs to fuck his wife.

Mother will be so proud of him.

“You shouldn’t speak so ill of your wife.” Aemond begins.

Aegon waits for him to be drinking from his wine skin to say this, “Which is why you would make a perfect lover for her.”

“Crone’s sagging teats, Aegon, don’t joke like that.” Aemond coughs and Aegon hits his back a bit more forcefully than required.

“It’s not a jape, little brother. I need you to fuck her.”

Aegon then explains his predicament and wisely keeps their mother’s involvement a secret.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #all is bliss fic #aegon ii x oc x aemond #aegon ii x oc #ewan mitchell #tom glynn carney

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mi-rae07 · 1 year

Text

Choi San : In Another Life

Pairing : Choi San (Ateez) and named character (Yoon Serena)

_____________

A/n : An old story that has been in my drafts for too long, I decided to finally just post. Not the best, but not the worst either.

______________

Serena stared at the pregnancy test in front of her, tears filling her eyes as it showed just one word, "pregnant".

Serena : no, no.

Serena sobbed as she slid down her bathroom wall, clutching her stomach as tears fell from her eyes freely. What was she going to do, how was she going to deal with this baby, their baby. She couldn't do this, she can't even if she wanted to. This baby, it…it had to die. But then she remembered how much san had wanted to be a dad, how much he had told her about a little them running around the house. And now, how could she take that away from him.

Serena looked at her phone screen as a notification chimed, a notification from the one person she feared the most in this world.

"Daughter, we only have a day more. You must kill him tonight, it's now or never"

Serena cried harder as she read those words, her hands clenching around her dress fabric as her mind swarmed to the day she had marked her doom, and choi san's.

______________________________

9 months ago :

Serena opened the door to her father's office, her face void of any emotions as she looked at her father who was sitting in his desk, a gun held in his hand. There was nothing about guns to serena, she was a mafia heir, the daughter of one of the most feared mafia in the nation. Guns were her tea sets, the dead bodies that piled up, her dollhouse. She grew up around blood and guns, this was nothing new.

Serena walked up to her father and bowed as she asked

Serena : is there something you wish to tell me, father?

Mr yoon : yes, your last mission before becoming leader.

Serena hadn't expected this, but she betrayed no emotions, because that's what her father preffered.

Serena : you wish to resign?

Mr yoon : yes, it's high time.

Serena nodded and asked

Serena : what is my mission then, father?

Mr yoon : kill choi san.

Serena : I will go with a group of men tonight-

Her father clicked his tongue and shook his head, twirling the gun around his finger as he said

Mr yoon : I want him to die at the hands of someone he loves.

Serena : he doesn't have any known relatives or girlfriends, father.

Mr yoon : which is why you need to make him fall in love with you.

Serena clenched her fist behind her back, not liking where this was going.

Serena : father.

Mr yoon : I give you 10 months. Do whatever you need to do, it isn't hard to make a man as lonely as choi san to fall in love with someone, especially you. And within the end of the 9th month, kill him, all by yourself and then stage it as an accident. Accomplish this, and my empire is all yours.

Serena : father-

Mr yoon : why, is that too much for you?

Serena : no, it is not. I just wish to know why him, why choi san. He is all but a businessman.

Mr yoon : he is also the son of the same man who killed my wife.

Serena paused, trying her best not to show the shock in her face. Her mother had died when she was only a baby. It was a car accident, or that's what the police made that out to be. But her father had always told her someone was behind it, and he had made it his life mission to kill the man.

But now, serena was going to have to kill that man's son, who would have known nothing about this.

Serena : why don't we just kill that particular man?

Mr yoon : he is already dead, my daughter. But my vengeance remains. You know what they say, the children carry the crimes of their fathers. Choi san isn't innocent, he wouldn't have become who he is right now if he were completely innocent. You know how this industry works.

Serena nodded as her father sighed and slid the gun he was holding towards serena and said

Mr yoon : so, my daughter? Will you do the job, do your mom a favor?

Serena looked at the gun, her jaw clenched. She needed this company, she needed her father's position. And there was only one way to get this. It was just another man anyway, she could kill him well enough love or not.

Serena picked up the gun with her left hand and said, looking straight into her father's eyes before saying

Serena : consider the job done, father.

Serena looked at the gun, the gun with which she would kill the biggest business man of Korea with. Oh well, it wasn't like she was going to fall in love with him, was it?

___________________________

Present time :

Serena now looked at the gun in her hand, her tears falling on it's handle. She was wrong, so fucking wrong. She had not only fallen utterly in love with the man she was supposed to kill, but was also carrying his child now.

San was all serena never wanted, he was kind, he was innocent, he was sweet and he was so loving. He gave her the world, and she could burn the world for him. San's heart beat for serena now, as hers did for him. She forgot everything when she was with him, his love gave her so much happiness. San has only ever told her the truth, and serena has only ever lied to him. She hated it, every second of those lies. But she was too selfish to let san go. She loved him too much, to the point she was willing to give her up to him.

She never should have fallen in love with choi san, but how could someone hold themselves back from loving someone like him? But now, now she would have to kill him, the same day she found out she was going to be the mother of his child.

Serena felt sobs breaking her, the grip on her gun tightening as she felt the world falling on her. How unfair was her life? All she wanted was this, was san, and now that she had gotten it, it was going away from her.

Serena fell on the floor in her and san's room, holding her stomach as she whispered

Serena : eomma is so sorry baby, she's so very sorry.

She had no choice, she had to kill him. It was either that, or her father would kill him. And the worst part? Her father would let serena live, live in a world without san.

____________________________

San was in his office, looking through some files when his secretary opened the door and walked in, uneasiness visible in his face as he placed a file on san's desk. San jerked away from his desk as he noticed that the file was covered in…blood. San looked at his secretary with alarming eyes.

Secretary : this-this came for you, sir.

The secretary turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. San looked at the file as he read the address

"From Yoon Se-hyun"

San flinched as he realized who that was, he knew the position se-hyun was in and what his father had done to se-hyun's family. Was this…revenge?

San slowly opened the package with trembling hands, trying not to get the blood on them. The first thing he saw after he removed the package shocked him to levels he couldn't explain, as he stood up from his seat shakily.

It was a picture, of se-hyun and serena.

San : n-no.

San quickly took the letter that had come with the package and started reading it, his eyes tearing up as each line passed.

"Hello, I am Yoon Se-hyun. And I'm sure you must know me as who I am, a mafia boss. But I am also serena's father, as she must not have told you. You see, I sent her to you as a mission, a mission to kill you. I asked her to make you fall in love with her and pretend that she was in love with you too, I ordered her to kill you in the end, slowly and painfully as your father had killed and betrayed my wife. And she agreed to do it because only if she succeeds in killing you, would she get to become the next leader of this gang. And hence, the story goes.

I had contemplated a lot on whether to tell you this or let serena say it to you. But then I realized, hearing betrayal from someone else would be much more painful than hearing it from the person themselves.

I wish you a good life again, choi san."

San sat back on his chair, tears streaming down his cheeks as he crumpled the letter and threw it away. It was a lie, all of it, all of what he felt and all of what she told him she had felt, a lie. San felt rage fill him up as he stood up and took his car keys, storming out of his office.

_____________________________

San banged open the front door to his penthouse, calling out serena's name. but he heard nothing, not one sound. He looked around the entire penthouse, but he saw no one. San felt his heart accelerating as he thought of whether serena had left him even before he could say anything, because for some reason it still hurt.

San flinched as he heard a small sound, the balcony. San hadn't checked the terrace above their room. He quickly ran up the stairs to the terrace, the entire city lit up below him in pretty lights. It looked like little stars from the height he was on right now, they were 98 floors above the ground anyway.

San looked around the terrace, hoping to find serena. But he once again saw no one. San turned around and was about to walk towards the door when he felt a small click behind him and a cold metal piece pressed into his head. San turned around slowly, the sight of his girlfriend pointing a gun at him instantly bringing tears to his eyes.

San : s-so it was true after all.

Serena : what was true.

San : that you're yoon se-hyun's daughter, yoon serena.

Serena's eyes slightly widened, not knowing how san had found out. There was no way he could find this out, she had hid everything perfectly. And she was good at that.

Serena : what?

San scoffed, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips as he said

San : your father sent a package to me, covered in someone's blood, serena.

Serena shut her eyes tightly, her grip on the gun tightening at the betrayal. But she tried to maintain her posture, she had to.

Serena : then you must know I'm supposed to kill you.

San smiled at serena, hopelessness filling his eyes. Serena looked away, her heart breaking at how san looked at her.

San : yes, and you're doing it right now aren't you.

Serena : san.

San : it was all a lie, you did all this to get your father's position.

Serena : your father, killed my mom.

San : that wasn't my fucking fault serena, I couldn't even fucking talk when your mother was killed!

Serena : I have to do this.

San : tell me the truth, did you ever love me, even once?

Serena pressed her lips together, her eyes lowering to the floor as san scoffed, tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

San : I am such a fool.

Serena : san please-

San : shoot me.

Serena : listen to me!

San : FUCKING SHOOT ME!

Serena : I CAN'T, I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!

San flinched and stepped back, his eyes widening as he gasped in shock.

San : w-what-

San cut himself off as serena threw the gun away from them and fell on the floor, sobbing as she said, her voice breaking

Serena : I'm in love with you and I'm…san, I'm pregnant.

San paused, stumbling as he fell on the ground as well. Tears streamed down his eyes as small sobs broke his body, his hands trembling as he clenched them

San : no, no tell me you're lying.

Serena shook her head as she whimpered

Serena : I'm not, I wis-wish I was but no, there's life inside me san-ah.

San cried harder at her words, serena leaning closer to him and pulling his head towards her chest as they cried in each other's arms. San wrapped his arm around serena's waist as he screamed in pain, knowing there was no way that child could make it out alive. Everything that he had dreamt of, shattered into bits. San's tears stained serena's shirt as she sniffed and said

Serena : you…you have to leave for a while san.

San looked up, his teary eyes staring at serena's as she smiled sadly and whispered

Serena : I wanna protect you.

San : your father-

Serena : I will kill him, which is why I need to stay behind as you leave this country.

San : and then…and then when I come back we can be together?

San looked at serena with those huge eyes filled with innocence, not knowing half of what serena knew, half of what she had gone through. He always had hope, always.

Serena : baby.

San : no, please-

Serena : if I have to kill my father, I would have to die as well, san-ah.

San sobbed, shaking his head desperately as he felt the world crashing down on him. Serena held his cheek as she whispered

Serena : I would have that advantage of surprise on my father, so I would be able to kill him. But I know my father, san, he won't die without killing the cause of his death somehow. And if that cause is his own daughter, he wouldn't mind erasing that too.

San : then what is the point of me leaving serena!

Serena : because you would get to live the life you lived before me, san. When you come back, my father wouldn't exist and you can go back to how you liv-

San : I DON’T WANT A LIFE WITHOUT YOU IN IT ANYMORE!

Serena paused, not knowing what to say. She couldn't let san die because of her, she wanted him to live, she really did. San shifted his gaze to her stomach as he laid his hand on it and whispered, broken

San : and my baby.

Serena shut her eyes tightly, clenching her fists around san's shirt

San : this is our child, rena, and you are the woman I love. I will not let anything happen to the both of you while sitting safe in another country, far away from the both of you. If we die, we die together.

Serena : san please.

San : no, stop. This is my decision, I…I will not leave. If your father is going to kill us, then we mustn't give him the satisfaction of doing so.

Serena : san, what are you saying-

San : he said he'd give us only another one more day. So let's die tonight.

Serena : what?

San stood up hastily, walking towards the edge of the terrace and holding onto the railing. Serena's eyes widened as she ran towards san, holding his arm as she said

Serena : san, what the hell are you doing!

San : if we jump from here, don't you think we'd definitely die?

Serena's teary eyes stared at san in shock as he smiled and said

San : you know what they say about two people who die together while holding hands? They say a string of destiny ties their finger together so that they'd be born to be together in their next life too.

Serena : please, please don’t do this.

San : we don’t have any other choice rena-ya, we're gonna have to die any how.

Serena : our baby.

San : our baby will understand.

Serena : san-

San kneeled down on the floor, placing his hand against her stomach as he whispered

San : won't you, sweetheart? Eomma and appa loves you so much, I wish you'd know that.

Serena cried, bringing her hands to her eyes as her shoulders shook. San kissed her stomach and stood up, wrapping his arms around her as he whispered

San : it's okay, it's going to be alright.

Serena : I hate myself for doing this to you, I've only ever bought you pain san.

San : don’t you dare say that. You were my only source of happiness, rena. And it's been a long time since I've ever been happy.

Serena sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck as she said

Serena : I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry san I should've been protecting you.

San : it doesn't matter anymore. We can make it better, rena.

Serena : by killing ourselves?

San : there's no other way out, is there?

Serena sniffled and shook her head, tears falling down her eyes.

Serena : I wish things could be different.

San : I wish so too.

Serena leaned forward and connected their lips together, wrapping her fingers around san's neck as tears streamed down her cheeks. San wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her close to him as he closed his eyes as well. San remembered watching movies where the couple would kiss each other desperately, knowing they would die the next second. He had always cried for them, wishing they could've gotten their happy endings as well. He wished they would've chosen someone else to love.

But now he was going through the same thing, and yet he couldn't have wished for anything or anyone else except serena. Even if he had known how they would end, he would still have chosen serena. Over and over again.

He was hers, and she was his.

Serena pulled back, resting her forehead against his as she whispered

Serena : you made my life worth living, san.

San sniffled, resting his head on her shoulder as he whispered

San : I'm sorry I couldn’t protect the both of you. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better father or a better partner to you, rena.

Serena : don't you dare. You're the best father and partner anyone could want. You would've raised our baby so well.

San smiled and pulled back, holding serena's hand as he wiped her tears and said

San : in another life, we both will.

Serena smiled and nodded, standing straight as she looked towards the railing

Serena : together?

San : together.

And so the both of them climbed the railing together, both their hands entangled in each other. The wind blew at them, making serena smile as she said

Serena : I will always love you, san. In this life, and my next.

San : and I will find you in the next life, I promise.

The both of them looked at each other for one last time before jumping together, falling down feets below them. And all the while their hands remained tied together, a smile on both their faces even as their bodies hit the ground with force, blood covering them immediately.

Because for them this wasn't the end, it was only the beginning of a new perfect life.

And the stars in the sky, were witness.

_______________________

#choi san #ateez san #san #ateez #kpop ff #san ff #ateez ff #san angst #san fluff #ateez angst #ateez fluff #kpop angst #kpop fluff #angst #fluff #ff

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hobbithabits · 8 months

Text

Feeling ✨whimsical and gay✨ so that means short Spones fiction

Leonard McCoy is a grown man–one with a child and an ex-wife–as well as a doctor, and he knows how to control himself. Of course, it means absolutely nothing when your two closest friends can read you like the first letter of an eye exam with 20/20 vision. Especially Spock. The bastard.

Even so, Leonard has gone this long with his stupid secret kept to his chest, and he won’t give it up now that things have shifted. For the first time, Idiot #1 and Know-It-All Prime listened to his medical advice, and they’ve put more effort into actually relaxing. As soon as their shift is over, they step away and do something that gets their mind off of never-ending space.

(Jim insists Leonard is the only one on the entire ship that thinks that way, but everyone and their momma knows that the vastness of existence is terrifying no matter who you are.)

Their compliance gave them more time to spend together as friends instead of coworkers. Jim and Spock play chess for one or two hours nearly every full day cycle. Leonard doesn’t allow himself the same comfort, because being a doctor means being a workaholic (a hypocrite). He spends his time with Jim normally, because he and Spock don’t really hang out on Leonard’s request. If they did, the Vulcan would see right through him like always.

He and Jim do their thing, and then their lovely captain ditches him to play chess. It’s starting to be routine. Except now there’s been some kind of change, because after Jim heads off to change into comfier clothes before meeting with Spock, the green devil walks into the conference room they had occupied.

Leonard doesn’t even have his mouth all the way open before Spock is speaking to him, standing just inside the doorway.

“Doctor, there is something I must discuss with you that I believe will be in your best interest.” Spock has that stupid standard rigidness to him that makes Leonard’s brain squirm. His face, as always, reveals nothing.

“Shoot.” Leonard replies carelessly, before correcting himself, “I mean go ahead. I’m listening.”

Spock doesn’t miss a single beat and begins with no preamble, “In the past week I’ve noticed a change in your mood concerning Jim and I’s time spent together. You could be described as ‘stand-offish’ or perhaps passively aggressive in our interactions concerning Jim, and Jim has noticed a sort of displeasure from you when he leaves to play our games.

“I’ve concluded that you are possibly feeling some sort of envy for our relationship, or even a jealously of me in having Jim’s attention. I wanted to assure to you that the captain and I are simply friends, though close ones, and that Jim would happily spend more time with you if you simply asked him. The same applies for me, if you wish for it.” When Spock is done, he waits patiently for a response, as if he hadn’t just called someone out completely.

Leonard wants to dig a deep hole and hide in it until he dies. He was foolish to think any of the smaller details like that would get past Spock. For such an emotionless bastard, he understands plenty about everyone else’s emotion state. He hates when Spock is right. But technically, he’s wrong too.

Spock is under the assumption that Leonard wants something more from Jim. Leonard wants /everything/ more from Spock. His silence is telling, and he surely has some stupid look on his face that the Vulcan understands, but he can’t let Spock be right. It isn’t in his nature to let the wrong get past him. He opens his stupid mouth before he can think it through.

“You’re wrong. Well, you’re kinda right in the general idea, but you’ve got the details all wrong.” Leonard stands so he can make a quick escape after he’s done being an ass. He closes the large distance between the two of them but wouldn’t dare go too close, so Spock can’t grasp exactly what he means. “I am jealous of you and Jim spending time together. You’re my friends so of course I’ll wanna see you when you aren’t with me.

“It’s just that I’m not jealous of you, thinking you’re together. I’m jealous of him. I am /green/ over the fact that it’s so easy for him to be close to you. I want it for myself. The easiness, the comfort, your attention.

I want you but I won’t have you.”

Spock, for once, is stunned and curious but doesn’t raise an eyebrow. He’s thinking hard, and Leonard can see the gears moving in the twitch of his mouth. It makes him want.

The idiot part of his brain, the part that makes him so ridiculously emotional switches on right then. Then suddenly, Leonard is striding up to Spock, and curling his fingers around the Vulcan’s palm that lies limp by his side. He kisses Spock square on the mouth, and pours every single inch of his thought into the touch, so he can engrave the moment in his mind for after it’s gone forever. It lingers just a millisecond too long for Leonard to completely detach himself from how good it feels. But then it’s over and Leonard is running off with his tail between his legs all the way to his room.

He doesn’t look back and he tries so hard not to think about how open Spock felt in that moment. He fails. He doesn’t answer his door and he doesn’t leave until his next shift starts. It’ll be fine.

#star trek #star trek tos #spock #jim kirk #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #spones #gay people #!!!#i love gay people #Leonard is stupid and bad at controlling himself but that’s what makes him tragically perfect #I love them #this was fun #I’ll try more #keeps the whimsy going

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evita-shelby · 4 months

Text

The Ghost of New Year's Past

Or Polly decided to pop in and now its about Tommy & Diane(oc child) & ghost!Polly who has unfinished business.

Cw: Tommy’s canon depression and guilt over Polly’s death and baby's first contact with the dead(applies to both Tom and Diane)

Could be read as witch!Reader being Tommy’s wife or Eva since no name is mentioned.

He can’t bring himself to drink anymore.

He died that night on the field because in his heart he knew Polly had died because of him.

He sees her and hears her amongst his family as they celebrate the new year and Tommy leaves before it becomes too much.

Tommy has no idea where he is going when he passes by the children’s rooms and hears his eldest daughter, Diane, whispering to someone.

The children had been allowed to stay as late as they wanted but most had already been put to bed by now. In fact he’d personally tucked his little witch into her pink bed and kissed her goodnight hours ago.

“Can I tell daddy you’re here?” the little girl asks as her excitement has her talking just loud enough for him to hear her as he stops at her door.

Tommy cannot guess who would be here with Di, but none of them would be a good idea even if they were harmless little girls. Allie Solomons, Bianca Sabini, Janey Dogs, the little Gold girl who hates him for Aberama’s death, that friend of hers from school, the list goes on as Diane is ---unfortunately--- everyone’s friend.

“Di, sweetheart, I thought you said you were tired.” He comes in to find her sitting on her little table alone with biscuits and cake that she’d somehow gotten downstairs. He knew it was a bad idea to let her learn ballet, now the little witch moved as silently as she got up to mischief.

A trait she inherited from both him and his wife.

There is flash of light ivory satin on the bed in the corner of his eye, perhaps a dress or shawl Diane had taken out to play, but the room is otherwise empty.

“I was, but Aunt Polly came in and I asked her to stay.” The little girl with blue and brown eyes smiles widely and looks at the bed and he follows her line of sight. “She says she can’t have cake and biscuits because ghosts don’t need food like we do.”

“Hello, Thomas, did you miss me?” the ghost of his aunt sits there on the pink bed in the French dress his grandma stole, smoking a cigarette as if nothing had changed.

As if he hadn’t killed her and Barney and Aberama a year ago today.

“How?” he asks doing his best not to panic but feeling every hair on the back of neck rise in fear.

“Hmm, even with a witch for a wife you still do not believe we have magic in our blood.” Polly smiles and gestures him to sit on the bed.

“See I told you he wouldn’t believe it even if he saw me.” She turned to his daughter who tries to calm him with her small doll like hand in his.

“It’s okay, daddy, it’s just Aunt Polly.”

He can’t speak, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his head spins. Tommy has never fainted in his life and now he tries to hold into something as he feels light-headed.

“And your dear old mummy thought none of you inherited her gifts.” The ghost woman chuckled but refused to touch him.

“How?” he asks again as he shut his eyes and hears Diane leave him alone here with whatever Polly is now.

“Our magical blood allows me to visit those with our gifts and sweet little Di is the most magical of all.” His aunt, his second closest confidant explained. “and I cannot ascend as I have unfinished business, dear nephew of mine.”

“What do you need to pass on?” he asks thinking perhaps if he helps her pass over to the other side he will have peace.

“I need you to swear you won’t kill my son. Even if my Michael believes you killed me, I need you to show him mercy and kill the fucking people who did.”

But that includes me, Pol, he wants to say.

“That is the guilt speaking, Tom. You didn’t kill us, or me least of all. Swing just knows how to get under your skin.” She reads minds now, but Polly always knew him better than he knew himself. “So, Thomas Shelby, do I have your word?”

“Will you never come back if he says yes?” Diane asked with a quivering lip from the door, she’d not left as he thought she did.

“No, sweetheart, I can’t leave until the bad people are gone. And when I go to heaven I will come every All Soul's Day.” The ghost answered softly and the girl calmed down long enough to rejoin them on her bed.

“So, Thomas Shelby, do you promise to do as I asked?” she turned to him again, a bit sterner somewhat impatient as they hear Arthur and John coming up with John’s children.

“Yes, Pol, you have my word.”

#dad!tommy shelby #polly gray #diane shelby #tommy shelby x oc #eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x reader

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 months

Note

I'm not sure if you do My Happy Marriage requests, but could I request Miyo with a reader who's her bold and snarky younger twin sister? Fitting for someone who will get violent when provoked or when her sister is hurt in any way, she wields pyrokinesis.

It was over. Miyo was safe and back in his arms. Though she hadn’t woken up just yet, the doctors assured Kiyoka that she would be fine as long as she rested. He had almost wept at that. He would let it take as long as it needed. Let Miyo rest as long as she needed. After her life, understanding now fully what she had been through, she deserved it.

Her life would be peaceful, quiet, and serene. Kiyoka would see to it personally that she was never bothered by frivolous family members again.

“Miss! You can’t go back there!-“Where is she?!”

Kiyoka jumped a little in his shoulders when the door flew open, and wild, unkempt, angry young woman stood there. “Who…are you?”

“I’m [Y/N]. Miyo’s sister. Is she alright?!” The young woman didn’t seem to bother with an answer as she knelt by her sister.

The servant who had followed her looked unsettlingly at their lord, but Kiyoka waved her away as more people would just be more noise for Miyo. “She’s alright. She just needs rest. Forgive me. I thought Miyo only had one younger sister.”

“Tsk. That one….” The disdain in her seeming to mimic his own feelings towards Kaya, and a stark contrast to the gentle way she was soothing Miyo’s hair in her sleep. “I’m her other younger sister. Her younger twin actually.” Kiyoka was shocked. He didn’t know that Miyo had a twin, but although they didn’t look identical the proof was still undeniable. What else did he not know about his wife? “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure everyone else in the illustrious Saimori pretended I was dead for so long that they virtually made it true. Twins are unlucky, you see, so we were a bad omen from the start.” [Y/N] stopped stroking Miyo’s hair and sat back on her hands. “They sent me away to live our mother’s relatives, after she died. I wanted to stay but Shinichi wouldn’t have it. Too much ‘competition’ for his new wife & happy life probably.” Kiyoka had met the man and agreed that sounded about right. “I wasn’t allowed back at the estate, and after I got my gift I definitely didn’t want to come back and help him. Miyo never told me what was going on in her letter. Kouji finally told me what happened after this….I should have been here.”

Kiyoka can see from her tightly gripped fists that she was telling the truth. He knew it because it was the same frustration he felt when he couldn’t help her all this time. “She does that a lot. Not tell people things.”

“She told me about you though.” [Y/N] told him. Moving yet again to sit properly. “That’s how I knew where she was. Well, I went to the house first. Surprised I didn’t see Kanoko there sifting through the rubble for her hair combs. Horrible bitch….”

Though Kiyoka cannot condone the language, he can certainly appreciate the sentiment. “Ahem…well…” he said after a bracing cough. “I am saw your childhood home was destroyed.”

“It wasn’t my childhood home. I never lived there.”

“Still, I apologize. My actions may have been a little rash in the moment.”

“You saved Miyo.” She told him. “That’s all that matters.”

He supposed that was true. At least, that’s what he was thinking in the moment. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

“Me too. But…this is fine too.” [Y/N] reached out her hand over Miyo, and Kiyoka realized he was meant to shake it and did so. “You’ll have to keep her safe now. Otherwise, you’ll have to answer to me. Now that I’m back, I’m not going anywhere. And you’ve never fought a Grotesquerie half as scrappy as me.”

Kiyoka chuckled once. “I some how believe that.”

Below them, Miyo stirred and started to open her eyes. “Kiyoka-sama….[Y/N]-chan…”

“Miyo!!” They both exclaim in unison. Startling the poor girl. “I’ll…let you guys have your lovey-dovey moment. Miyo, I’ll be back with some tea. You still like peach tea right? I’ll go get some.” And [Y/N] was out the door before Miyo could answer.

“Was that…truly [Y/N]-chan…?”

“Yes. It was.” Kiyoka told her. Already taking Miyo in her arms. “I have to say. She might be the only family member of yours I like from now on.”

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#my happy marriage #watashi no shiawase na kekkon #kiyoka kudou #saimori miyo #kudou kiyoka #miyo saimori #my happy marriage spoilers #my happy marriage imagine #scenarios #imagine #random fandom #female reader

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angelasscribbles · 2 years

Text

Broken Lives

Series: Broken

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Eleanor x Jackson, Constantine x Bianca

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: CHARACTER DEATH, Murder

Word Count: 993

A/N: Ya'll forgive me for this. Maybe don't read it if you don't like horribleness.

Also special thanks to @karahalloway For kicking ideas around with me on this one. Specifically Bianca being the one to tell Constantine who the affair had been with.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Is it done?” She asked as her fingers trailed down his still naked chest.

“It’s done.” He assured her. “His betrayal has been repaid.”

“Was it quick?” She asked, as a shiver of guilt ran through her.

He regarded her with cruel amusement, “Do you care?”

“I….” She trailed off, uncertain what the right answer was. Constantine scared her. She was afraid to give the wrong answer.

As if he could read her mind, he asked, “What’s wrong? You’re not scared of me, now are you, my sweet treacle tart?”

“Of course not.” She forced a bright smile onto her face. What had she expected, she asked herself, she’d made a deal with the devil, after all.

“He didn’t suffer, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was quick. Two gun shot blasts to the back of the head. Bang! Bang!” He yelled the last two words, loudly.

She jumped, as she stared at him, wide eyed. Shit. He’d really done it. Of course, he had. Why was she surprised? “And the official story?”

Constantine sighed. He really wished he could take credit for it. Show the world what happened to people who cross him. Betray him. But there were limits to even a king’s power. The public would get up in arms about monarchial overreach, the council would feel compelled to take action and he’d look weak to his enemies. Besides, if he told the truth about Jackson’s death, he’d have to reveal how he’d been cuckolded by his wife and favorite guard. Not the best look.

“That he died protecting the crown of course.” It sat heavy on his soul that his betrayer would go down in history as a hero, but there really wasn’t much choice in the matter. Appearances must be maintained. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for bringing this to my attention. Consider this cover story payment in full. His children can believe him a hero.”

Shame coursed through her at the thought of his children. How was she going to face them? What had she done? “At least they’ll have me, like your boys have you. And we’ll have each other.”

He gave her pitying look as he slid out from under her and started getting dressed, “We won’t.”

She sat up in the bed, “What?”

“I’m sorry, but did you imagine I was going to make you my next queen? I can’t marry someone so….common, or American for that matter.”

“No, I….” She hadn’t expected to be queen, but she hadn’t expected to be tossed aside the second the deed was done either.

“You probably shouldn’t come back to the palace. We don’t need anyone asking questions.”

“Of course. I-“

But he wasn’t finished, “In fact, it might be better if you left the country entirely. After a reasonable amount of mourning time, of course.”

She was stunned. She hadn’t planned on leaving Cordonia. “I…maybe….I mean, I’ll have Jackson’s death benefit, I could go to Texas-“

“Oh, no, I’m not paying that.”

“But he died in the line of duty!” She objected.

“He didn’t, though. Why would I pay for the death of the man that was fucking my wife?” He asked her.

Bianca stared at him in horror, “It wouldn’t be for him, it would be me! For our children! And you wouldn’t even know it was him if I hadn’t told you!”

“That’s true. And for that, I’m letting the world, and his children, believe he died a hero. But you didn’t tell me out of any loyalty to me, did you my dear?” Constantine shook his head, “No, you wanted vengeance you didn’t have the guts to take for yourself, and I gave it to you.”

She felt her eyes fill up with tears. How had she been sleeping with this man for the last month and not realized how diabolically evil he was? She’d gone to him about Jackson and Eleanor in a fit of jealousy and rage, she’d slept with him for revenge, and she’d laughed when he brought up the idea of murder. She hadn’t realized, at first, that’d he’d been serious.

She hurriedly dressed as she fought back tears of anger and fear. How had she gotten herself so far under his thumb? “Fine. I’ll take the kids and go to Texas. We can make a fresh start. Drake loves it there, he-“

“Oh no, my dear.” Constantine told her, “Your children will stay here.”

“Here?” She repeated uncomprehendingly.

“Yes, here, with me, at the palace, as wards of the state.”

She felt tendrils of dread creep down her spine, “No!”

“Oh yes. Don’t worry, I promise they’ll have the best of everything. They’ll have private tutors; the best education money can buy. Clothes, cars, horses, whatever they want.”

Now she was just confused, “But…why?”

“Think of it as an insurance policy.”

“Insurance policy?”

“Yes, insurance policy.” He stepped close to her, the menace unmistakable, “You think I haven’t noticed your hesitancy to follow through with our little plan? You will leave the country and your children will stay here, with me. To ensure your silence. As long as you keep your mouth shut, your children will have a life most people can only dream of.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then one of them is likely to have an unfortunate accident. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

She pushed her fury down and swallowed her terror as she nodded, “I understand.”

She did understand. She had betrayed her children in the worst way possible and the only thing she could do for them now was to keep them safe by leaving them in the hands of the man that had just murdered their father. She blamed Jackson for all of it. If only he hadn’t cheated, if only she hadn’t found out. If only she hadn’t gone to Constantine with the information. If, if, if, if. But it was too far late and everything was ruined.

#broken #angelasscribbles #trr #choices #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #eleanor x jackson #eleanor rys #jackson walker

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